Page 297 of Operation: Defiance

He nods. He’s breathing easier than he was a few hours ago. So am I. “Still true. Always true.” The words come out carefully, rationed in case he loses them again.

“I know.” Tipping my head against his shoulder, I wait exactly two seconds. “Is this okay?”

“More than. Need…you.” He pulls me closer, flinches, then sighs.

I almost tell him to let go, that I can’t stand hurting him. And then I remember the first time I asked him to touch me. How my back had been covered in bruises, but I’d needed his hand between my shoulder blades, despite the pain.

“We’re still here.” I trail my fingers over his chest, the steady beat of his heart strong under my palm. We’re not the same people we were two months ago. Or two weeks ago. Or even two days ago. Parts of us are broken. Some might never fully heal. But we’re here. We’re choosing each other, fully aware of what it costs and what we get in return.

His lips press to my temple. A fresh tear rolls down my cheek.

“Build it with me.” His voice frays on the last word, almost disappearing entirely. But I can still hear him. I’ll always hear him.

I turn to look at him. At the man who followed my lead into the worst thing either of us has survived.

“I will. All of it. The paint colors and the desk by the window and the business cards and ridiculous coffee mugs and maybe even an address that doesn’t require half a dozen shell companies to keep it hidden.”

He chuckles, catches his breath sharply, and presses his free hand to his side. “We should keep…one shell company. For…emergencies.”

My own laugh is small, but genuine, a reaction I wasn’t sure I was still capable of.

I close my eyes, my thoughts settling as his hand finds my hip, thumb tracing slow circles over the strip of skin between my t-shirt and leggings. For now, I let myself simply exist. In this apartment. On this couch. With him.

Something crinkles in the pocket of my hoodie, and Asher goes completely still. I’d forgotten all about taking this from his hand when I gave him the flash bang. I pull out the folded paper, worn soft at the folds, the edges stained with dried blood, and offer it to him.

“What is it?”

“Hope,” he whispers. “Open it.”

It takes me a moment to understand what I’m seeing. To recognize the words I typed more than twenty-four hours ago as my own. “How did you get this?”

“Voss. Thought he could…break me. Told me…you weren’t coming.” His voice is stronger now. As if seeing this gave him back something he lost in that place. “‘Follow my lead.’”

The lump in my throat swells, and I cradle the note carefully. It deserves that for getting Asher through some of the worst hours of his life.

“I didn’t know if you’d see it. But you came up with that line about Junior Varsity Football and I had to try.”

He tips my chin up gently, his eyes full of the promises and plans we made on this couch the night before he was taken. “You saved me, Raine.”

“We saved each other.” I snuggle closer, and under the scent of blood and sweat and antiseptic, he’s still Asher. Still the man who heard me say three words and decided I was worth fighting for.