He met her eyes, the echo of last night’s closeness still whispering beneath his ribs. “I believe he’s desperate. And sometimes, that’s the only kind of truth that matters.”
Vivian drew a slow breath, her expression steady even as a flicker of warmth crossed her features. “Then let’s make sure he didn’t just trade one life for three.”
Blake nodded once. “Agreed. But how’s your ribs and your head?”
“How’s your side?” Viv shot back.
Blake nodded. “Understood.”
And they both did. They’d been trained to keep going despite bruised ribs, concussions, stitches, and far worse.
Outside, the sleet thickened, swallowing the world in white. Inside, the cold settled into his bones—but not deep enough toerase the memory of her lips or the quiet truth that scared him most.
He’d risked everything before. But this was the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.
Morning turned to afternoon as they combed through every piece of intel they had, tension stretched tight in the small cottage. Blake turned from the window, forcing his focus back where it belonged. The storm was getting worse—wind clawing through the trees, sleet slicing sideways through the fading light. Tracks wouldn’t last long out there. Good and bad in equal measure.
He exhaled slowly and looked at Vivian.
She sat stiffly on the edge of the worn armchair, her arm wrapped protectively around her ribs, trying—and failing—to hide the strain bracketing her eyes. She’d been pretending she could push through the pain, that she didn’t need help, but he saw every shallow breath, every wince she tried to bury.
“Viv,” he said gently, “it’s time to get those ribs taped.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it, pressing her lips together. Trust. Reluctant, fragile, but there. She nodded once.
Blake grabbed the roll of athletic tape and crouched beside her. “I’ll make it quick.”
She drew in a tight breath and reached for the hem of her shirt, lifting it gingerly. The dark bloom of bruises along her side made him go still. Anger flared—hot, sharp, and useless. He reined it in. She didn’t need his rage. She needed steadiness.
“Okay,” he murmured, voice low. “I’ve got you.”
He placed his hand at her waist, warm against her cold skin. Vivian flinched, not from him, but from the contact, and he softened his touch. Slow. Careful. Let her feel everything he wasn’t saying.
“Tell me if anything hurts.”
“It already hurts,” she said, trying for humor. It came out thin.
He gave her a quiet smile. “Then tell me if I make it worse.”
With one hand, he held the end of the tape against her skin, and with the other, he guided her to lift her arm slightly. She sucked in a breath, chest trembling. Blake steadied her elbow, fingers brushing the delicate inside of her arm. He knew she felt small like this. Too small. And he hated that fate had dealt her this kind of vulnerability.
He wrapped the tape slowly around her ribs, feeling every stagger of her breathing under his fingertips. Her skin was warm, fragile. Bruised. And she was letting him close—closer than he had any right to be.
“Almost done,” he whispered when she clenched her jaw at the next pass.
Her eyes fluttered shut. “You’re gentle,” she breathed, almost surprised.
“With you? Always.”
Her lashes lifted, gaze meeting his. But he didn’t let himself get lost in it—not now.
He focused on his hands, the steady pressure of the tape, the curve of her waist under his palm, the way she leaned ever so slightly into his touch when she thought he wouldn’t notice.
When he secured the final strip, he brushed his thumb along her side, a silent question.
“Better?” he asked.
Vivian inhaled slowly. The breath still hurt—of course it did—but she didn’t fold inward this time. “Yeah. It helps.”
