“Hailey?”
That’s not Michael. My heart lodges in my throat, making it impossible for me to speak. Red lights flash through the corridor and the sound of feet echo.
“Security breach,” Wes’s voice carries down the hall, firm and controlled. “Unidentified individual on the perimeter. Lock down immediately. Shelter in place and stay in your rooms.”
A second later, strong arms circle me from behind. I blink, startled, breathing in a familiar scent I know far too well. My pulse spikes before I recognize it.
“Wes—”
I gently free myself from his hold, turning back toward my room as instinct takes over. He follows immediately, shutting the door behind us and locking it with a sharp click. The sirens still wail outside, red light pulsing through the narrow window.
“Stay low,” he says quietly.
He takes my hand and guides me to the closet, pulling the door mostly closed before sitting down with me on the floor. The space is tight, grounding. Safe. I lean back against the wall, knees drawn up, watching him watch me. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with him being here like this.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
I’m not sure he hears me over the alarms, but the flashing red light cuts across his face, illuminating his eyes—locked on me, alert, focused. He glances once toward the window, then settles closer, one hand brushing my knee as if to anchor me.
“I saw your car outside,” he says. “And I got a bad feeling.”
I huff quietly despite myself. “Soldiers don’t operate on feelings, Captain Holt.”
His gaze snaps back to mine, sharp but not offended. There’s tension in him—restless energy barely contained.
“Since when is it ‘Captain Holt’ again?” he asks softly.
“You know when,” I murmur, resting my chin on my knees and wrapping my arms around my legs. If I touch him, I’ll end up in his arms—and I don’t trust myself not to do exactly that. “Apparently, we have time.”
“Hailey,” he says, just as quietly. “I’m here. That matters.”
“You’d do this for Michael,” I reply. “Not for me.”
He shakes his head once. “Not once I saw your car in the lot and heard the sirens.”
He’s panting, stroking my knee, shifting closer. I think he’s going to touch my face, but he pauses. Instead, his fingers mold to my knee, his middle finger sliding behind my knee. His thumb almost brushes my jaw.
We just watch each other, the siren making my breathing feel too fast and too slow at the same time. I can’t look away from him. He’s handsome with every sharp, masculine line of his face highlighted in red. Every reason I should be done with him – namely the fact that he ran off – starts shrinking, feeling smaller, less important.
“I don’t want to be ‘Captain Holt’ to you, Hailey,” he breathes, voice raw and throaty, so rough that I want to fit myself against him just to smooth it out.
The comment sits between us. Because I don’t want him to be Captain Holt either. I want him to bemine. My Wes. The man who’s always set the bar in ways I didn’t even realize until he was gone.
I swear, I feel his pulse thudding in his thumb as he brushes it across my jaw. He moves closer to me. He’s gently, his fingers rubbing my arm and squeezing my knee, stroking my chin until I lift my head. He brushes my hair behind my ear like he knowsI need it, but his touch lingers. It’s so shockingly gentle, like he’s asking permission to touch me, to stay close.
All while something crackles in the air in the darkness between the red bursts of light. My breathing shallows as I focus on him, slowly forgetting the alarm. The lights seem to dim, the alarm quiets. Wes’s focus keeps me jumpy, almost painfully alert, but it makes me so aware of him that it hurts not to touch him.
When the alarm finally dies down and the low lights creep back on, I exhale and start to unfold. The relief is exquisite. We’re safe. We’re okay and he’s here. He’sstillhere, watching me like I’m the only relief that matters, like my safety, my comfort is what he’s meant for.
His hand brushes my cheek, slow and reverent, and he leans in—then stops, tension coiling tight between us like a held breath.
I swallow hard, my pulse roaring in my ears, and lick my bottom lip. “Don’t run this time.”
Something in him breaks.
He kisses me like restraint has finally snapped, deeper and surer than before, all hunger and heat where there had once been control. It’s not frantic, but it’s fierce. Like last time was only a warning. His arms come around me, firm and decisive, pulling me onto his lap as if there was never another place I was meant to be.
The contact steals my breath.
