That night, the restaurant was ordinary, tucked between a gas station and a strip mall in Fort Worth. But I immediately noticed two uniformed officers near the back, and I knew exactly where I needed to sit. I positioned myself behind them, between their table and the door. It wasn’t coincidence. It was intention—shaped by instinct and years as a United States Marine.
Four days earlier, two officers from their department had been shot and hospitalized. A couple of months ago, five officers from Dallas PD were assassinated while protecting a crowd. The news hit hard, but it hit me personally, in a place carved by service, sacrifice, and brotherhood.
As I settled in, I heard them laughing softly, trading jokes like friends after a long day. They weren’t stoic or guarded—they were human, tired, trying to enjoy a quiet meal while carrying invisible burdens. I stayed aware, scanning both exits. Even after finishing my food, I didn’t leave. I kept watch, unarmed but ready. If someone had walked through that door with harm in mind, I would have stepped between danger and them, even if it meant giving my life.
Most people might think that’s insane. But how could I not? Police officers do it every day—risking their lives to protect strangers, families, and communities. Part of me needed to honor that in the only way I knew how.
I’m a Marine. Brotherhood is in my bones. Even though these men weren’t Marines, they understood service. They carried the same silent oath I once carried overseas: If it comes down to me or you, I will choose you. Every time. That makes them my brothers.
I didn’t leave until they pushed back their chairs, thanked their server, and walked out, still laughing, unaware of the quiet guard behind them. As they stepped into the night, I felt a calm settle over me, a simple truth rising in my chest:
Enjoy your dinner, Blue. Green has your six.
