Poor little one has had enough of the rave that’s been my heartbeat. She needs rest. We both do. I know that but…
Lara’s eyes soften. “You’re safe now.”
A shaky laugh escapes me—humorless, tired. “Is that your subtle way of telling me I’m not allowed to solve crimes from a hospital bed?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “And also, that Anton will absolutely lose his mind if he walks in here and finds you stress-spiraling over evidence instead of resting.”
The mention of him is all it takes for the knot in my throat to return so hard it hurts. Why isn’t he here yet? Did the bullet cause more damage than they told me? Would they even want to tell me and upset me in my condition… They probably wouldn’t…
Then, the door clicks.
And Anton fills the space with that rugged, unshakeable presence—T-shirt rumpled, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, shoulders tense like he fought his way through the entire hospital to get here. But when his gaze finds me, all that hardness locks into something unbearably tender.
Everything in me breaks at once.
“Anton.” My eyes instantly flood.
Lara stands and grabs her coat. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
He wastes no time crossing the room. Suddenly, after worrying for so long, he’s right there, towering over the edgeof the bed, hands on either side of my pillow. He looks like he wants to touch every part of me at once.
“You’re okay?” his voice is rough
I nod, but the tears escaping tell me that just seconds ago I wasn’t.
He cups my face and leans his forehead against mine. The contact knocks the air out of me, loosening something in my chest I didn’t even know I’d braced.
I was hanging on for this moment with more than I knew, and now, the relief floods my eyes.
Another tear slips free. I swipe at it, frustrated. “God. I swear I’m not usually this emotional.” Another escapes before I can stop it. “Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones.”
His thumb catches the next one. “Don’t ever hide a damn thing from me, honey.”
His blue eyes hold everything at once—safety, home, passion, and the quiet promise of a life that’s ours.
This man was ready to trade his life to avenge mine.
He leans in and kisses the dampness on my cheek, gathering the next drop with his lips.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Then…here I am.”
I echo his words from the quarry so he knows, here and now, that I feel the same way. “Right where I need to be.”
He presses a slow kiss to the corner of my mouth—full of gratitude I don’t quite understand but feel all the same.
“Freya,” he whispers against my cheek, “you have no idea what that means to me.”
I press a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, uneven beat beneath my palm. He’s shaken, too.
And he kisses me again.
Not like the stolen moments we’ve had before. This one is deep and certain, a promise pressed straight into my bones.
I fist his shirt, pulling him closer because God, I need this—need him—and the world drops away for a heartbeat, maybe two.
His breath stutters against my mouth. “Christ, Freya…you undo me.”
He tilts my chin, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth, molten heat rolling through me. My body leans instinctively into his—wanting, hungry. The steady whoosh of the monitor doesn’t pull me out of it; it roots me deeper—a reminder of what ties us together.
