"Hey." He tilts my chin up. "Talk to me. What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking about how close we came to not figuring it out in time." My voice cracks slightly. "If I hadn't kept those records, if you hadn't been there that night in the parking lot, if any single detail had been different—Garrison would have gotten away with it. She'd still be stealing equipment, still degrading our trauma response capabilities, and we'd have no idea."
"But you did keep the records. I was there. We did figure it out."
"Barely." I pull back to look at him. "She had weeks to cover her tracks. She could have deleted everything, destroyed all the evidence. We got lucky, Thatcher. That's what scares me. We got lucky and I hate relying on luck when people's lives are at stake."
He's quiet for a moment, then, "You're right. We did get lucky. But you know what else? You were thorough. You documented everything because that's who you are. That's not luck. That's you being brilliant and meticulous and refusing to back down when everyone told you it was clerical error."
"The Chief of Surgery dismissed my concerns. Told me I was overreacting."
"And you kept digging anyway. That's not luck. That's courage."
Tears prick at my eyes. "I was terrified when Briggs grabbed me. When he dragged me between those cars and I couldn't get away. I fought back but it wasn't enough and if you hadn't been there?—"
"Don't." His voice is rough. "Don't go there."
"Why not? It's true. He would have killed me."
"But he didn't. I was there."
"This time. But what about next time? What if Garrison's coming back means they're making another move? What if?—"
He kisses me. Hard and desperate, cutting off the spiral of fear. When he pulls back, his eyes are intense.
“I’ve been in combat zones,” he says quietly. “Seen firefights. Diffused explosives that could level buildings. But when I saw him dragging you between those cars? That wasn’t fear. That was something colder. Calculated. The kind of focus that ends men.”
"Thatcher—"
"Let me finish." His hands frame my face. "I watched Suzy fade over those last months I was home. There wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it. I swore I'd never let myself care about someone like that again because losing her nearly destroyed me." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "And then I saw you in that parking lot fighting for your life... bleeding and terrified but so damn brave. I knew right then and there I was in trouble. Because I knew I had already begun to care."
My breath catches. "You did?"
"From that first night. Maybe even before, from seeing you at the hospital and thinking you were beautiful but not letting myself pursue it." He rests his forehead against mine. "And now I'm in so deep that the thought of something happening to you makes me want to lock you in a bunker until this is over."
"That's why you were hovering today."
"Yeah. I know you called me on it. I know you're right about trusting you, but my instinct is to eliminate every threat, control every variable, keep you safe by force if necessary."
"That's not realistic."
"I know. Doesn't make it less true." He pulls me closer. "I can’t lose you. There. I said it. A part of me hates feeling this out of control."
I slide my arms around his neck. "I'm scared. Scared of Briggs, scared of what Garrison might do, scared of this thing between us because it's so new and I don't know how to navigate it."
"So we're both dealing with intense feelings."
"Apparently."
"Want to know what else I'm feeling?" His voice drops lower, rougher.
"What?"
"Grateful. That you're here. That you're safe. That I get to hold you like this." His mouth finds my neck. "And desperate. To feel you. To know you're real and alive and mine."
Heat floods through me. "Yours?"
"If you'll have me."
