She focused on his breathing, on the warmth of his body, on the way his hand moved in slow circles against her back. Gradually, her heart slowed. Her breathing evened out. The panic started to recede.
"You want to talk about it?" he asked after a while.
"Just the apartment. The shooting. Running." She closed her eyes, not wanting to see it again.
His arms tightened around her. "That's normal. After what you went through."
"Does it get better?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. It does. Takes time, but it gets better."
She pulled back enough to look at him. His face was shadowed in the moonlight, but she could see his eyes on her. "You still have them? Nightmares?"
"Sometimes." His hand cupped her jaw. "Less than I used to."
Rachel settled back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "Thank you. For being here."
"Always."
They stayed like that for a while, her curled against him, his arms around her. Eventually, she felt herself starting to drift again. This time, the darkness didn't feel so threatening. This time, she wasn't alone.
"Logan?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Can we just... stay like this?"
She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. "As long as you need."
She closed her eyes and let herself sink into sleep, anchored by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms around her.
37
She turned her head carefully on the pillow. He looked different like this. Peaceful. The hard lines of his face softened, jaw relaxed, that constant vigilance finally gone. She studied the scar that cut through his eyebrow, another smaller one near his hairline. Evidence of a life spent in combat.
His arm tightened reflexively around her, pulling her closer even in sleep.
Rachel smiled and carefully extracted herself from his hold. He shifted but didn't wake, one arm sprawling across the space where she'd been. His hand curled into the pillow where her head had been, like he was reaching for her.
She found his T-shirt on the floor, the same gray one from yesterday, and pulled it on. The fabric was soft against her skin, smelling like him and like her now too. Then she padded quietly toward the kitchen. The tile was cool under her bare feet.Morning light filled the house, reflecting off white walls and warm wood. Through the windows she could hear birds calling to each other, the distant hum of a neighbor's lawnmower starting up.
She found the coffee maker and got it started, moving through his kitchen with more confidence than yesterday. Mugs in the cabinet above the sink. Cream in the fridge. She poured herself a cup and leaned against the counter, looking out at the bay through the windows. The water was calm this morning, reflecting the pale blue sky like a mirror.
This was his sanctuary. The place he came when the world got too loud. And he'd brought her here without hesitation.
She heard movement behind her and turned.
Ghost appeared in the doorway, hair disheveled from sleep, wearing just the gray sweatpants he'd thrown on last night. They hung low on his hips, the waistband sitting below the cut of muscle at his abdomen. He looked at her, then at the coffee maker, and his expression changed. Something warm and pleased crossed his face.
"You're up early," he said, voice thick with sleep.
"Couldn't sleep anymore." She held up her mug. "Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all." He crossed to her and pulled her against him, one hand sliding into her hair. He kissed her, slow and thorough, tasting like sleep and warmth. His other hand settled at her waist, thumb brushing along her hipbone. When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers. "You okay? No more nightmares?"
"No more nightmares. Just... woke up."
"Good."
