“Let’s not fight about this, Dane. It’s a hectic time, and we’re both exhausted. Let’s just get through the Summerween festival.”
They’d sit down and work through it, because Wren believed they could make this work.
Not easily. Not perfectly. But somehow. Because she believed, shehadto believe, that love would find a way. They’d talk about schedules. About flights and her gigs and his deployments. When they’d fallen into bed last night, exhausted after the drama of Tad falling off the stage, his last words to her before he drifted off, his arms around her, were that they would figure it out. She’d held on to those words today, repeating them over and over when she found herself stuck in fear and hit by a wave of panic.
They just needed to get through tomorrow, and they’d have time and space to chart a course forward.
Dane sighed and rubbed his jaw. “We have so much to deal with, but can we please take Alex off the table?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Of course, she should’ve done it ages ago. “Yes, absolutely.”
Dane nodded. Crisis averted. Thank God. Wren dropped her legs and watched as Dane toed off his trainers and then placed his hand behind his neck and whipped off his shirt, using that one-handed grip that men did so well. She took in his tanned, ripped chest and sighed. She’d thought she was too tired for sex, but when her hand landed on his ridged stomach, she knew that she could be half dead and she’d still want Dane.
He was that addictive…
And when he looked at her like that, when his eyes heated and narrowed and his mouth dropped to hers, she thought he might see her the same way. The thought sent warmth rushing to her core. Wren smiled as Dane bent to kiss her, but then his phone buzzed, and he tipped his head back in frustration. “Who wants me so late?” he muttered, standing up to pick up his phone.
Since her eyes were still on his abs, she didn’t pay attention to his buzzing phone. But she did notice the tension flowing into his body, the way the color left his face, leaving him pale under his tan. “What is it?” she asked, her heart hurtling up her throat.
He stared at his phone, his attention completely caught. “Shit, I have to go.”
The words landed like a brick dropped through a pane of glass. It was nearly midnight. Go where? “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“A seven-point-eight earthquake has just hit Kashmir,” he replied, his voice staccato sharp. “They are already making comparisons to Quetta in nineteen-thirty-five. They are expecting it to register as Mercalli eleven.”
“Is that really bad?” Wren asked as he hurried over to his walk-in closet.
His voice drifted in from the small room. “It means that few, if any, buildings will still be standing. Bridges might be snapped in two, and the ground split open in places. Pipelines destroyed and railway lines twisted.” He walked out, his complexion now a little gray. “And the death count will be horrendous.”
Wren looked at the suitcase he rolled into the room, and her feet hit the ground with a thump. It was already packed, waiting in his closet for this moment. After pulling his passport from the top drawer of the credenza, he placed it on top of his wallet and phone. The reality sank in that he was leaving. Like, right damn now.
Wren rocked on her heels as Dane sat on the bed to pull on his socks and trainers. “How long will you be gone?” she asked, her voice thin.
He looked up, as if surprised to see she was still there. Oh, shit, he was already on a plane, already, in some ways, there.
He lifted his shoulders and shrugged. “I can’t tell you…” His phone buzzed again, he picked it up, read the message, swore, and put it down again. “It’s a very strong earthquake, there are a lot of dead, a lot of injured. They’ll need many surgical teams, but however many there are, I suspect it won’t be enough.”
She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t keep the words behind her teeth. “Do you have an idea of when you will be back?”
He didn’t answer, his eyes on his buzzing phone again. The messages were coming in thick and fast now.
“Dane.” Her voice sharpened and lifted in volume. “When will you be back?”
“Jesus Christ…”he muttered, and Wren didn’t know if the epithet was directed at her or the phone receiving so much more attention than her.
Wren knew she was standing in his way. If he were alone, he’d probably already be out the door by now. He sent her a glance. “I need to get to Boston, check in with headquarters. They’ll be coordinating our assets, our logistics. The best I can tell you is that we will probably fly out tomorrow sometime. I’ll be able to tell you more when we get there.”
She didn’t think she could let him leave without having some sort of conversation, some direction on what she was supposed to do, be, and act while he was halfway across the world saving lives. He couldn’t just leave; they needed to sort out a few things first. Lay some ground rules. Make a plan about how to be and stay together while apart.
He reached for his passport and wallet, but she held out her hand. “We need to talk before you go.”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.More messages. “We are talking. I’m telling you what’s happening.”
“No, I mean, we need to talk about us.”
He raked his hand through his hair, read a message, and winced. He quickly typed, set his phone down, and picked it up again when another message pinged. Could he not just give her a few minutes? “Sweetheart, I can’t do this now. I’m sorry, but it’s not the right time.”
Insecurity, hot and lethal, rose. Yes, she got that, but were they supposed to do this between his surgeries, over a crappy video call? When he was tired, and she was worried? She just needed a few reassurances, that was all. Not an “I love you” necessarily, but just, maybe,I’ll keep in contact;I’ll miss you, or a heartfelt,Wait for me.
