I roll my eyes at him, the tension breaking just slightly. “Ipicked out things I know she likes.”
He smirks slightly.
“You’re nervous.” Which is fine, I guess, because I’m fucking terrified. “She’ll notice,” I warn him.
“I just… I want her to feel safe. To feel like we actually care.”
“You do,” I state simply, wrapping my hand over his on the gearshift. “All of you do. She’ll see it.”
The hospital looms ahead as we reach it, war-torn and imposing in the afternoon sun. Jagger shifts uncomfortably in the driver’s seat as we pull into the lot across from thehospital. “I don’t like this,” he mutters, his gaze sweeping the entrance.
I squeeze his arm, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “You’re about to like it a lot less,” I say, my voice low.
“Ugh, Blake…” he grunts and climbs out, grabbing the bags from the trunk and walking beside me into the hospital. His presence is a solid, imposing wall of muscle and intent by my side. I follow, keeping my head low, struggling to maintain his long-legged pace as we move toward the nurses’ station. I smile at familiar faces, exchanging brief pleasantries before excusing myself to visit Zahra.
Anxiously, I glance over my shoulder, scanning the hallways for anyone suspicious, before turning down a vacant hallway. My steps echo in the silence, reminding me how exposed we are. I lead Jagger through the same maze of corridors as our dinner date—the memory oddly comforting amid the danger.
In the stairwell, away from prying eyes, I stop and turn to face him. “You said you trusted me.” I pause, reaching up and resting both my palms on his muscular chest. “Please. Tell no one what I’m about to show you until it’s time. Please… I need to know she’s safe.”
He hesitates, his jaw tight, before nodding reluctantly. “You can trust me.”
I acknowledge him before letting my hands slide from his chest, hoping with every fiber of my being that he means every word.
We climb a few flights of stairs, my hands steady despite the adrenaline thrumming through my veins. Every step brings us closer to Maryam, closer to possibly putting her in grave danger. I move the gurney with practiced ease, unlocking the door like I’ve done countless times before.
Maryam’s face lights up when she sees me, but it falters when her stare slides past me to Jagger, a flicker of fear in her eyes. If I’m being honest, I get it. He is quite intimidating to look at.
“It’s okay,” I softly insist, sliding my fingers through his and squeezing them firmly before stepping forward. “Friend.”
She hesitates for a moment. “Friend?” she repeats, her gaze questioning as she looks between us.
I pull up the translation app on my phone and repeat the word. “He’s helping. Everything is going to be okay.”
Maryam’s expression softens, and I feel a rush of relief. I explain the plan, detailing the supplies, the steps we’re taking, and the eventual route out of the country. Jagger leans against the kitchenette, organizing the food we bought. A silent, observant shield.
He smiles at Maryam, careful, protective, and it gives me a strange sense of calm. He’s not just a weapon. He’s a guardian. A protector.
Maryam’s baby fusses, small hands batting at the air. I coddle her, murmuring softly to soothe her, and my chest tightens with a fierce, longing, maternal ache I didn’t realize I was harboring.
“Americas?” Maryam asks, her voice tinged with a disbelief so profound it’s heartbreaking. It’s the whisper of a dreamshe’s never dared to fully have. “Yes,” I reply, my own voice thick with emotion. “You come with us to America.”
We keep our visit with Maryam and Aliyah short, promising to return in a few days. After leaving her room and replacing the gurney, we head downstairs and slip out the back of the hospital. Somehow, traipsing through an alleyway seems like the safest option not to draw suspicion to where we were or what we were doing.
The ride to the safe house is quiet at first, but it’s a different kind of quiet than before. As the city slips by in a blur of familiar streets, I notice Jagger keeps glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
“What?” I laugh.
“Come to Chicago with me,” Jagger blurts, almost carelessly. His tone carries the weight of commenting on the weather, not moving to be with him.
I glance at him, startled, my heart doing a strange little flip. “Chicago?”
“To live with me,” he explains, clarifying unnecessarily. We barely know each other. Yet, here he is, asking me to take a blind leap of faith. Daring me to believe in our future.Chicago?My mind races, teetering on the spiral to end all spirals.It’s absurd.And somehow, it also feels like the lifeline I didn’t know I needed. It’s reckless, insane, but it’s also the first thing in days—years, if I’m being honest with myself—that doesn’t feel like a decision.
“Yes.” My answer is quiet but resolute. I trust Bryce. I trust the fierce, protective, maddening man sitting next to me. I believe inus.
Jagger’s hand brushes mine, fingers briefly intertwining. The gesture is simple, but it sends warmth through my veins and quiets the storm of fear and adrenaline that’s been thundering in my chest for days. I know that the moment we step into the safe house, everything will change. But for now, for the rest of this short ride, I let myself feel truly happy.
When the door to the safe house shuts behind us, the click echoes in the stillness. The moment we’re inside, the charged atmosphere of the car evaporates, replaced by the grim reality of our situation. Hawk and Gunnar are in the main room, their expressions a mixture of tension and expectation. They look up as we enter, their eyes landing first on me, then on Jagger. The way they stare, I feel like a teenager getting caught sneaking in after curfew.
