Amelia's throat worked. "Jesus, Levi."
"So, there it is," I said. "The truth and nothing but. After everything happened, I knew you'd be mad. I knew you'd hate me for cutting you off. But they watched me for a year—monitored every call, every email, every move—until the Army thought they could trust me again. Then they reassigned me to my current job. Ironic, really. Utilizing the same talents I'd used to piss them off."
I looked at her, waiting for the judgment. The anger. The disgust.
But she just stared at me, eyes searching my face.
"There's more," I said. Because fuck it. If I was going to burn everything down, I might as well burn it all.
"I've been taking out the trash on my own," I said. "Using intel to kill the motherfuckers who threaten my country. Traitors. Spies. People who sell out their brothers for a paycheck."
Her eyes widened.
"Paris," I said. "That was my most recent exploit. Two former Army guys selling operational intelligence to Iranian assets. I tracked them down, confirmed what they were doing, and put bullets in their heads."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
I waited. For her to call me a murderer. To walk away. To tell me I was exactly the monster she'd always feared I might be.
Instead, she asked, "Did you ever think of me?"
The question hit me like a punch.
"Always," I said, voice cracking. "I always wanted to call you. Sneak away and explain everything. But as time passed, I just assumed you'd forgotten about me. Moved on. Found someone who wasn't a walking classified file."
"I never did," she said quietly.
"I know that, now."
She crossed the room and sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, breathing her in.
"What are we supposed to do from here?" I asked.
She looked up at me, eyes fierce. "Do you love me?"
My heart swelled so hard it hurt.
I couldn't say it earlier. Not with Byron standing there, not with Charlie watching, not with the mess of my father and my half-brothers and all the lies swirling around me like a storm.
But now? Now, I could.
"I've loved you," I said, "ever since the time you found that snake in your boot and instead of screaming for help, you stomped it to death with your other boot."
She laughed—surprised, genuine—and the sound broke something open in my chest.
"That was the moment?" she asked.
"That was the moment," I confirmed. "I thought, 'This woman is going to either kill me or save me, and I don't care which.'"
She laughed again, softer this time, and I kissed her.
Not desperate. Not hungry. Just love. Just truth.
"I love you," I said against her mouth.
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "I love you, too."
The words settled between us like a vow.
