4. Chosen
Hope
MacLeod’s Summit, San Francisco. 2130 hours
My feet are killing me.
Apparently, surviving a kidnapping doesn’t make four-inch heels any more comfortable. I kick them off beside the sofa and sigh as my toes hit the rug.
“Better?”
“Considerably.”
Forest grins from across the room.
He’s already lost the shirt he wore to The Vault tonight, which seems deeply unfair considering I’m still wearing a sequined dress, jewelry and enough makeup to qualify as structural reinforcement.
However, I’m not complaining about the view of his sculpted abs.
BBC’s charity gala was beautiful. It was also crowded.
For three hours, I smiled, talked, laughed and reminded myself that every person who came near me wasn’t a threat.
Mostly, it worked.
Forest never hovered. He stayed close enough that I always knew where he was, but he didn’t spend the night treating me like something fragile.
As an escort, he’s a perfect gentleman.
That mattered. A lot.
“You did okay tonight,” he says.
“I did better than okay.”
I look toward the windows and the San Francisco lights beyond them.
“I had fun.”
The realization surprises me enough that I smile.
There were moments when I forgot to watch the exits.
Moments when somebody approached from behind and I didn’t flinch.
I even danced.
Forest comes over and sits beside me.
“They raised a lot of money for the single fathers in the community,” he says. “Three hundred grand’s not to be sneezed at.”
“We’ll be invited to a few of those in the future. The Marinos are always doing something for the Baby Bump community.”
“Dr. Tran would probably tell me not to turn tonight’s dancing into another performance metric.”
“Smart man.”
“He’s been by a couple of times now.”
“How’s that going?”
“Better every time.” I tuck one leg beneath me. “He doesn’t judge. He mostly listens, asks questions and gives me things to think about without telling me what I’m supposed to feel.”
Forest takes my hand.
“I like him already.”
“So do I.”
I look down at our joined fingers.
Tonight wasn’t proof that everything is fixed. Joshua would probably have something very professional to say about that too.
But I went out.
I laughed.
I danced with the man sitting beside me.
And I came home happy.
That feels like progress.
MacLeod’s Summit, San Francisco. 2140 hours
Forest leans back into the sofa.
“So, Dr. Tran approves of charity galas now?”
“I don’t think that’s how therapy works.”
“Shame. I was hoping you’d get a certificate.”
I laugh and tuck my bare feet beneath me.
“Enough about me.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It probably is.”
I turn toward him.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
He considers it.
“I hate olives.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“You asked.”
“Something useful.”
“I can pack a parachute faster than Jax.”
“Can Jax confirm this?”
“No.”
“Then I’m disregarding it.”
His mouth twitches.
I study him.
“What was it like growing up with him?”
“Loud.”
“That I believe.”
“He was always looking for something to climb, jump off or race.”
“And you?”
“Usually right behind him.”
I grin.
“So nothing’s changed.”
“Not much.”
He tells me about Ontario winters, frozen lakes, hockey, arguments with Jax that lasted ten minutes and loyalties that lasted considerably longer.
I like hearing him talk about ordinary things. Family. School. Friends.
A life that existed before HAVEN, Vegas and me.
“And now you’re moving here.”
“Yeah.”
“All four of you.”
“Looks that way.”
There’s something different in his expression when he says it. This isn’t temporary or another deployment.
It’s a future.
“You’re happy about it?”
“I am.”
“Even leaving Canada?”
“What do your parents think about their two sons ending up with two sisters?”
“They think we all have good taste,” he laughs.
“I’ll still get back home to visit. HAVEN’s going to have us traveling anyway.”
Then his gaze settles on me.
“But San Francisco feels right.”
I know he means more than the job.
My pulse gives a small, ridiculous jump.
I smile.
“Even without proper poutine?”
“Careful.”
“I’m just saying.”
He reaches for me.
I dodge, laughing, and he catches my hand instead.
And somewhere between Ontario winters and bad cheese arguments, the future stops feeling abstract.
MacLeod’s Summit, San Francisco. 2215 hours
“I’ve been thinking about where I go after this.”
The humor leaves Forest’s face.
“Okay.”
“Mercy wants me with her.”
“I figured.”
“She’s trying very hard not to make it an order.”
“How’s that going?”
“Terribly.”
He smiles. I trace my thumb across his knuckles.
“I don’t want to hide forever.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“But I’m also not stupid. Whoever took me knows who I am. Going straight back to my apartment near Stanford probably isn’t the smartest move.”
“No.”
There’s something carefully neutral in his voice.
I narrow my eyes.
“You’ve already thought about this.”
“Maybe.”
“Forest.”
He exhales.
“The boys and I have been talking about getting a place closer to HAVEN once we’re properly settled here.”
I sit straighter.
“Jasper, Col and Pete?”
“Yeah. We’ve all accepted the jobs here. We’ll be based in San Francisco once we get everything sorted, with travel when HAVEN needs us.”
“And?”
His gaze meets mine.
“There’d be room for you.”
Oh.
“Are you asking me to move in with four men?”
“Three men and me.”
“That’s four men.”
“Technically.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t.
“You’d have people around. Better security. Closer to HAVEN. And you could keep doing your Stanford work remotely while things settle.”
“Like Covid all over again.”
“Except with significantly more armed Canadians. And me, of course.”
I grin. Then he reaches for my hand.
“But only if you want to.”
The seriousness in his voice catches me.
“I want you safe, Hope. I’m not going to pretend I don’t. After Vegas, I’ll probably worry every time you’re out of my sight for a while.”
His fingers tighten around mine.
“But I don’t want you living somewhere you hate because it makes me feel better.”
I study him.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
Simple as that.
“Safe would be great.” His expression softens. “Happy matters more.”
Something warm spreads through me. I lean closer.
“Then maybe we should start looking for a five-bedroom house. One spare.”
Forest blinks.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
His smile is worth every terrifying thing about what comes next.
Because this time, I get to choose where I’m going.
MacLeod’s Summit, San Francisco. 2230 hours
The clock on the bedside table reads half past ten, the quiet of the suite settling around us.
I look up from trying to unzip my gown.
“I need a shower. Unzip me, please?” I ask turning around.
Forest grins, leaning against the doorframe. “Want to conserve water in there?”
“Always doing my part for the planet,” I say, smiling back.
We strip each other down in the bathroom as dense mist billows from the double stall.
Stepping under the hot spray, the water slicks our skin.
We share the bar of soap, working up a thick lather across broad shoulders, ribs and down between parted thighs, our palms roaming with deliberate familiarity.
Once the soap rinses clear, I turn my back to him, pressing my rear directly against his rigid length. Forest dips his head, kissing the crook of my neck while his hands grip my waist. Angling his hips, he eases forward and seats himself fully inside me.
I brace both hands flat against the wet ceramic tiles. He finds a steady, driving tempo, filling me with deep strokes while the water cascades over our bodies. I push back to meet him, our skin meeting with sharp, wet slaps that echo over the roar of the shower.
His right hand slides down over my stomach, his thumb finding the swollen bud of my clit. He applies a steady, circular motion right where I need it most, drawing a ragged cry from me.
The pressure crests fast. Forest quickens his thrusts, driving hard and deep until my inner muscles clamp around him in a tight, shuddering release. He groans against my wet shoulder, his entire frame going rigid as his own climax breaks, pulsing deep inside.
We stand beneath the stream until our breathing slows and clean up a little more. When we finish, we step onto the mat to towel each other dry.
Forest cups my damp cheek, kissing me with quiet tenderness.
“I’m falling hard for you, Hope.”
I wink, leaning up to kiss his lips.
“I’ll catch you if you catch me.”
His smile is slow and certain.
“Deal.”
Since Las Vegas, thinking about what comes next doesn’t scare me.
A new house. My work. His work. Three ridiculous roommates. Too many weapons. Probably terrible Canadian food arguments.
And Forest beside me while I decide what I want that life to look like.
I slide my hand into his.
Whatever happens next, I’m not going backward.
I’m choosing forward.