Tears washed lines through the blood caking her face. Her clothing was torn. A mishmash of cuts decorated her arms and hands. Even still, she looked every inch the warrior I knew her to be. She’d fought back. She’d gotten herself and Lou out on their own. My fighter. My minx. The woman who’d snuck up on me and torn down every wall I’d ever built around my heart. There was never going to be a better woman for me, and I was done fighting that truth.
“I promise. No matter who I have to threaten or what doctor I have to hire. Even if I have to go fetch Lou back from the reaper’s claws, she’ll live.”
Ainsley broke into sobs in my arms. I thumbed her cheeks over the tiny cuts as the rhythmic whoop of helicopter blades sounded overhead and strong searchlights swept over the woods. An ambulance’s siren joined in.
“She’s like you. So strong. And she’ll come back fighting. I swear.”
Her watery gaze met mine. “I trust you.”
Chapter 48
WhenIlostNoah,everything in my world hit pause before things began turning in the opposite direction. Back then, I put it all on Renzo’s back. He took my pain and suffering and gave me the outlet I needed to cope. This time, he was there for me too. He fed me his strength as everything around us slowed to a crawl, my world teetering on the verge of earthquakes that would crumble it to dust. I didn’t think I could survive a loss like Noah’s again.
I flew with Lou to the hospital in the helicopter, never letting go of her hand in case she woke up. She hadn’t, but it had been some comfort to feel her pulse in tandem with the beeps of the machine while the paramedics checked me for a concussion and cleaned my cuts. Now we waited for her to get out of surgery. Seven hours and counting.
Renzo wiped tears I didn’t feel off my face. “She’s fighting and won’t give in easily. She’s going to make it.”
I nodded against the firm steadiness of his chest, zoning in on his strong heartbeat. Thump. She was alive. Thump. The latest update on her surgery was optimistic. Thump. It was going to be all right. Thump. There was no other option.
As we sat there, the police interviewed us. I responded blandly, letting Renzo take the lead because I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to watch my words. With Lou being taped and tied up when the paramedics arrived, he’d gone with a kidnapping/ransom story that made my head spin. What really hit home more than anything during that conversation was how easily he referred to me as his wife.
“I wasn’t going to leave my wife’s and her sister’s lives in the hands of the FBI…I had to save my wife…My wife is worth more to me than anything.”
I couldn’t even say I disliked the term. It made me feel protected and cared for beyond what anyone else had ever given me. He was my lighthouse on a stormy night and my best friend. He said he loved me. He came for us and held me when I needed him most. When it really mattered, he didn’t let me down. And I loved him too. So the term wife didn’t feel so wrong, but I wasn’t ready to accept it either, not after the rocky beginning and middle to our relationship.
As our wait for news in the surgical waiting room extended into the wee hours of the morning, Renzo’s body relaxed in his chair. His head was tilted back, his mouth open, and soft snores escaped him. A couple of stray cotton fibers still clung to his nostrils after the treatment for his nosebleed. Aside from a little swelling and raccoon eyes that somehow didn’t look horrible on him, his nose was fine. He’d been lucky. So had I, with not even a concussion.
A tired smile pulled at my lips, and I snuggled further into his chest. Even in his sleep, his arm tightened around me.
Tore made a groan of protest.
“Say what you have to say,” I whispered.
He sat hunched over opposite us in the waiting room. Over the last few hours, he constantly cast leery glances our way, words seemingly on the tip of his tongue but never quite comingout. Without his trusty lighters to play with, his hands tugged at his hair regularly. Certain strands stood up on his head, the rest a disheveled mess. Dark circles dragged his normally charming eyes down.
“If he’s forcing you into—”
“When have you ever known anyone to force me into anything?”
His huff was one of bone-deep exhaustion. “You should have told me about…this, before all…this.”
“Why would I, when he couldn’t even accept his own feelings?”
“It’s not about him.”
“It is. You would’ve confronted him—in prison or outside of it, doesn’t matter—and because he hadn’t accepted us yet, he would have denied it. It would’ve been a lie. After that, you would’ve always questioned his earlier intentions with me, regardless of how we ended up. You never would’ve fully approved.”
“An omission is still a lie.”
“But you’ll forgive it and accept us because you know, deep down, you and him are the same.”
He reared back. “How do you figure that?”
“He was lying to himself about us, kind of the same way you’re doing with yourself and Bee.”
“W-what?” he sputtered. He lay back in his chair and crossed his arms, like a petulant child. “There’s nothing between that devil woman and me.”
“’Course there isn’t.” I chuckled. “How’s Ricco?”
