She looked up the moment she sensed me, eyes red but steady. “Is everything…is everyone okay?”
“For now,” I said. “We’re moving you again soon. Somewhere safer.”
She nodded, but her shoulders sagged like the weight of the world was pressing down on her. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
I crossed the room and sat beside her, close enough that our knees touched. “You don’t have to take it alone.”
Her breath hitched. “Tex, I’m so scared.”
“I know.” I reached for her hand, and she let me take it. “Come here.”
She hesitated only a second before leaning into me, her head resting against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her gently but firmly, like she might slip through my fingers if I wasn’t careful.
She let out a long, shaky breath, the kind that sounded like surrender—not to fear, but to safety.
I rested my chin on her hair. “You can sleep for a little bit. I’ve got you.”
Her fingers curled into my shirt. “I don’t want to fall apart.”
“Then don’t,” I murmured. “Just breathe. That’s more than enough right now.”
She exhaled slowly, her body softening against mine. For the first time since the firefight, since the ranch, since everything, she let herself lean fully into me, and I held her soft body steady against mine.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. I didn’t care. I held her like she was the only thing anchoring me to the earth. And when her breathing finally evened out, when her weight settled against me in a way that told me she’d slipped into exhausted sleep, I tightened my arms around her and whispered into her hair:
“I’m not letting anyone or anything take you from me. Not now.Not ever.”
