When I reach her stomach, she catches my wrist. “Chris…” Her voice cracks.
I look up. “Reese… baby,” I whisper softly, watching her lower lip tremble. “I need this. We both do.”
She nods, barely, and I keep cleaning every inch of her skin. When I finish, she takes the cloth from me without a word and turns the water back on. Wringing the excess from it, she whispers, “My turn.” I start to protest, but she cuts me off with a look. “You cleaned me up. Let me do the same for you.”
Her hands are tender, carefully tracing along the bruises on my ribs and the cuts on my shoulder. She moves with precision, wiping away dried blood and grit until the water in the sink finally runs clear. Her touch undoes me, a reminder of everything I’ve missed, everything I ruined, everything I still crave.
When she’s done, she helps me into clean clothes, her fingers trembling when they brush against my skin. I help her to dress, as well, tugging the oversized sweats up her legs, not able to cinch the waistband tight enough. The sleeves of the sweatshirt nearly swallow her hands. She looks so small in my clothes. So perfect.
Before she can step away, I catch her wrist and pull her gently into my chest. She melts into me, to the place she was always meant to be. I rest my chin on the top of her head, breathing her in.
“I love you,” I whisper, voice rough. The words are heavy and raw, carrying every bit of fear I had when I couldn’t find her. “I can’t live without you, baby. I don’t know how.”
She tilts her head back, eyes wet with tears. “Chris…”
I lower my mouth to hers, not letting her finish as I silence her with my lips. Our kiss is deep and desperate, laced with the salty taste of her tears. Her fingers twist into my shirt as I painfully pull her tighter, both of us clinging to the other like the world will tear us apart if we don’t.
When we finally break our kiss, neither of us says a word. We don’t have to. I take her hand again, leading her back to our seats. She curls up beside me, her head on my shoulder, her breath blowing warm against my neck. Within minutes, she’s asleep.
I tuck the tendrils of hair falling over her face behind her ear and stare down at her. Pressing my lips to her forehead, I whisper against it, “I’ve got you now, baby. I’ve got you.”
The jostle of the plane and the wheels hitting the tarmac jolt me awake. My heart jumps before my brain catches up, the sound of the engines slowing tugging me back from the fog of sleep. For a second, I don’t remember where I am—only the hum of the engines and the heavy warmth pressed against my side.
The jet slows to a stop, and the sudden quiet feels strange after hours of white noise. My body aches in too many places to count, and when I stretch, a sharp hiss escapes me. Chris immediately straightens, his eyes flicking over me like he’s worried that makeshift Doctor Damon missed something.
His thumb rubs circles over the back of my hand. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my voice still groggy. “Just sore.”
He nods, lips pursing tightly, but he says nothing more as the door opens and daylight floods the cabin.
Chris stands and offers me his hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.”
The wordhomehits something deep inside me. I let him guide me off the plane, my legs shaky but steady enough to make my way down the narrow stairs. The sun is blinding, and I squint, trying to see beyond the steps.
We’ve landed on a private airfield. There are a few small hangars that look to have been built in the last couple of years, surrounded by miles of open land beyond them. Beside the closest one are four vehicles, which I quickly assume belong to each of the guys.
Damon turns to Chris when we reach the tarmac. “You sure you’re good to drive?”
“Yeah,” Chris answers without hesitation. “I’m sure.”
Damon doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue. “We’ll follow in the SUV until we get back to the city. Just say the word if you need us.”
“I won’t.” Chris’s gaze sweeps the horizon once more, his eyes surveying for threats, even now. “All of you, watch your six. It might be safer here, but this goes higher than any of us thought. We’d be foolish to let our guard down.”
A chorus of “Rogerthat” follows, and the seriousness of their tones tells me that all of this is far from over.
Chris helps me into an old SUV parked beside the hangar. It looks like it has lived several lives before this one. The passenger seat creaks beneath me, familiar and foreign all at once.
“She looks good,” I compliment softly, running my fingers along the dashboard as he opens the driver’s side door. The truck smells faintly like grease and pine cleaner. “You finally got her up and running again.”
A hint of pride flickers across his face as he slides behind the wheel. “Took a lot of damn work. But yeah. She’s good as new.”
“I remember when you bought this thing,” I muse, smiling faintly. “She looked more like a heap of spare parts than a truck.”
“And I told you, I was determined to make it work.” He glances at me before starting the engine. “Guess I still am.”
The drive is quiet. Peaceful, almost. Miles of open road and the engine humming beneath us. “Where ishome, anyway?” I ask, clueless as to where we landed.
