Page 150 of A Sweet Destruction

I smiled, a little loopy. “I know.” My hand came up to his face, stroking over the very top of his scar on his forehead. “I know.”

I was thankful for how much I loved him, not for the first time. What was new was the trust that he loved me the same way. The freedom that made me feel.

Tucking my hands into my chest, I burrowed my head into Ford’s neck, feeling his laugh against the top of my head. “Don’t let anyone bother us for at least a day. Maybe a week.”

“Of course not,” he said immediately, either managing to understand my muffled words or just automatically conceding to whatever I wanted. Right now, I was fine with either option.

Ford let me rest there for long, sleepy moments, rubbing his hand over my back in easy passes. Eventually, as the sun started to dip down behind the mountains and dusk fell, he slowly roused me from my haze.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, nudging me softly with his knee. “You’re gonna take a bath.”

“No, you’re gonna take a bath.” A deeply childish retort, but I was really very comfortable and getting up seemed like it might be physically painful.

“Well, I was hoping I might squeeze in there with you, yes.”

Oh. Well, that seemed nice. I started moving almost immediately, earning a belly deep chuckle from Ford that I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard before. In any event, I would make sure I’d hear it again.

A short while later, leaning against Ford’s chest with slack limbs and warm muscles, my mind started to work again.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, barely a second after the thought crossed my mind.

“I am too.” The words were spoken against my temple.

“I just,” I paused, suddenly feeling a little short of breath. “I just really thought we were close.”

It was the hope that killed you, always.

As if Ford could read my mind, he said, “Don’t get mad at your hope. It will keep you going. Even if I’m scared, I try to remind myself that I’m doing this for the chance Annie and Adam might be able to live through peace. That you might, after this is all over.”

I turned in towards Ford, hooking my face into his neck. “I really wish you would stop making me cry. I’m going to be so dehydrated.”

Ford did nothing but laugh, a low chuckle that I felt more than heard. “We’ll get through this. If Elijah was acting alone, we have a better shot. If he wasn’t, at least we know of a real advantage over Muli.”

I hummed in agreement. We would regroup and make a plan, as we’d done fifteen times over. I really hoped that plan didn’t involve upping the draft and pouring even more Matches into Muli, but I couldn’t dwell on that right now.

It was a conscious effort to keep my thoughts centered, not letting them run and spiral into the darkest futures and distant realities. If I wanted to have a fighting chance at surviving those realities, I needed to rest while I could. Focus on what I had.

You have Ford, the Bond said. I believed it.

Chapter 32

Ford

I knew it was awful given everything around us was going to shit, but I was pretty fucking happy.

Hard not to be, when I’d woken up this morning with Esme curled next to me, breathing steadily.

I laid there, not daring to move a muscle, feeling nothing short of total awe.

That we were still alive. That we were fortunate enough to find a pocket of peace when everything else was burning down. That Esme loved me.

I was smart enough not to know that I needed to stay worthy of her love. By the time she started to stir out of sleep, I’d found a deep, endless well of resolve to make sure I protected us.

Part of that protection was making sure that we didn’t blow up our chance at peace—a chance for me and Esme to live a normal goddamn life together at some point—because Elijah was a maniacal asshole.

The news of his little attempt on our lives still wasn’t widely known and would stay that way. We’d caused a scene, too focused on getting Esme back to care about keeping the situation at bay. At least that was what Soren told me.

I still didn’t remember what happened, having blacked out about halfway through the ride. I was sure Peter would spin an artfully crafted half-truth about what happened.