21. Savannah
21
SAVANNAH
We tear through the inky blackness of the night. My heart races, eager for any update. Chase has instructed us to meet Hux and Kayla at the hospital, but his words were sparse, revealing nothing of their conditions.
My phone erupts with the sharp trill of an incoming call. Chase confirms that Kayla and Hux have left the scene, possibly arriving at the hospital before us.
“They’re all right,” his voice crackles over the phone.
The tension in my chest unwinds a fraction. We continue driving, the minutes stretching long and thin. Soon after, the gleam of the hospital lights comes into view.
Leaping out of the car, Fabian wraps me in his arms. For a heartbeat or two, I let him. But then I pull away, reminding him that it’s just a friendly embrace, a source of comfort after all he has been through.
With a nod, he releases me, understanding the boundary I maintain.
Unfazed by the law enforcement officers in the lobby, a possibility that unsettled him just this morning, Fabian strides through the ER, his concern for Kayla eclipsing all else .
“This way, sir.” A nurse leads us down a corridor.
There, I spot Huxley, his shirt shredded and hanging from his body like the sails of a battered vessel. His sleeve, violently ripped away, has been replaced by a bandage that binds his arm.
As Fabian strides ahead, I move closer to Huxley. “Hux, you’re hurt,” I whisper.
“It’s nothing. Just blisters,” he replies, his tone the sound of a man who’s bearing the marks of battle.
“Is Kayla okay?” I ask.
“She’s safe,” he confirms.
“And you?” I press further.
“Like I said, just blisters,” he repeats evenly.
“No, I mean you ,” I persist, my palm resting over his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my touch.
His arms, strong and sure despite the evening’s toll, circle me. “Just stay like this for a moment,” he breathes out, face resting on the crown of my head.
I welcome his body. My fingers itch to trace the white bandage against his skin as if it could soothe him.
But the interruption comes too soon, as Fabian reappears, desperation carving lines of worry into his features. “Savannah, Kayla needs you.”
Hux releases me. “She’s been asking about you,” he reveals, then stops to rummage into his pocket. “Before I forget—your dad’s. Tell him the truck’s an old faithful, and sorry about the bullet scratch on the hood.”
We swap keys, and I respond to his smile with one of my own, though I know he’s trying to lighten the mood for my sake. Inside, all I can think about is how close he came to danger.
He gives me a silent nod, sending me on my way. “Go on. Don’t keep her waiting. ”
My man is in pain, and I know cuts and blisters wouldn’t make him suffer like that—there’s something more behind that smile. But my need to be with Kayla surges to the forefront, the instinct to comfort shifting focus from Huxley to the child we both fear for.
In the pediatric ward, Kayla’s small frame is a bundle of tension and tears on the white sheets. “Easy, Kayla,” I soothe, pressing her back into the pillows.
“I was so scared,” she admits, her small fingers tightening around my hand.
“But Huxley told me you were super brave,” I tell her, smoothing her hair and adjusting her fringe.
“Did he?” Her eyes light up with a weary sort of pride.
“He sure did,” I affirm, smiling at her.
“Huxley was super brave, too.” Her voice grows steadier as she mentions his name. “I said it right, didn’t I?” she asks with childlike enthusiasm.
I nod, and with a bright smile, she shows me the border collie keychain he’d given her. Huxley’s thoughtful gestures never cease to amaze me, always seeming to know just what might bring a bit of solace. It’s like that toy elephant he picked out for Bethany Anderson—a symbol of safety and care.
“He’s really nice.” She beams, and I can’t help but agree.
As night deepens, her plea for me to stay tugs at the corners of my resolve. I understand, with a keen ache, that I cannot forge a bond of motherhood with her. Her father lingers just outside, and Kayla is his responsibility. I must steel my heart against the pull of what cannot—should not—be.
“Why can’t you stay?” Kayla’s voice is small, her eyes searching for understanding in mine.
I answer deliberately, “Look, Kayla, your dad loves you very much. You have to trust him to take care of you. He’s done a great job, right? ”
“Yeah. But you can’t leave me,” she insists.
“If you were alone, I wouldn’t,” I assure her, my voice firm with conviction. “But your dad’s here, and you’re safe with him. I have to go.”
“Why?”
“Huxley is my friend too, and he needs me,” I say, my decision a painful stitch in my side.
She ponders for a few moments. “Oh, okay,” she says. “But you’ll see me in the morning?”
“Yeah. Get some sleep, and listen to your dad,” I mention as I leave.
Kayla adds, “Thank Huxley for me. I didn’t have the chance earlier. I was too scared.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Outside, Huxley has disappeared. I weave through the scattered staff and a couple of troopers, anxiety propelling me until I come upon a young nurse. “Excuse me, have you seen a man just now? He was here receiving treatment for burns on his left arm.”
“He left, ma’am.”
Disappointed, I step out of the hospital with a whirlwind of unresolved thoughts.
Driving back to Helena in my dad’s truck, the road seems endlessly longer now than on the adrenaline-fueled dash to Lakefall Valley.
I keep dialing Huxley’s number, but each call drifts into the void. Just hours ago, he had saved Kayla. He hasn’t been one to boast about his acts of bravery, but he should still be radiating pride and relief—not the gloom that I saw in his eyes. His uncharacteristic withdrawal sets a knot of unease in my stomach.
The headlights sweep across familiar gravel as I pull into the driveway. Fabian’s BMW sits quietly under the porch light—so Dad brought it back in one piece. The enthusiastic barks of Ranger and Ruby greet me like a fanfare. Surely, their excitement isn’t just for heralding their recent fancy car ride.
And then he materializes.
“Hux.” I exhale, the tension within me breaking as he steps out from the shadows. Freshly showered, he’s shed the remnants of the night’s chaos along with his ruined shirt.
He slips through the backyard gate, not letting my collies come out with him. “I didn’t mean to just show up.” His voice is apologetic, but it’s drowned out by the sight of him—tired, but here. He looks like Atlas, who has borne the world and finally allowed himself to set it down.
“It’s okay,” I reply, my hand instinctively reaching for his. His cold, stiff fingers clutch mine as if they’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “Why wait out here in the cold? Where’s my father?”
“He let me in, but I needed the air. The dogs seemed to agree.” He offers a small, grateful smile to our barking companions.
I nod, understanding how my furry friends can have that effect.
“How did you get here?” I ask, noticing there’s no other car in sight.
“Chase had been chauffeuring me. I’ll get my car back tomorrow,” he replies. “Hey, how’s Kayla?”
“She’s doing fine. She wanted me to stay, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t just be there for her one night and then gone the next. I wanted to be there for her, but I don’t want to step into shoes that aren’t mine to fill,” I explain, hoping my words wrap around my complicated emotions—including the need to be here for him.
He responds not with words but with a pull that draws me closer. “Savannah, when you held me in the hospital… it was like someone had finally seen me after being invisible for so long.”
I wrap my arms around his taut waist, my embrace conveying understanding, though questions linger about why he disappeared. I don’t dare voice them, sensing his fragile state. Instead, I lean in, pressing my cheek against the fabric of his sweater, drawn to the rapid beat of his heart. It sounds like a plea for a safe haven. Perhaps this is the answer I need.
Heartbeats, those personal rhythms I’ve known all my life, suddenly take on new meaning. I came close to losing this rhythm forever—both through physical injuries and emotional scars. Now, as I tune into his heartbeat, I feel a sensation both foreign and intimate. It’s the sound of life that is not my own yet feels like it belongs to me.
“Stay like this, please,” he murmurs, and I tighten my embrace, willing my heart’s rhythm to answer his call.
I lose myself completely in the moment, in him. It’s only when I sense the easing of his hold that I’m brought back to the present.
“Come inside,” I invite.
Shoulder to shoulder, with our arms touching, we move into the warmth of the indoors. We settle on the couch, basking in each other’s presence. Our breaths speak, our eyes talk.
Then his hand moves, just slightly, holding my palm more firmly.
He begins, resignation in his voice, “The people who really know me, they know why I quit the Navy. Told the story a few times, yet?— ”
I cradle his hand as if to share the load.
He gestures to the mark that time has stamped into his skin. “Tonight. It was the first time since… this,” he touches the scar, “that I’ve had to confront both flames and a frightened child at once.”
I run my fingers over the scar. “Tell me,” I whisper.
He nods slowly, steeling himself before he begins. “It was in the jungles south of Bogotá.” His eyes glaze over as if visualizing the scene once more. “We were tasked with extracting a CIA operative whose cover had been blown. It was supposed to be straightforward—get in, get out. But we braced for complications, always do.”
He draws a breath, the story unfolding. “We reached the compound, secured our man, and were set to pull out. The intel suggested a minimal guard—after all, it was Sunday. The cartel boss, devout in his own way, was supposed to be at church with his kin and guards.”
“But then, we were ambushed.”
His delivery is even, reflecting the calm born from intense training and preparedness for such scenarios.
“We countered their ambush and were set to destroy the compound,” he continues. “Flames were already cutting off the cartel’s escape routes, and the structure’s back was alight, our explosives ticking down.”
His voice falters slightly. “We should’ve been long gone, but the intel… it was flawed. We weren’t prepared for what happened next.”
A pause, heavy and thick.
I hold his gaze, which reflects a wish to skip past the pain of his tale. But I remain silent, granting him the space to share it in his own time.
“Children were inside. They hadn’t gone to church. They were the drug lord’s own. And he, the very man we had unknowingly ensnared, was present. The CIA, they wanted him, regardless of the collateral, and they kept us in the dark.”
My heart aches for him. “Oh, Hux…”
With a ponderous sigh, he recounts the harrowing decision, “The countdown was relentless, but we couldn’t turn our backs. Three of us plunged back into the chaos to save those kids?—”
Regret and sorrow emanate from him, serving as silent witnesses to the price paid during that day’s chaos.
He downplays his suffering, relegating it to a footnote. “My mates… they weren’t so lucky,” he says quietly, “they lost limbs in the explosion. As for me, I got off with just this scar and a few shards of shrapnel. His finger traces the jagged line that runs from his left eye down to his jawline. His face, still handsome beyond comprehension, bears this brutal memento.
I fight the impulse to probe deeper into the narrative of that scar with my words, choosing instead to offer him my undivided attention.
His eyes cloud over as he continues, “The children were twins. I held the girl safe, but her brother… we couldn’t save him.”
“That’s an unbearable weight to carry.” I offer my empathy. I can’t begin to fathom the depths of his ordeal.
But a small smile breaks through. “The little girl, she just smiled up at me, clung to me as if I was her protector.”
A pang tightens around my heart. “In her eyes, you were exactly that—her protector.”
“It’s odd. I was a stranger to her, not the father she knew, but it didn’t matter in that moment.” His reflection mollifies, perhaps touched by the innocence of her belief.
“You saved her life. Don’t forget that.”
He hums, agreeing, although his mind is still clearly on the little girl. “You know, Sav. Among the black smoke and stifling heat, her hand moved from clutching the neckline of my ballistic vest to touching my chin. That was as high as she could reach, or perhaps all that remained unscathed on my face at that moment. Then, she called me ‘Papa.’ Yeah, she really did call me that.”
As he concludes the haunting story, my arms become his refuge. For a few long moments, we remain still. I can sense his thoughts lingering on the little girl and the brother she lost. As for me, I’m content to be a cushion to soften his fall, no matter how deep he might descend into his reflections.
“Tonight, the sensations were all there.” His voice breaks. “The smell, the noise, the blistering heat—it was as if that doomed compound rebuilt itself around me. I had to get away, to be alone. I couldn’t stay at the hospital, waiting.”
“I understand, Hux.” I caress his arm, trying to soothe the painful collision of past and present that torments him.
“And you, being there. It was a comfort I didn’t know I needed,” he admits, peeling back layers of a fortified exterior to show the raw and trembling heart within—the heart whose beats I got lost in.
“I’m here, no matter what.”
He nods repeatedly. “I know. I had to muster every ounce of strength not to fall apart in front of Kayla, in front of everyone. It felt like I was fading away right there in the open, Sav.”
“Yet you’re standing here, Hux. Your heartbeats, they’re proof that you’re living, fighting. Courage is not about what you’re made of. It’s about what you give. And your action tonight came from here,” I press at his left chest. “You can take it because your heart can take it.”
He mirrors my touch, his hand over my heart. “Maybe… because I’ve found strength in someone else’s heart,” he murmurs, looking at me with newfound hope. Then he hesitates. “There’s so much more I need to tell you… ”
“Some stories are for another time,” I whisper, knowing the unburdening of a heart is not to be rushed. I seal the promise with a kiss, marking the dawn of something beautiful between us.
Something shifts in him, and a surge of energy propels him upward. He lifts me effortlessly, his injured arm forgotten in the moment as a downpour of kisses drenches me—a deluge of passion, gratefulness, and longing.
We barely make it to my bedroom. Even the bed’s too far, and the corner armchair is all we can manage before our resistance fades away. We tear each other’s clothes off, then Huxley takes a seat, and I eagerly climb onto his lap. His cock stands proud, its magnitude still etched vividly in my mind. The exquisite sensation of being stretched by him last night remains with me as the lingering soreness in my core continues to remind me of its presence. Yet, I’m consumed by an urge to straddle him—right now.
He stops me at the last minute, giving a small shake of his head to indicate he has a plan. Kneading my ass cheeks, he supports me. My slit hovers over his towering cock, impossibly rigid.
“I want to listen to your heartbeat,” he whispers, tracing his seductive lips along my swollen breasts. With a deliberate touch, he caresses his cheek against my cleavage, placing his ear on my left breast, humming as if articulating the melody.
His hands roam my back, tracing the curves of my body. The bandage around his left arm grazes against me, reminding me of what he’s been through.
“Are you okay with this?” I murmur.
“Savannah, I need this.”
My core is calling me to descend—to taste the tip of his cock, or perhaps lap at his precum. But following his cue, I resist, staying the course. Instead, I feel Hux’s mouth enclose around my nipple, his teeth gripping it firmly, causing a surge of pain.
“Huxley, baby… please, don’t stop,” I moan as if my writhing isn’t a clue already.
His hunger intensifies, his bites growing stronger, almost on the verge of breaking the skin. The sensation sears through me, setting every nerve ablaze, yet I willingly surrender to this insatiable craving.
I release a scream as the intensity of the pain becomes unbearable. I draw my chest closer to him, seeking relief from his relentless pulling. He lets go. Then, with a gentle flick of his tongue, he licks away the throbbing pain.
“You’re all right, Sav?” he whispers.
In between my labored breaths, I manage to nod.
His lips, once filled with intensity, now offer a pampering sensation, their contact light as a feather. He explores every contour of my breasts in a worshipful move—so sensual, so enticing. Simultaneously, his fingers glide across my skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. They trace the curve of my buttocks, traversing to the tender expanse of my inner thighs. This man sure knows how to make a woman feel adored.
Then, without warning, his fingers enter me with force, causing me to arch my back. He continues this motion repeatedly, scorching me from the inside out—perhaps a warmup of what’s to come.
By now, my heart is a rampant riot, pulsing with a hunger only he can sate. He senses it, and he responds by baring his own euphoric state. As if obsessed, he ravages my bouncing breasts, prolonging the ache by sucking on my sensitive nipples while simultaneously working my clit with no mercy.
He pauses, his eyes searching mine to see if I’m okay .
“Don’t hold back, Hux.” I huff impatiently, and he obliges, coming back to me as if he’s out for revenge.
I scream as a torturous orgasm builds fast within my core.
“Huxley…” I sigh out his name so I can hear it myself because I still can’t quite believe this gorgeous man is mine.
Pleasure from lust is readily accessible. Yet, there’s a deeper, more enduring delight in choosing to embrace the pain inflicted by a man you truly admire. This form of pleasure, steeped in respect and sacrifice, rivals the intensity of love itself. In surrender, there is strength; in yielding, you possess him entirely.
As if reading my mind, he grants me my first climax.
He lets me fall, his size welcoming me. It’s rigid, thick, and textured beneath the lubricated sheath. Gradually, he penetrates me, or rather, my body adjusts to his entrance. The feeling is familiar yet more magnificent than last night. Now, I’m closer to knowing the man behind the story, and at this moment, our story is that of a man and a woman assuming roles that complete each other.
“You’re so beautiful, Sav,” he rasps, rough with emotion. “I don’t care how many men have said that to you. Believe me .”
My core moves hearing it, an honest reaction, just like my words. “I believe you more than anyone, anything.”
“Come to me,” he groans, allowing me to fully straddle him.
I increase the pace, driven by pure need. The friction burns, his engorged member leaving no room for respite. Exactly what I crave.
The rapid spread of heat compels every part of me to feel him. My lips trace the rugged contours of his face. I linger on the scar that mars his cheek, a mark that tells stories deeper than the eye can see, each one etching itself into his skin and into my heart. It’s this scar that draws me closer, craving the taste of his resilience and the stories of sacrifice hidden beneath. He’s given so much, surviving through sheer will, and he deserves every ounce of care I can muster, every pulse of energy that thrums through me.
Huxley’s hand finds the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair with an inviting firmness. There’s a silent command in his touch, in the pressure of his palm. ‘More,’ it urges. ‘Kiss it all away.’
And I do. I press harder, losing myself in the act, in the need to convey through every kiss what words can never fully articulate—my gratitude, my admiration, my unwavering love for him. Simultaneously, he raises his pelvis, exerting a firm grip on my hips, creating a powerful connection.
“I’m so close,” I moan.
“I’m almost there, Sav.” He acknowledges my urge and his willingness to meet it.
Those words come as his flesh swells, escalating the pain as my walls tighten. The sensation makes me shudder, and his hands transition from holding to clutching, digging into my quivering thighs. My muscles hopelessly contract, mirroring the strength of my arms wrapped around him.
I erupt, with lava-hot blasts and smoldering debris shooting through my body. My moan turns to whimper, confessing the all-consuming agony I’m experiencing. Huxley himself, in the throes of ecstasy, releases a howl. It’s undeniably masculine, and singularly his.
My pleasurable torment goes beyond the sexual and physical. It feels right, even virtuous, because I have shared in his pain. Now, I have the power to bring him pleasure, too.
“Stay like this…” Hux whispers, full circle, as I surrender to his embrace once more.
Each time I slip from his hold, overcome by weakness, he gathers me back. It is in these moments that I steal kisses against each of his shrapnel scars, a promise that I have not forgotten his pain or the deeper tales he yearns to share.
Our body remains connected as I rest my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat resonates even more clearly while my body moves, following the ebbs and flows of his breath. It’s a beautiful descent, spiraling me into depths of slumber untouched by dreams, untouched by anything I’ve known before.