He closes his eyes with a pissed-off groan. “It might be weeks yet before I'm released, Bryn. How'm I meant to survive all that time without you? My poor balls will explode."
I laugh. "Poor baby." I lean close and whisper in his ear. "If you're very, very good for the doctors, maybe I'll see what I can do to help you out."
He looks at me, eyes glinting with mischief. "Maybe we'll help each other out."
"Rush, you're on supplemental oxygen. Vigorous exercise is definitely a no-no."
He smirks. "Doin' a bit of wiggling with my fingers don't exactly count as vigorous exercise, I don't think."
My face heats—and my belly. And certain southern locales. "Rush, don't be ridiculous."
He pats the space next to him where Eliza had been. "Come here, love."
"Fine."
I round the foot of the bed to his other side, carefully moving the various cords and tubes and wires so I don't lay on, pinch, or dislodge anything, and then settle in cautiously against his side. I rest my cheek on his shoulder, careful to make sure I’m not putting pressure on his chest.
“Okay?" I ask.
He sighs happily. "Be better if you were naked and I was inside you, but this'll do for now, I guess."
I laugh. "I'd rather you be inside me, too, honey. But I'm not going anywhere. Get better and I promise you, we'll spend at least a week fucking like jackrabbits."
He doesn't respond as I'd expected. He kisses my forehead the way he did Eliza's—tenderly, lovingly. "Sweetheart, I'll do so much more than just fuck you." He puts his lips to my ear. "I'll make love to you until you can't take anymore. It'll be sweet and soft, and it'll be hard and fast, and everything in between."
"Promise?" I whisper.
"Promise."
20
20: LOVED, ACCEPTED, UNDERSTOOD, SEEN
It's the longest, slowest, most infuriating recovery of my life. I won't bore you with the details, but it very much sucked. Definitely don't go getting shot in the lungs. The doctors don't exactly use the word "miracle" in reference to the fact that I survived the damage done to me, but it was definitely on the more unlikely side of things. So I suppose I should be grateful to even be alive, let alone back on my feet. Yeah, I still have to drag a stupid oxygen cannister around on those stupid wheely guys, and the cord gets tangled on things, and it's all very annoying. But I've been assured that in time, with patience and hard work, I’ll get off the oxygen. It'll take months more before I'm able to start the much longer road to returning to operational fitness, which is purely maddening.
Not being able to get out there and help the guys look for Killy, Cal, and Story is almost harder than the recovery. Especially because Pugli and Mercado are still out there, alive, unpunished, and perpetrating evil upon the world.
Since I can't get out there, I've convinced the doctors that I can leave the hospital, which is a win—I hate hospitals. Developments on the home front are afoot, as well. Richard and Evelyn have decided to sell their Southampton home; having it broken into the way it was cast an ugly shadow on it for them, and for Eliza. They all went back together while I was in hospital, and none of them could stay there. Even Eliza was shaken by it. And with my recovery slated to take months rather than weeks, and with my relationship with not just Bryn but her father and uncles growing by the day, it's been decided that Eliza and I will move onto the Harris compound in the Florida keys, which encompasses several islands, contains multiple individual residences, not to mention state-of-the-art medical, training, and fitness centers. Naturally, we'll be moving in with Bryn. Richard and Evelyn, after years of caring for Eliza, are taking some time out to travel the world. Little do they know, there will be A1S operatives shadowing them everywhere they go, just in case Pugli gets any funny ideas, and Valentine has taken to not-so-surreptitiously padding their bank account.
Which means Bryn, Eliza, and I have become our own little family. It doesn't do to think about it too closely or I’ll start blubbing, as Eliza calls it, because I'm just so damned happy. I'm still wary of it—the happiness, that is. The peace I feel.
I'm accepted. I'm free. I'm loved; I love. In time, I’ll get back out into the field, running ops with A1S—firmly in the good guy camp once more.
For now, as frustrating as it may be to be physically limited, I'm content to savor this period of life. It's a transition. I'm letting go of the past. Putting aside the trauma of everything, the guilt.
Just…be happy. That's a hard thing to do, you know, especially if you've had to fight for everything your whole life.
Right now, for example, I'm watching the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen.
Our new home is not large, but it's luxurious. Windows form walls on all three sides, which can be accordioned open to let the whole house get the fresh air coming off the water. Palm trees sway. Gulls and other sea birds cry and play. Water laps quietly in the channels on either side of us, and the open ocean spreads away in the distance.
Eliza had a sleepover with the women last night—a real girls night while I spent time learning some of what Lear does—he and his wife, Cuddy, have temporarily moved into the compound as well to provide additional security while the rest of the guys hunt down Pugli and work on locating the missing people.
Lear and I worked late into the night, tracking Killy and Cal's movements while Bryn and I were gallivanting about the globe—apparently, Pugli made plays against them not long after he realized who Bryn was, but either Pugli was successful in covering his tracks, or the boys have been successful at staying off-grid. Or a third option, but that brings us into the world of conjecture, and that's useless.
The point is, they've been AWOL for weeks. There've been clues here and there that they're still alive, but the hunt is on.
A sound brings me out of my thoughts—a crunch of feet in the sand.
