"That was a stupid move, running in like that. Could have gotten yourself killed."
"Probably."
"Would do it again, though."
Brian looked at him. "In a heartbeat."
Colby nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
They sat in silence while the chaos slowly settled around them. Diaz came back, took statements, and made notes. The paramedics finished their work and recommended a trip to the ER for both of them. Outside, the lights of the police cars painted the street red and blue.
Finally, Tessa crossed the room and sat on Brian's other side. She'd refused the hospital, signing a waiver against medical advice with the kind of confidence only a doctor could muster. Her voice was still rough, but the color was coming back to her face.
"Take me home," she said.
"We're home."
She looked around at the overturned furniture, the shattered door, the blood on the floor. "Take me to bed, then. Our bed. I want to sleep for about a hundred years."
"That can be arranged."
He stood, pulling her up with him. Hank and Colby were already organizing cleanup, talking to Diaz about boarding up the broken door. Someone had righted the lamp. Someone else was sweeping up glass.
Family. That's what this was. People who showed up when things went wrong and stayed until they were right again.
Brian led Tessa down the hall to the bedroom. Closed the door on the noise and the chaos and the aftermath. They fell onto the bed still dressed, wrapped around each other, holding on.
"Thank you," Tessa whispered. "For coming. For not waiting."
"I'll always come for you." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Always."
She was asleep within minutes. Brian lay awake a while longer, listening to her breathe, feeling her weight against him.
Carla Reeves was in custody. Webb was in federal detention. The threat was finally, truly over.
Tomorrow, they'd deal with the broken door and the police reports and whatever came next.
Tonight, he held the woman he loved and let himself believe that the worst was behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tessa woke to sunlight and silence.
For a moment, she didn't move. Just lay there, feeling the warmth on her face, listening to Brian's steady breathing beside her. Her throat ached. Her body felt like she'd been hit by a truck. But she was alive, and Carla Reeves was in jail, and for the first time in months, she didn't have to be afraid.
She turned her head carefully. Brian was still asleep, his bandaged arm resting on top of the covers. He looked younger in sleep, the tension gone from his face. She watched him breathe for a while, cataloging the details. The stubble on his jaw. The scar on his collarbone she'd never asked about. The way his hair fell across his forehead.
This man had thrown himself at a woman with a knife. Had run three blocks in the dark because he heard glass break. Had held her all night like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.
She reached out and touched his face. His eyes opened immediately.
"Hey," he said, voice rough with sleep.
"Hey."
"How's your throat?"
"Sore. How's your arm?"
