Kyler
Northern Botswana FOB, South Africa
Ivy’s walking toward me like her bones hurt. Like her body doesn’t quite belong to her anymore. I slow when I reach her, falling into step at her side, careful not to crowd her. She doesn’t look up, but I rest a hand on her hip anyway. Gentle. Grounding. Just so she knows I’m here.
Fuck. She’s a mess.
Dried blood still clings to the edges of the bandage at her temple. Bruises bloom beneath her skin like someone had time. Took their time. But it’s her eyes that gut me. Vacant. Glazed. Gone.
She’s here, but not really.
We round the corner, and I lace my fingers loosely with hers as I guide her toward the flightline, toward the waiting Black Hawk.
Her wrists are wrapped in fresh gauze. And she smells like soap instead of the med bay.
Her long blonde hair has been washed and swings loosely from the high ponytail she’s gathered it into.
Someone was able to get her some clothes that fit her a little better than the sweats she was wearing last night.
I didn’t stay with her—I wanted to—but I was pulled in thirty different directions.
Intel debriefs, satellite recon reviews, planning her exfil down to the second.
Coordinating air assets, liaising with State, even fielding questions from command who suddenly gave a damn. Every minute was accounted for.
“I talked to my XO,” I say, pointing to the helicopter. “We’re going to get you home.”
Her head lifts just a little. “Now?”
“Soon. We’ve got you scheduled for an emergency exfil on the embassy bird. A C-17 out of Cape Town in an hour. An Air Force med crew is already prepped for it. I’ll be on the flight with you.”
“You will?” she whispers, like she doesn’t quite believe it.
“Damn right I will.” I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You think I’m letting you out of my sight again? Not a chance.”
She gives the tiniest laugh, but it’s there. A little exhale of breath that sounds like hope.
“The ambassador’s team’s already been briefed. They’re fast-tracking your repatriation paperwork and the medical clearance. They’ll make it look like you were injured during fieldwork and evacuated per protocol. Keeps your name off anything public. No press. No spotlight.”
Her shoulders relax just a little more.
“You’ll have a private room at Landstuhl for the next couple days,” I say, keeping my voice even. “They’ll do a full eval—physical and mental. Just protocol.”
She starts to tense, and I squeeze her hand gently.
“Then once you’re cleared for commercial, we’ll get you stateside.”
She blinks up at me. “We?”
“We. Command signed off on it this morning,” I say.
“Officially, I’m attached to your exfil as continued protective escort.
” I pause. “Unofficially? My unit knew I wouldn’t leave you behind.
Not like this. Not after—” I stop. Swallow.
Start again. “Let’s just say I wasn’t letting them put you on that flight alone. ”
A beat of silence passes between us.
“Turns out there’s some flexibility when you’ve just pulled a hostage out of enemy hands and haven’t slept in three days.” I try to smile. It doesn’t quite land.
She still doesn’t say anything.
“Ivy,” I murmur. “Talk to me, baby.”
Nothing.
I reach for her other hand, turning my body to face hers.
“I need you to come back to me, alright?” My voice cracks. I hate that it does. “You’re safe now. I swear it. No one’s going to hurt you again. Not while I’m breathing.”
She blinks slowly. Swallows. Doesn’t speak.
I exhale through my nose, pressing her hand to my chest. My heartbeat thunders beneath it. “You remember what I told you before you left? When you got on that plane?” My voice is barely above a whisper now. “I said I’d find you if something ever happened.”
Her eyes flicker. Just a little.
“I meant it,” I say. “I meant every damn word. And I’m going to keep meaning it. Every day. For the rest of my life if you’ll let me.”
“I love you,” she whispers, voice cracked and uneven.
My chest caves. Relief slams into me so hard I nearly fall forward.
“I love you more,” I whisper back, leaning in to press my forehead gently to hers.
She lets me.
I pull her into me. Wrapping one arm carefully around her shoulders, the other stays locked between us, our fingers threaded together. I press a kiss to her temple, soft and reverent. “You’re safe, baby. I promise. I’m right here. You’re not alone.”
She releases a slow, shaky breath and turns her face so that her cheek rests against my vest. Her breath fans warm and uneven against my skin. And my arm locks tighter around her like I can hold all her broken pieces together just by staying close.
I pull back just enough to see her face. To look into the golden eyes that I wasn’t sure I would ever see again.
She’s so pale and delicate and a thousand miles from steady. But the moment her gaze finds mine, I see a spark. Fragile, flickering. But it’s her.
I brush my thumb across her cheek. “I’m going to marry you one day.”
A tear slips down her cheek. “Is this you asking?”
I pause. Because it wasn’t but maybe it should be. Maybe a dusty flightline in a foreign country twenty-four hours after I thought I’d never get the chance is how our story’s supposed to go. “Do you want this to be how I ask you?”
She nods. Her lower lip quivers, and I know she’s trying not to cry again. So I lean in and kiss her, careful of her cuts. Just a soft, warm brush of lips that says everything I can’t fit into words.
It tastes like salt and heartbreak and everything I didn’t know I needed.
“Then it is. Marry me, Ivy Berkley.”
“Yes!” She nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Now, please take me home, Kyler Wade.”
I kiss her again because I can’t help it and this time she kisses me back. I pull away slowly, looking into her amber eyes. Her fingers grip my Kevlar like she’s hanging on for dear life. “You’re really coming with me?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head. “I’m coming with you.”
I lead her toward the helo. Toward Novak who helps her into it.
The rest of my unit is escorting us to Germany and then heading back here.
I climb up behind her, getting us both belted in before lacing our fingers together.
We take off and I feel her start to breathe easier.
Slower. Her body softens against the seat, her fingers curl around mine.
She’s not quite relaxed, but not braced anymore either.
And for the first time since I saw her name scroll across that screen, I let myself breathe too.