Kyler
Richmond International Airport
We idle under the drop-off sign while summer heat shimmers off the pavement, way too bright for how wrong this feels. I put my truck in park. Not off. Just park. Temporary. Like this whole damn idea should have been.
Ivy’s already moving, light on her feet like she always is. Her backpack’s wedged behind the seat. One carry-on. One suitcase to check. Three months’ worth of optimism zipped into pink luggage that looks ridiculous sitting in the bed of my blacked-out Tacoma.
I round the back and drag her suitcase down. The wheels thunk against the pavement.
She’s at the tailgate, already reaching for the carry-on. I place my hand on the small of her back. “I’ve got it.”
She gives me that look. Eyebrows arched. Fighting a smile. “I can carry my own bag.”
“I know you can. It doesn’t mean you have to.” She doesn’t argue. I guess she decides she’s already won the biggest battle and doesn’t need to fight this skirmish.
Her manicured fingers brush mine as I give her the backpack. My jaw locks and I look away from her pink nails, away from her small hand, away from her. Because if I look at her too long, I’ll break. “I still don’t like this,” I say again.
“I know,” she says softly, almost guilty.
I stare at the terminal entrance. People hugging. Kissing. Crying. And Ivy? She’s calm. Confident. Completely unaware that she’s walking into the kind of region I’ve spent years extracting people from.
“You don’t understand where you’re going,” I mutter. “You think you do, but you don’t.”
“I’ve done my research, Ky.” She loops her arms through the straps of her backpack and places her hands on her hips. She looks all indignant and it’s adorable.
But less adorable when I remember where she’s about to jet off to. “And I’ve done the fucking job, Ivy.” She doesn’t know the details, she doesn’t have to. She’s seen the news or Instagram or wherever the fuck people find shit out.
That lands. Her eyes narrow a little. “I know.”
“Then why the hell are you still getting on that plane?”
She exhales slowly, shifting the backpack on her shoulder. “Because this matters to me. Because those girls matter. Because not everything has to be about fear. Your job has made you jaded, Ky. There’s more good than bad in the world, they just only ever call you in for the bad.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “You’re damn right they do. And where do you think they’re sending me?”
Ivy steps closer, reaching up to fix the collar of my shirt like she always does when she’s trying to soften me.
Then she places her hand on my cheek and levels me with a look that tells me to surrender.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re good at your job,” she says before planting a kiss on my cheek.
I look down at her. Bare shoulders. Wind in her hair. Her face open and so fucking sure of what she’s doing.
She tilts her head to the side. “You could just say you’ll miss me.”
“I’ll miss you,” I say. So much I feel sick.
Her expression falters for a second. I look away from her beautiful face.
I should stop. But I can’t. “I think about what could happen to you over there, Ivy, and I can’t breathe. You have no idea how easy it is for someone to disappear in that part of the world. One missed check-in. One wrong turn. One van with dark windows and the right papers. You’re gone.”
Her throat works. “I’ll be smart.”
“You’ll be lucky.” I grab her wrist gently and slide my hand down to her fingers, lacing mine with hers. They’re cold.
“You know,” I murmur, finally looking at her, “you could stay.”
She smiles like I just asked her to stay in and skip a party. “Kyler…”
“No, I mean it. I’ll book us a cabin in Shenandoah. Or we’ll go to the beach. I’ll take leave. You don’t need to do this. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything.”
“Then don’t go.”
She watches me for a long second, something flickering behind her eyes. Then she leans in and kisses me again, only this time, it’s slower. Deeper. Like goodbye. Then she smiles, soft and sad. “If I don’t go, I’ll regret it.”
And that’s the end of it.
I nod. Once. Tight.
“Then don’t forget what you’re leaving.”
I never break eye contact as I pull the checked bag from the bed and set it down beside her, staring at her like it’s the last time I’ll see her. Because there’s a part of me that feels like it is. Maybe it’s gut instinct. Maybe it’s just fear. Maybe it’s both.
“Come back to me,” I say quietly. “I swear, Ivy, if something happens to you—”
She steps into me, grabs my face in her hands. “Kyler. Stop.”
My hands slide around her waist, down her hips.
I kiss her hard. No restraint. No self-preservation.
I kiss her like the world’s ending and she’s the last thing I’ll ever touch.
She makes a small noise against my mouth, fingers knotting in my hair.
We’re still kissing when someone clears their throat behind us.
“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to—”
I pull back just enough to glare at the security guard. Just a guy in a polyester shirt with a badge and too much authority. I could put him on his ass in under three seconds. I know it. He probably does too.
But I don’t.
Instead, I give him a polite nod. “Yeah. We’re good.”
Ivy’s smiling through tears now. “He was just being romantic,” she says to the guard, and it’s such a soft little lie I want to marry her right here on the curb.
The man walks off, muttering something.
I look at her again. Memorize her. Freckles. Amber eyes. Hope.
I grab the handle of her suitcase and wheel it to the curb. She reaches for it but I don’t let go until the last second.
She’s blinking fast now, trying not to cry. “I’ll call when I land.”
“You better.”
“And every day.”
“And if you don’t, I’ll be on a plane before your voicemail finishes.”
She swallows. Smiles. “I love you, Ky.”
“I love you, baby,” I say. I watch her until she disappears into the terminal. Then I stand there, in the goddamn heat, heart cracked open in my chest, knowing I just let the best thing in my life walk straight into a place I can’t protect her. And I fucking hate it.