38. Rhett
38
RHETT
R elief. Shock. Joy. They hammer into me. Boom, boom, boom .
I’m out of my seat and beside her the moment her words sink in. She’s pregnant. With one of our babies. It might be mine. I don’t care if it isn’t. I want them both, the whole package, so badly that it aches under my ribs.
My mouth seeks her cheek, hot and wet from her tears. I kiss every one of them away, tugging her closer.
I’m so fucking happy to have her. To have this.
I cup the side of her face and nuzzle her behind her ear, breathe her in.
Sloane clears her throat. “You guys aren’t upset?”
Without planning it, we all say no simultaneously.
Her tears fall in earnest now. We surround her, hold her, stroke her arms and legs and back, plant kisses on her.
I press my mouth to her ear as the tears slow again. Words touch my tongue. I can’t hold them back any longer. “I love you.”
Her breath hitches. And a second and third time when Cole and Shep echo my words to her.
She dissolves into sobs again, her forehead leaning into Cole’s shoulder. Her hand grips the front of my shirt, and I hope these tears are happy ones. The stark differences between the event she just went through and her usual life can trigger strong emotions.
But when her grip loosens and she leans back to wipe her face, she mutters, “Hormones.”
I grin at her, take her hand, and lift it to my lips. “It’s more than that. We know.”
Her laugh is half hysterical. “You’re all sure about this? You’re not going to change your minds?”
I frown at her. Shep and Cole do the same.
“No,” Cole says.
Sloane meets each of our gazes for a beat and nods. “Good, because I don’t think I could handle it if you did. Not after this. Not with…”
The way her voice cracks and breaks off pulls a soft grin out of me.
“Come on. You can say the words. It’s not that hard.” Shep nudges her, ever prodding her.
She elbows him good-naturedly. “You make it hard to love you sometimes. But you’re lucky I do.”
He lights up. “See? Wasn’t so hard. Especially since we’ve all said it already.”
She glowers at him, then touches Cole’s face and tells him she loves him. Then, she turns to me, and her stormy eyes are full of lightning strikes. “I love you.”
I’m so warm, so happy, so full. Complete.
“I love you, too.”
The plane jostles, and she leans back, braced. “That being said, you guys are currently in the blast zone. I need a barf bag.”
Cole grabs her one, coaxing her between her knees as we give her the room she needs to breathe.
We need to get her to a hospital, but it’s hours until we make it back home. Sloane spends most of her time with her eyes closed, leaning against one of us until we land and take her for testing.
The moment we mention kidnapping and a baby, she’s admitted right away. Shep gets treated fairly quickly, too, needing stitches in his left arm.
Sloane asks for Reese when I’m let into her room. “They want to do more tests, but I’m not going to be able to settle down until I see my baby.”
Cole steps out to give the sitter a call as I approach to kiss the side of her head. “The boss is taking care of it. What have they told you so far?”
“I’m fine. Everything looks fine.” But she winces as she shifts on the hospital bed.
“Sloane.”
“Bruised ribs. They’re not broken. A bump on the head. They don’t think I have a concussion, but they want to observe me a little longer, and they’re running tests on my blood to confirm… the pregnancy.” Sloane’s eyes close and exhaustion slumps her back.
My hand tangles in her hair at the back of her head, rubbing the base of her skull and down her neck. She sighs, her lids flutter, and those stormy eyes peer up at me. I can’t keep my confession at bay. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”
Her eyes round just a little, and they warm as she reaches up to brush her hand over my rough cheek. “You’ll make a good dad.”
I grin at her, my heart so full that it can’t be contained. Her smile back is a gift. I’ll never take it for granted after this. We float in this bubble for a minute before Cole stirs in the doorway. His nod toward the hall bursts the happy peace.
Dropping another kiss in her hair, I retreat, hating the worried line forming between Sloane’s brows.
Shep is waiting in the hall, fiddling with the bandage on his arm under his sleeve.
Cole’s back in boss mode as he wipes his palm across his jaw and chin. “The babysitter says Alistair picked Reese up early this morning with a smug lawyer and a police escort.”
Rage explodes inside me, mirrored in how Shep’s features shut down and his eyes harden. A phone is to his ear in seconds. After a pause, he breathes, “Do it.”
“He has to have some crooked friends in some high places.” My voice is nearly a growl as I pull out my own phone.
“Don’t we all.” Cole nods and brings his phone to his ear. It’s time to set this right and put that asshole in his place.
I have one contact that can help us cut through the red tape, and it’s someone I promised myself I’d never call, but there is no way that I can’t do this for Reese. For Sloane.
I press call on my ex-wife’s contact.
“Rhett?” Her voice tears into me, still so soft and accommodating when she says my name. “Is this a butt dial? Are you there? Rhett?”
“Sam. I need your help.”
Her laugh is soft. “Since when have you ever needed my help?”
I clear my throat. “Well, I need Frannie’s help.”
She sighs. “Frankie. Her name is Frankie.”
“Listen. Sorry. It’s about a six-year-old girl being taken from her mother while she was being held hostage by an arms dealer. Can you help?” I press on the spot between my brows as a headache starts to form.
Sam’s silence drops my hope. “If she’s been taken by the father?—”
“She hasn’t,” I cut in. “It’s complicated, but the man who’s taken her… he’s not her father.”
“You’d better explain. Wait. Let me grab her.”
And I unload the story for her because Frankie—the U.S. Marshall my ex-wife left me for—can cut through a lot of the red tape involved here. Especially since she works closely with the custody enforcement unit. It’s the only reason I’ve broken the six-month silent truce between us.
“Fuck. Okay. That’s a lot. But I can work with it. Let me pull some strings and push some papers over here. I’ll call you back when I’ve made progress.” Frankie’s voice is low, solid, and sure. She’s a beast when she takes charge. I’ve only seen it once, but it was enough.
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“No. But you can forgive Sam and come to dinner next time she invites you.” And there’s the blow.
I suck in a deep, steadying breath. Grating against my pride, Reese’s safety and Sloane’s happiness mean more. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
“Talk soon.” And the line goes dead.
I need to move to burn off this overwhelming heat. My agitated steps draw the attention of the reporter who's been nosing around to get a story. We haven’t let her anywhere near Sloane, but now… Now, that doesn’t seem like a bad idea.
Her microphone is up and her camera man is at attention as I approach. “You’re one of the SEALs that came in with the recovered hostage. Can you tell me about what happened?”
I wave my hand to cut her off. “We have something more important to talk about, and if you can help me, I’ll give you an exclusive.”
She blinks her big, brown, owlish eyes at me before she tucks a tight curl back behind her ear. The microphone doesn’t lower an inch. “What kind of important thing?”
I point to her set up. “Off the record first, then we’ll have a formal talk.”
It takes her a few solid seconds before she lowers her microphone and signals her cameraman to do the same.
“We’ve got a woman who just helped us take down a major player in illegal arms deals and who’s come home to her ex having taken illegal custody of her child.” Our gazes lock before she nods slowly.
“You need to make a little noise? Sway public opinion?”
“Yes. Can you do it?”
Her laughter is light as she pulls out her notebook. “Yeah. I can do that. Give me the details you can.”
He lays out what’s safe to give, a little background about Alistair without dropping his name, the story about the babysitter, and why Sloane was separated from her daughter to begin with.
The reporter taps her notebook with her pencil. “Okay. We’re on this. And you promise me an exclusive with your team, and the mom, once the little girl’s returned?”
“Yes.” I offer her my hand to shake to seal the deal.
She takes it. “Let’s make this happen.”
It’s less than an hour later when we see the story of Sloane, a single mom, helping to take down the major stop in an illegal arms ring. She’s a civilian and a hero. And her daughter has been taken from her while she was fighting to keep this country and the soldiers she serves safe.
The reporter doesn’t ham it up, thankfully, and she hits the points with a fervor that makes emotions stir in my chest. Sloane grabs my hand as she watches, her eyes wide.
“How?”
I squeeze her hand. “We’ve got every play we can make going. Your ex will not get away with this, even if we have to resort to using public opinion to control the narrative.”
“She made it sound like I was integral in stopping a terrorist attack.” Her disbelief is clouded by the fear and doubts that come with being separated from her daughter.
We all hover, waiting for the contacts and favors we’ve called in, waiting for the doctor to tell us anything new about Sloane’s condition.
It doesn’t take long to hear from Alistair. When Sloane answers her phone, my phone rings with a caller that I can’t ignore.
Frankie’s voice is clear and authoritative. “We’re in the process of finalizing the paperwork. A judge is waiting, and I’ve somehow gotten a surge of support to bury this guy as need be. Your work?”
“Mine and my team’s.”
Her laugh is softer than I expect. “Of course. My sources say he’s on the phone negotiating with her as we speak. We’ll recover Reese the moment every piece is in place.”
“How long?”
“Within the hour. We’ll get that little girl back to her mother.”
“I want to be there so she has a friendly face through the chaos.”
Frankie pauses. “Fine. I’ll text you the location.”
Relief. And a macho sense of pride that I will get to see that smug asshole’s face when he’s finally realized he lost.
“Nice touch with the news story, by the way.” The praise almost makes me want to like her. I’m not there yet, though.
“Thanks. I do what I can.”
By the time everything is in motion, we have enough to lay waste to him if he doesn’t sign the papers and hand Reese over.
I’m waiting with the team of Marshals as Frankie stands tall, her willowy frame misrepresenting how formidable she is.
Alistair looks like a slimy bastard, the kind of man I will gladly trip and have fall into my fist a few times.
The moment Alistair scrawls his signature across the last page of the paperwork, I push past him into his house to where Reese is waiting on an oversized wingback chair. Every detail of the house screams pretentious prick, so I home in on that little girl’s sweet face.
Her eyes light up when she sees me, and I crouch down in front of her. “You okay?”
Reese nods. “Are you here to take me back to my mommy?”
“I am.”
She flings herself into my arms, wrapping herself so neatly around me, and it is the sweetest feeling. The fury and defeat on Alistair’s face as I take her from him are the next best.
Everyone but the villain loves a happy ending.