How is he faring in his cell? Will he get the same treatment as me? They told me we were both free to go, but there’s no sign of him yet and my anxiety begins to grow. If they’ve got him on some other, unrelated charge or if Richard has anything to do with this delay, then, immunity or not, I’ll kill him.
I’m not leaving Cian here alone. Not after everything we’ve been through.
The minutes drag by while the sun bakes me to the bench and anxiety churns my gut so ferociously that twice I hug the nearby trash can, expecting to throw up.
Although that might be the baby.
The first thing I need to do back in the States is make sure they’re okay. Stress can be killer, so I’ve heard, and this hasn’t been a walk in the park.
As my mind wanders through the panicked possibilities of what the past weeks could have done to my baby, the subtle creak of the door to the station finally catches my attention.
I glance up and my heart stops.
Cian.
He stands at the top of the steps wearing a fresh white tank top that’s almost blindingly white in the sun, kind of like his complexion. His hair drifts in the subtle warm breeze like flames licking across his skull, and his ink stands out on his neck like a proud brand.
This is the first time, I realize, that I’ve seen him in public like this with some of his scars on display. Usually, he’s hiding under long sleeves and jackets, but not now. He stands there with the warped skin of his shoulder and forearm out for anyone to see.
Pride swells in my chest.
Then his searching eyes land on me and the widest, most relieved smile spreads across his handsome face. He starts hurrying down the steps two at a time. I’m lightly concerned for his leg but it hardly seems to be an issue, and by the time he reaches me, I’m on my feet.
“Faina!” Cian throws his arms around me and just as I loop my arms around his neck, he draws me into a tight hug right up against his body.
His skin is warm to the touch and his smell, even under the strange bleach stink of those cells, is there for me to breathe in when I bury my face into his neck. His arms tighten around me and he hugs me so tightly that he almost picks me right up, but I wouldn’t care if he did.
He’s here.
And that’s all that matters.
I cradle the back of his head with one hand and lean back enough to see his face. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine, I promise. But you?” Within seconds, his attention is on my shoulder and he delicately touches the bandage. “How bad was it?”
“It was a good shot. The bullet carved a neat line through my arm but it’s all just flesh. Nothing serious and not that deep. Hell of a bleeder though.”
“Being in the water didn’t make it worse?”
“No. If anything, the cold helped. But I’m okay. Stitched up and okay.”
Cian’s brow knits together and then he resumes hugging me so tightly that I almost can’t breathe. It’s a comfort restriction, though, like resting under a weighted blanket and feeling so utterly safe that nothing can possibly bother you.
“I was so worried,” Cian murmurs into my hair.
“Me too.” My fingers thread through his sun-warmed strands, winding around my knuckles. “I kept thinking about you locked in a cell like last time and I was scared.”
“This was different.” We part once more and he cradles my face with one hand. “I was in a decent room this time. It was bright. There was a window and I had space. I was more worried about you.”
“You realize if anyone hears us, then the damage to our reputation will be immense.”
Cian snorts softly. “I dunno. Taking down Hexagon puts us in the history books.”
My smile softens. “How do you feel about that? About it actually being… over?”
His thumb strokes over the swell of my cheek and then he sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t feel anything. Logically, I know we did it and Hawk is dead, but it doesn’t feel real. I feel like I’m still waiting for him to appear.”
Nodding, I slide my hand around to the side of his neck. “It’ll take time.”
