“Translation,” he said, leaning closer, “if you’re going to be stubborn about staying, then you’re following orders. My orders.”
She arched a brow. “That’s adorable.”
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“Compliment accepted.”
The monitor kept its rhythm. Somewhere down the hall, a nurse’s cart squeaked past, but inside the room, the world had shrunk to just them—their silence, their scars, their shared breath.
Blake straightened, the shift in his shoulders signaling the conversation wasn’t over, just paused. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we figure out who tried to kill you.”
Vivian watched him move toward the door, his silhouette framed by the thin slice of hallway light. “Blake?”
He turned, his hand on the doorframe.
“If it was Maddox, then we’re in deeper than we thought.”
His eyes met hers, dark and steady. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
Blake hesitated at the door and looked at her, as if seeing that she was really okay for the first time.
“What?” Vivian asked, leaning back against the pillows until pain stole her breath. She swallowed it down, refusing to give him another reason to send her away.
He shrugged. “Never thought you’d choose the mission over a promotion.”
“Shows that after all this time, you still don’t know me,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
That crooked, boyish grin surfaced — the one that always disarmed her at the worst possible moments. “Careful telling me you’ve got my six. I might start thinking you stayed with me instead of blowing the op because you care about me.”
“Again,” she shot back, “goes to show how little you know me.”
His grin faded, replaced by something quieter, sharper. “Maybe,” he said softly, eyes locked on hers. “Or maybe you’re more like your father than you think.”
The hospitalat night had a sound you felt more than heard—air pushing through vents, rubber soles whispering on linoleum, the patient monitor’s small, stubborn metronome of a life still here. Blake sat with his elbows on his knees and watched Vivian sleep.
Her face was softer in the low light, hair pushed off her forehead where the bandage ended, lashes clumped from dried saline. She’d never looked more beautiful. The woman could wear any look and get his attention. He’d tried to deny it all theseyears, but the minute his lips touched her soft skin, he knew he wanted more.
So much more.
More than he deserved or could ever have with Vivian Durand.
Beneath the blanket, her chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. Every few breaths, she twitched—those quick, defensive flinches she’d never admit she had even off duty. His fault, all of it. The lighthouse. The fall. The empty spot on the floor where the casing should have been. His choices, his pace, his blinders.
“Lucky told me I’d do anything to get my guy,” Blake whispered, each word scraped raw from somewhere deep inside. He stared at Vivian, her face pale against the pillow, the faint tremor of the IV line like an accusation. “You warned me, too.”
The truth hit him harder than any bullet ever could. He had. He’d risked it all before—and nearly broken everything that mattered.
Christmas Cove came back to him in fractured flashes—the salt sting, the explosion of glass, the screaming that wouldn’t stop. He saw the civilian, bleeding on the floor, saw the look in his old friend’s eyes when Blake had risked him and the woman he loved. The mission had gone to hell in under a minute, and afterward, Lucky had said it plain, no hesitation, no mercy:“You’ll risk anything to get your man, won’t you?”
And he had. God help him, he had.
He thought he’d learned after that night, thought the guilt would keep him cautious. But standing over Vivian’s bed now, seeing what his drive had cost, he knew better. He’d let her go into danger—senther, really—because he couldn’t bear to lose the trail again. He’d told himself she could handle it, that they didn’t have time to wait, that Dan was the person reporting their moves and if Blake kept him from following Vivian then she’d besafe. But underneath all those excuses was the truth: he wanted the win more than he wanted to listen.
And Vivian deserved better.
He’d known the risks. He’d felt the tension in her voice, seen the unease in her eyes before she left for the lighthouse. And he’d still let her walk away, telling himself it was trust, when it was really desperation.
Everyone had been right about him.
