Chapter 28 #2
I swallow, glancing once more at the container-strewn port. My skin crawls thinking about what might have happened if Dean and Lincoln hadn’t arrived in time. If Lazarus had succeeded in shipping us abroad… My jaw clenches. Never again, I vow silently.
Lincoln slides a careful hand over my back, guiding me toward his truck, which is parked near a line of police cruisers.
I lean into his warmth, letting his presence ground me.
The police lights flash against the dark sky, illuminating the wreckage of this violent night.
Officers still swarm, gathering statements and hauling unconscious or cuffed criminals into squad cars.
Part of me wants to break down sobbing in relief.
Another part just wants to curl up somewhere safe, away from prying eyes.
We ease into the truck. Lincoln helps me climb into the passenger seat as if I’m made of fragile glass, and for a moment, I almost protest—I’m not helpless.
But exhaustion tugs at my limbs, so I let him.
Once he’s settled behind the wheel, I can feel his attention flicking toward me, concern etched into every line of his face.
“How do you feel?” he asks softly, sliding the key into the ignition. “Need anything? Water?”
I shake my head. “I just want to sleep,” I admit, voice trembling. “But… maybe after we get cleared at the hospital.”
His expression gentles, and he briefly touches my cheek. “We’ll do that.” Then he starts the engine. The tires crunch on gravel as we pull away from the container yard.
The drive is quiet. The adrenaline is fading, leaving me bone-weary.
The city lights blur past the window, and I rest my head against the seat, letting the rumble of the engine lull my racing thoughts.
I sense Lincoln’s gaze flick to me every now and then, as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still here, still breathing.
He must be as rattled as I am, I realize.
We reach the hospital at the edge of Saint Pierce, and nurses usher us into a curtained exam area.
Dean is whisked off for more thorough treatment of his shoulder.
Sophia insists on staying with him, refusing to let go of his hand.
I watch them from across the busy ER—he’s trying to reassure her, even in his own battered condition.
My heart twinges at the love there, a love that overcame fear and bullets just to save each other.
A nurse beckons me over, checks my vitals, inspects bruises on my arms and wrists.
She cleans a small cut on my temple that I didn’t realize was bleeding.
I flinch at the sting. Lincoln hovers in the doorway, arms folded, tension carved into his posture.
He’s the only reason I feel safe in this sterile chaos.
When the nurse finishes, instructing me to rest and follow up with a doctor in the morning, Lincoln steps closer, offering his hand.
I grasp it, heart fluttering. We exit the curtained area and find a quiet corner in the hallway while we wait for Dean’s final clearance.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and the antiseptic smell of the hospital burns my nose.
For the first time all night, it’s just the two of us—no police, no gunfire, no kidnappers. My stomach tightens with nerves and longing. We haven’t had a single second to talk about… us.
Lincoln seems to sense the shift in the air. He glances down, brushing a thumb over the bruises circling my wrist, a pained look crossing his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That you got hurt, that… I wasn’t faster.”
A fierce wave of tenderness and frustration hits me. I step closer, letting my free hand press against his chest. “This isn’t your fault,” I say, voice thick. “You saved me. You and Dean. That’s all that matters.”
He lifts his gaze, emotion flickering in his eyes. “I meant what I said before,” he murmurs, “about protecting you. And I know we haven’t had time to figure out… what this is between us, but I—”
I swallow, tears threatening again. “I know.” My throat constricts around the admission.
I don’t have fancy words either, but the tension in my chest feels painfully real.
We share so much—the memory of that first undercover dance, the nights that blurred lines we never intended to cross, the terrifying vulnerability I felt in the container, calling his name.
“I’m still figuring it out, too,” I say. “But I want to figure it out—with you.”
His sigh of relief mingles with a faint, exhausted smile.
We stay like that for a moment, foreheads almost touching, until footsteps break the hush.
Dean appears, an arm bandaged and in a sling, Sophia at his side, the nurse trailing them.
Despite his injuries, Dean’s gaze zeroes in on us, reading the tension and closeness.
He clears his throat, eyes narrowed. “Everything good over here?”
A wry smile twitches at my lips, and I step back, letting Lincoln’s warmth linger against my arm. “Yeah,” I say softly. “We’re… good.”
Dean nods slowly, not pressing the topic—probably too exhausted himself. “Let’s get home,” he says, wincing as he adjusts the sling. “The hospital wants a few more forms filled out, then we can leave.”
Sophia’s eyes brim with gratitude as she looks at me. “Thanks for fighting, for being brave when… everything was so terrifying. I didn’t think—” Her voice chokes, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t think I’d see Dean again.”
I hug her gently, tears slipping free. “We made it,” I whisper, voice trembling. “That’s all that matters.”
Lincoln and Dean exchange a look, something like mutual respect passing between them—maybe a silent agreement that, for all the times they might butt heads, tonight they were unstoppable when it came to saving the people they love.
An hour later, we’re out in the hospital parking lot, the night sky fading into the early gray of morning.
Birds chirp in the distance, a mundane sound that feels jarringly normal after the chaos of shipping containers and gunfire.
Dean and Sophia head toward their car, planning to crash at home after picking up some medication.
I promise I’ll check on them soon, and Dean gives me a lingering, curious glance before nodding.
Lincoln opens the passenger door for me, helping me climb in. My muscles ache, my wrists sting, and every breath reminds me how fragile life can be. Still, the tension seeps away when he slides into the driver’s seat, gaze flicking over to me as if to confirm I’m there. We share a tired smile.
“You want to crash at your place or mine?” he asks, voice gentle.
I consider for a moment, heart pounding with newfound vulnerability. “Yours,” I finally say. “If that’s all right. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
He exhales, a faint smile curving his lips as he pulls the car out of the parking lot. “All right. We’ll figure out the rest in the morning. Together.”
And so we drive off, the horizon blazing pink with the promise of sunrise.
My eyes drift shut, lulled by the hum of the engine and the knowledge that, for once, I’m safe.
We still have so much to sort out—Lazarus Delgado is at large, Dean has questions, and our own relationship needs clarity.
But for now, it’s enough that Lincoln’s here, guiding me through the quiet dawn, arms ready to hold me if I slip.
Exhaustion claims me in a soft wave, head lolling against the seat, a fragile hope warming my chest. Because no matter how dark the last few hours were, we survived. And I have a feeling that with Lincoln by my side, I’ll find the strength to face whatever comes next.