Dalton
Hampton, Virginia
My words hang there, but I don’t take them back and I don’t look away.
And for a second, neither does she. Ivy just stares at me like she’s trying to reconcile something that doesn’t quite make sense, like she’s seeing me differently now.
Her breathing is still uneven from dancing, from everything she just said, and from everything she didn’t.
There are tear tracks still drying on her cheeks, and there’s something fragile in the way she’s holding herself—like if I say the wrong thing, she’ll shut down completely.
So I don’t move and I don’t push, I just stand there and let her take it in.
“You were there,” she says finally, her voice quiet and a little unsteady.
“I was.”
Her brows draw together slightly. “And you didn’t…say anything?”
“I didn’t know how,” I admit. “And I didn’t want to make things worse for you. Kyler knows, though.”
Her gaze drops for a second, like she’s turning that over. “He what?”
“When he brought you and Hadley to my house, I told him. Our paths have crossed over the years. Since before your abduction and many times since.”
“So the mission he was talking about? The one that went south. That wasn’t your first time doing a joint op?” I can see the wheels in her mind turning, trying to piece together things that I probably can’t tell her.
“No,” I say, shaking my head once.
“So what you do, most of it…is classified?” She makes a face when she says the word and I get the sense she hates that Kyler has had to keep her in the dark.
“It is. Not my demo team stuff. But when we deploy, most of what we’re doing—and oftentimes even where we’re sent—isn’t something I can talk about.” I keep my tone gentle.
Her amber eyes darken. “You can’t tell your wife? Logan can’t tell Lila?”
“I don’t have a wife.” I smirk.
She glares at me, but there’s no real venom in the look.
“It depends on the situation, not every one is the same. But when something is classified, no, we can’t talk about it with anyone not read in. That includes wives, as I’m sure you learned while married to Kyler.”
She nods. I clearly didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, but she doesn’t look surprised. I probably just verified what Kyler has said.
“What do you remember from that day?” I ask.
“I don’t remember much,” she says slowly. “Just…pieces. Lights. Noise. Yelling. Gunshots.” She swallows. “And then I remember the door exploding and then Kyler…he—” She blinks rapidly like she’s rewatching whatever it is she’s remembering. “He…” She swallows.
“Did what he had to do to save you,” I finish so she doesn’t have to.
Probably put a bullet through someone. Or knifed them down. If I had to guess, she probably had to watch him take a life.
“And then I was in his arms and I’m not really sure. It’s fuzzy after that. Until the next day when we flew to Germany.”
That tracks. What I saw—she wasn’t in any condition to remember much of anything.
“I’m sure they had given you some sedatives and something to help with the pain” I tell her, keeping my voice steady even though the memory is anything but. Her shoulders tense slightly at that, but she doesn’t shut down so I keep going. “The doc released you and you fell into me.”
Her eyes lift back to mine, something flickering there. “I don’t remember that.”
“I know.”
“Did we talk?”
“No. I steadied you and Kyler rushed back over. They’d pulled him aside, probably some update on something, I don’t know. But you were safe, so I let you go.”
A small, fragile silence settles between us.
“You—you let me go?” This question hits harder than anything else she’s said because she already knows the answer. My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “You didn’t need me. You weren’t mine to protect.”
She visibly swallows.
“I don’t know how he found me. I really didn’t understand what he did until the moment he was in front of me.
Untying ropes and cutting tape and carrying me out.
I thought I was going to die there. But even still, I didn’t let them see me cry,” she says, her voice quieter now.
“Not once. I don’t even know why that mattered, but it did. ”
Something in my chest pulls tight. “You don’t have to justify any of that,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says quickly. “I just—” She exhales, shaking her head. “I needed to feel like I still had control over something.”
“You did,” I say.
Her eyes flick back to mine.
“You made it through,” I continue, holding her gaze. “That’s control.”
Her throat works around another swallow, and I see it—the moment something in her shifts.
She’s not fixed, she’s not even healed. But she knows someone sees her.
She steps closer to me. Close enough that I can see the way her lashes are still damp, the way her chest rises and falls just a little too fast, the way her mouth parts slightly like she’s about to say something but doesn’t.
My gaze drops without permission. Just for a second. To her lips.
And when I look back up, she’s looking at mine.
The moment is tight, charged.
And then she moves. It’s not hesitant. Not really. It’s like something in her finally gives way. Her hand comes up first, fingers brushing lightly against my jaw. Then her lips meet mine softly. Barely there at first. A question more than anything else.
And for a second I don’t move. Because I know what this is. What it means. Where it’s coming from. But then she exhales against my mouth, and there’s something in it—relief, emotion, everything she just let out—and I feel it straight through my chest.
So I kiss her back, just enough to meet her where she is.
Her fingers tighten slightly at my jaw, and the kiss deepens by a fraction—still soft, still tentative, but no longer just a question.
And the world narrows down to just this. Her. The warmth of her mouth. The way she leans into me like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
Her mouth snaps from mine like she just realized what she did. “I’m sorry,” she breathes, her hand dropping immediately, her eyes wide. “I didn’t—I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” The word comes out firm.
She freezes.
“Ivy—no,” I repeat, softer this time, stepping into the space she just tried to put between us.
Her breath catches.
“You don’t get to apologize for something I wanted every bit as much,” I tell her quietly.
“I do,” she insists, shaking her head. “That wasn’t fair to you. I haven’t kissed anyone but Kyler in over six years, I don’t know why I thought I could just—”
“Hey.” I reach for her without thinking, my hands settling at her waist, stopping her before she can spiral any further. She stills under my touch. “That wasn’t nothing,” I say, holding her gaze. “And you don’t have to pretend it was.”
Her expression wavers, tears gathering in her eyes and making them sparkle.
“You felt something,” I continue, softer now. “So did I.”
Her breath shakes slightly.
“And I’m not going to stand here and let you apologize for it like it was a mistake.”
The words hang heavy and honest as her eyes search mine like she’s trying to find something—doubt, hesitation, anything that would make this easier to dismiss. She doesn’t find it.
And that’s when I do it. I close the distance, one hand sliding up, fingers brushing lightly along her jaw before settling at the back of her neck, just beneath her bun. The other wraps tighter around her back, pulling her small frame against my chest.
And then I kiss her.
She inhales softly against my mouth, her hands coming up almost instinctively, gripping the front of my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.
I fight to keep it slow even though everything in me wants to deepen it, to pull her closer, to see how far this could go, but I don’t.
Because this isn’t about that. Not yet.
This is about her. About this moment. About what she just trusted me with.
So I keep the kiss soft and when I finally pull back, I don’t go far. I lean back just enough to look at her.
Ivy’s eyes are still closed for a second, her breathing uneven. When they open, there’s something different there.
Something new.
And it hits me all over again this isn’t just tension anymore.
This is real.