“Hey, darlin’. How are my girls doing?”
“Better now we get to hear your voice.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Noah
Blood thunders in my ears, my chest heaving under the weight of my protective gear as my fingers curl around my weapon in an iron grip. Commands buzz through my earpiece from West, telling me it was clear to enter the building and take out our targets. I give the hand signal to Dean to go, and I kick the door in.
Two men jump in surprise and reach for their weapons, but we are too quick. I take out both of them as Dean and Mason clear the other rooms. I know I have mere seconds to find our high value target and take him out before he gets a chance to run or have his gun ready to use on us. I kick open the closed door and see him. It’s obvious he wasn’t expecting us. We observed this man’s habits and daily routines to the second because, aspredicted, he was getting out of the shower and turning in for the night.
I don’t give him a second to react. I lift my weapon, aim, and shoot. He falls to the ground with a bullet to the head.
“HVT neutralized,” I say into my radio, my breathing heavy and ragged. Sweat drips down my back as the adrenaline starts to ease.
Dean’s voice confirms the place is clear and our job is done, then the race is on to get back to the helicopter and get the fuck out of here.
“The bird is two minutes out,” West says through the radio, and I pick up my pace to get out of the building along with the rest of the team and head towards where the helicopter,the bird,comes into view through the night sky. When it lands, West is on it, pulling us in, and as soon as the last boot is on, he calls, “Mission complete, RTB,” Meaning we are done—we did what we came to do, and now it was time to go back to base, and finally home.
I sag into my seat, lifting my safety goggles and taking the bottle of water Dean tosses my way.
“We fucking did it, boys. Last mission complete.” One of the newer team members, Sanford, yells from behind me, and his lack of experience on these missions is evident because there is an unspoken rule that we don’t celebrate until we are back to the safety of the base because, even in the sky, under the cover of darkness, we are still in danger.
And, as if Sanford had jinxed us, a loud crack jars us, the helicopter jolts and we are thrown from our seats.
“Bird is hit. I repeat, bird is hit,” our pilot announces into the radio, his voice calm despite what’s happening.
“We’re under attack,” West barks.
My stomach bottoms out as we begin to dip.
“Brace for impact, I repeat, brace for impact. Crash imminent.” The shouts.
For the first time since joining the special forces, I am dragged back to the time we came under fire when we lost Scotty. As if my body remembered the adrenaline rush, the paralyzing fear, I brace as chaos erupts around me, because the urge to stay alive has never been stronger. I don’t want to die a hero. I selfishly wanted to make it out alive.
Gunshots, the noise of the rotor blades failing, and the panicked demands of West ring in my ears, and as my stomach lurches. The possibility of death now staring me in the face, I place my hand over my chest where the images of my unborn daughter and Tori reside and say a hushed prayer that I’ll make it out of here alive and back to them.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Tori
I jolt awake, sweat trickling down my neck, my t-shirt clinging to my damp skin and baby bump.
Something is wrong.
I clutch my belly, rubbing it and then using my fingers to patter over my belly button, desperate to feel her move. When I feel the familiar pressure of her rolling around inside and the gentle kicks against my ribs, I sag in relief, and yet I still can’t get rid of the niggling feeling that something is wrong.
I tell myself it’s my anxiety; that with my pending due date and radio silence from Noah in the past week, no wonder my nervous system is out of whack. I get out of bed and pad across the room to the bathroom, splashing my face with cold water, and with a shaky hand, I take a sip of water from the bottle I left by the sink earlier, desperately trying to wash away this dread.
Fear squeezes my chest as dread pools in my stomach, and it feels too hard to take in a full breath as old feelings of panic flood my veins. What if something has happened to Noah? What if that knock on the door is just moments away, and I’ll have to accept a life without him?
I think about running to my brother, to get him to save me, but when the baby kicks, it gives me the willpower to lower myself to the ground and press my back flat against the wall. I take deep, centering breaths in and out as I cradle my belly.
As my system slows and taking a breath begins to feel a little easier, I let my heavy eyelids flutter shut and soak up the silence.
I did it. With the silent encouragement from my baby, I did it. I wasn’t sure how I was going to cope during this stage of pregnancy, especially without Noah, but it’s true what they say, the moment you see those two lines, you become a mother, and with that comes this primal need and urge to protect. Even in my weakest moments, I feel strong because of her. Because she is relying on me, and that knowledge gives me a quiet strength I’m not sure I would have gained had it not been for her or Noah.
I brush the palm of my hand in soothing strokes over my bump, realizing that she was sent to save me. To heal the final broken parts I wasn’t able to mend. She’s given me a reason to carry on, to have faith that even in the darkness there was a moment of light, and Noah was the light that gave me her and a reason to try even harder to heal.
