39. No Pulse. Time of Death… #2
Until now, I’d been focused on the thing that scared me most—him failing to protect her. Maybe, somewhere deep down, I feared he’d make a move. But I hadn’t considered the bigger risk. That they might’ve built a deeper connection. Emotional.
And that—that was dangerous. That wasn’t something I could control.
I watch how he moves, controlled and careful. Each part of him a reminder of the beating he took, the bullet he took—for her.
As furious as I was after the gala, he’d earned back every inch of ground he lost. She was alive because of him.
I let out a slow breath.
“I’ll never be able to repay you for what you did that day.”
He looks at me, disbelieving, and huffs. “I lost my gun. I thought you’d be pissed.”
I study him. “You held on longer than most. With the injuries you had, that’s saying a lot.”
I pause. That part’s easy. What comes next isn’t.
“You earned my respect, Jackson.”
His gaze flicks to mine. He holds it a moment, then rolls his injured shoulder as if he’s attempting to shake something off.
Then he hesitates, deciding whether to say it. “I’m gonna give you a piece of advice, man.”
I don’t answer. Just stare back, expression hardening.
“You’re looking at her like she’s breakable.” His tone is even, but there’s steel in it. “Like she needs saving.”
My grip tightens on the arms of the chair.
“But she doesn’t, Mason. She saved herself.”
The words slam into me.
“She faced her worst nightmare and beat it. Not because you or I were there—because she fought. And she won.”
He lets it hang before leaning in.
“She doesn’t need you to stand in front of every threat. She needs you to trust that she can stand on her own.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw.
“You love her. I get that.” He breathes out, slower this time. “But if you keep trying to shield her from everything—every risk, every choice, every person—you’ll smother her.”
My stomach twists.
“And if you do that…” He shakes his head once, voice dipping quieter. “You won’t lose her to some outside threat.” A beat. “You’ll lose her all on your own.”
Moments later, she stirs again. Mercer and I freeze—watching, waiting, willing her to wake.
Then… her eyes flutter open.
She blinks through the fog, her gaze drifting, unfocused— until she locks on him.
A soft smile curls at the corners of her mouth. “Hey, sailor.”
The words knock the air from my lungs, landing low and brutal—a hit I never saw coming.
Mercer is at her side in an instant, his hand sliding gently into hers. He goes utterly still, like her touch alone is keeping him grounded. “Hey, ballerina.”
A single tear slips down his cheek, and Melina catches it with her thumb—slow, deliberate. I don’t know what I expected between them, but not this. There’s a familiarity I can’t explain, as if I’m watching something I’m not meant to see.
She watches him for a long moment, then brushes his cheek again, realizing more tears are falling.
“Hey…” Her tone is soft, raw. “Don’t cry, Jax.”
He exhales shakily, and when he speaks, his voice cracks under the weight of it, like the words themselves might break him open.
“I thought I lost you.”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “You almost did.”
For a minute, neither of them speaks. The silence between them is heavy, weighted..
Then he smirks—just barely. That lopsided, broken kind supposed to keep him from falling apart.
“Did you have a nice nap?” he murmurs, low and uneven.
She lets out a faint, breathless chuckle, her face twisting as the sound catches. Her hand drifts to her head, fingers trembling against her temple.
“I’ve had better,” she rasps.
Her speech is shredded, each word scraping with effort. She winces as her throat works, then licks her lips and tries once more. “How long have I been out?”
“Almost a full day,” he says quietly.
She goes still, tension pulling tight across her shoulders. Her free hand curls against the blanket. The next words are barely a whisper.
“Darren?”
The name slips out unsteady, like it costs her just to say it. Mercer’s jaw tightens, a shadow flickering through his eyes. He doesn’t answer. Just shakes his head.
She closes her eyes as if his response—unspoken but undeniable—hits harder than words ever could.
“Do the kids know?” Her voice is thin, threadbare.
Mercer nods once, solemn. “They were here earlier.”
She swallows, bracing herself from the inside out. Emotions flicker across her face, raw and unfiltered. Anger. Relief. Grief. Regret.
“How are they?” Her tone frays at the edges.
Mercer’s expression softens. “They’re okay,” he replies gently. “Shaken. But grateful you’re alive.”
She blinks hard, lips trembling, as she fights the rising tears.
His tone stays low, steady. “You did what you had to, Melina. You survived. That’s what matters.”
A hush settles between them—weighted, but warmer now. Human.
Then Mercer tips his chin in my direction, a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. “Look who finally decided to make an appearance.”
Her head snaps toward me, and she grimaces, a soft whine escaping as the motion hits.
“Matty.”
She says my name like a lifeline, and it knocks the wind out of me. Every fear I’ve carried—every sleepless night, every gnawing doubt that hollowed me out—lifts.
The look in her eyes is clear. Love. Quiet and fierce. Still mine.
Mercer exhales beside her and steps away from the bed. “I’ll go get a doctor, and… give you two some privacy.”
Emotion shadows his expression—vulnerability, maybe, buried under that easy confidence. Being close to her changed him. Softened his edges. Now that I’m back, he doesn’t know where he fits.
But I don’t give a damn. Because she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room, and for the first time in weeks—
I can finally exhale.
“Are you going to come kiss me,” she teases, “or keep sitting there all broody and introspective?”
My lips twitch, but I don’t answer. Not yet. It hits all at once—the mission, the crash, the blood, the memory of her lifeless on the floor. It slams into me, hard, cracking the wall I’ve been maintaining.
I look away, jaw tight, breath snagging somewhere between control and collapse. I exhale slow. Not breaking. Just holding.
“Hey.” Her voice softens. “Get over here.”
She pats the bed, and that’s all it takes. I cross the room in two strides and slide in beside her.
She folds into me instantly, body remembering before her mind does, forehead pressing to my chest.
“I missed you,” she murmurs.
I shut my eyes. The words hit deep.
“I missed you, too.”
Her brows knit, catching everything I’m unable to say. Her fingertips graze my jaw.
“Really, I’m okay,” she whispers, brushing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I turn and claim her lips fully. She’s oxygen. Without her, I can’t breathe.
She’s here. Safe and in my arms, where she belongs. For now—
That’s enough.