They stayed a few more hours, listening to the nurses and talking to Donovan when he would wake for a bit. He was still so weak that it scared her, but at least he was alive.
When they finally left, they returned to the Whitmore house as the evening came in off the river, the city settling into the particular amber quiet of a Savannah night. Spanish moss moved in the breath of wind that came off the water, carrying the sweet smell of jasmine. Blaze and Dane were already gone, and Gage had texted Bobby to tell him Grim and he were checking out the nightlife and to text if they needed anything. For the time being, the house was theirs.
While Bobby locked the front door, she moved to the sitting room, glancing around the place for the first time, really. She was too busy before, too panicked, to look around. Too focused on getting her life back. But now she ran her gaze over the shuttered windows, the table where Blaze did his work, and the comfortable easy chair Deke had claimed as his as he sipped his coffee while keeping watch on the back courtyard. She felt thepast week settle around her like a weight the universe finally allowed her to put down.
It was over.
It had been messier than she had wanted, of course. Nevertheless, it was over. Her family had their lives back. There would be federal proceedings, of course, and testimony, all the legal trappings that filled the aftermath of something like the Serrano family.
But she could enter that courthouse without an armed escort.
She glanced behind her as Bobby approached. And she’d have the man she had loved since she was sixteen at her side.
She turned as he stopped in front of her, sliding her hands to his waist as she stared up into his eyes.
He reached out, cupping her neck, and brought her closer until he kissed her. There was no urgency, no desperation. It was a kiss like he would kiss her when they were younger, before life had ripped them apart and put them through the thresher. And she fell into it, surrendering as she pulled him closer, pressing herself against him.
When he broke the kiss, he took her hand in his and led her to the bedroom where the last of the evening light filtered through the shutters. This time, he was different once they locked the door behind them. Not slower, because he had been that way the first time, as if savoring each motion. This was a man showing her how gentle he could be, how grateful that she was his. He glided his hands over her body, caressing, exploring, and she responded to each graze of his hand with her own whispers of pleasure. There was no holding back, as if she still wasn’t sure she deserved this, because she had been wanting it since she was younger. No, she fell into him with the emotions of someone unguarded and very much deserving.
She held nothing back, and neither did he.
The evening moved around them in long, unhurried increments, while outside the Spanish moss stirred in the river wind and the city went about its ancient, patient business. However, inside the Whitmore house on the quiet street, two people chose each other with the specific, complete deliberateness of people who understood exactly what choosing cost and had decided it was worth every single thing it required. They had waited long enough for this. It was time they got everything they deserved.
When they finished, she lay against him in the dark, her head on his chest as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She felt him playing with her hair in that slow, thoughtless way that told her he was half asleep.
As she laid there, listening to the city outside the window, she thought about Deke healing in a hospital room across the city.
Then she thought about her mother in Oregon, about a phone call she would make in the morning letting her family know everything that had happened, about her mother’s reaction when she heard it was all over. And she thought about how her life had changed again just a week ago when Bobby Jenkins spotted her on the casino floor.
“Bobby,” she whispered, just in case he was asleep.
“Mm,” he mumbled, stirring slightly at her side.
She smiled against his chest as she dragged her finger in a circle on his stomach. “Thank you,” she said.
“For?”
She didn’t answer right away as she thought of everything she meant when she said it—for the river rescue, for protecting her at the casino, for sticking by her side during her crazy ass plan. She took a slow breath. “For running that web search on my names.”
His arm tightened around her as he pulled her closer. “Always.”
And outside, the city breathed around them, and the moss moved in the wind, and the night held them in the particular, uncomplicated grace of something finally, completely, come to rest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE NEXT THREE WEEKS were a whirlwind of emotions and activity, piles of paperwork and back-and-forth decisions as Elvis stood at Delaney’s side, offering support where he could and remaining silent when silence was needed. They had held onto the Whitmore house for a little while longer, Delaney wanting to stay close to the marshal while he healed, while the others returned home. U.S. Marshal Donovan Ashland, not the most relaxed patient in the hospital, had stood alongside them the entire time through the process of bringing her back into the world, offering his own advice and helping her navigate the sea of red tape. She had told Bobby it felt like the weight was still there, the fear that perhaps she hadn’t put an end to it like she thought.
He had simply taken her hand and held it, squeezing it as he pressed his lips to her knuckles and stared into her eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ going to happen to you, darlin’,” he promised her. “Not as long as I’m here.”
Donovan winced as he turned away from them, one hand going protectively to his side as it always did, even though the wound was almost completely healed at this point. Delaney kept telling the man he just wanted the attention, and Deke kepttelling her he deserved it. “You two are sappy enough to cause a sugar rush.”
“And how are you actually doing?” she asked as they sat around a diner table, sipping coffee as she finished signing the massive folder of paperwork.
He shrugged. “Better. The surgeon says I’m ahead of schedule on my healing. It could have been a lot worse.”
“It was a lot worse,” she told him. “I was there. You should still be at home resting.”
He shook his head as he pointed to the file. “I started this, and I intend to see it through to the end. I want to be the one to hand you your old life back.”
