Chapter 6
Kylian
The magic crackled that night, fading in and out like a poor Wi-Fi signal struggling to connect.
Weak connection? Ours was anything but.
The second Decker shouted my name from the crimson yacht, I knew.
It doesn’t make sense on an intellectual level. It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t even opaque. His scream dripped with emotion, a million colors and shades and tones I shouldn’t have been able to discern. But I knew.
Is this what people call intuition? Instinct?
A gut reaction?
More like a gut punch.
First, it was a prickle of awareness. Then goose bumps erupted all over my body.
When I heard the panic in his voice—the way he barked out my name—I knew. I fucking knew.
They’d have to hook me up and drain the adrenaline from my veins to make me physically relax at this point. I never want to let her out of my arms again.
“Belt check,” I order, pulling on the yellow safety strap across my lap, then peering back to make sure one of the guys is checking Jo’s for her.
Surprisingly, Kendrick is doing it, deftly testing the tension and announcing that “she’s good.”
Jo is seated between Kendrick and Locke on one side of the armored all-terrain. Garrett Reed Ferguson the Third and Hunter are seated across from them, having left the middle seat open as a spacer.
Decker’s by my side, ready to play copilot if I need it. I won’t.
Fiddling with the myriad of switches, I tap my foot against the floorboard over and over, ready to fucking go. There’s an energy to this thing, hydraulics and power. Advanced tech and unmatched horsepower coalescing into an unstoppable hybrid.
Decker and Locke go crazy for cars. Kendrick loves all the watercraft in our fleet.
They can keep them all. This baby is mine.
It’s more machine than vehicle. A beast of engineering, designed specifically to navigate swamp lands and off-road terrain.
It even floats on water, seamlessly transitioning to land when the landscape changes.
The flat front and oversized tires give it a tank-like appearance.
It’s not street-legal, and we’ve never needed to use it for its intended purpose, as an emergency escape option to get off the isle, but I’m sure fucking glad we have it now.
The Sherp lugs forward, churning against soft mud as it finds purchase in the marshy earth. I timed our departure from the hospital with this in mind. It’s low tide, which minimizes the water we have to navigate. The Sherp can handle it, but I don’t know if my girl can.
More determined than ever to get her home and keep her safe, I grip the lever that controls the throttle, poised to slam the brakes or accelerate as needed.
I’m locked in and focused on the marsh, mentally carving out the best path to the mansion.
My focus on our surroundings doesn’t stop me from glancing in the mounted mirror every six seconds so I can check on Jo, though.
“Keep your bodies relaxed,” I instruct, eyeing a particularly wet patch of terrain up ahead. “Lean into the bumps, and don’t panic if it feels like we’re airborne or rocking back and forth in the same spot. We won’t get stuck. We can’t.”
Decker grasps my knee, pulling me out of my head, but he doesn’t break my focus. The squeeze against my kneecap is almost ticklish, so I bat him away.
“Kyl. She’s here. She’s okay. Cool it.”
I say nothing. He just watches me for a long moment, lips pressed together in my periphery, before he removes his hand and settles back against his seat.
But then he speaks again.
“When we get home, you need to take your meds and get some rest. We’re good now, and you’ve seen her with your own eyes. She’s okay. We’ve all been through it. You have to sleep.”
I chuckle, low and sardonic, at his attempt to tell me what to do.
I’ve deferred to Decker for years. Allowed him to bark orders and take charge as he saw fit.
But that was before her.
When I don’t bother arguing, he pushes.
“Something funny?” he asks under his breath.
“Define funny,” I hedge.
His eyes are boring into me again, but I stay focused on the screens and gears ahead, navigating the Sherp with ease.
Finally, he answers. “You just laughed. Usually people laugh when they think something’s funny.”
“People also laugh when they’re uncomfortable. Or when they can’t believe the audacity of a situation or circumstance.”
“So which is it?” Decker grunts as I guide the Sherp over a jagged segment of rock. The vehicle wobbles, sinking from side to side as it works overtime to chug onward.
“Audacity,” I offer simply. “I’m laughing at the absurd, audacious, outlandish assumption that I’m interested in following any of your instructions right now.”
I grit my teeth over another sticky spot, and once we’ve smoothed out again, I meet my best friend’s eye.
His expression is a mix of shock and outrage.
The urge to laugh again bubbles up inside me, but I hold back. He needs to understand the weight of this moment, and I won’t undermine the severity with what he might perceive as humor.
More often than not, I like when Decker takes the lead. Life with him is cushy and accommodating in ways I could never create for myself. He takes the guesswork out of many facets of day-to-day life, and he’s excellent at anticipating the needs of others.
But over the last few weeks, things have changed. I’ve changed. And it’s time he knows it.
“I’ve followed your commands for the last seventy-two hours, Cap.
From Sunday night until now, I did everything you asked of me, complied with every order you gave.
” Flicking my attention to the mirror, I give Jo a quick scan, then assess the screens in front of me again.
“None of them kept her from being harmed or got me to her any faster. None.”
Beside me, Decker’s silent. He knows I’m not finished.
“Now you have a choice. You can let me be—let me cope with the fallout of this ordeal and do what I need to do to convince myself she’s okay, too—or you can try to control the situation. ‘Try’ is the operative word in that sentence, because I’m done doing things your way when it comes to my girl.”