Chapter 58
Rachel woke to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, warm and bright across her face. She blinked against it, disoriented. The bed beside her was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
She sat up slowly, wincing as her ribs protested. Her body ached, deep, bone-tired ache that came from crying herself out and sleeping hard. But she'd slept. Actually slept.
She slid out of bed, still wearing Logan's shirt and her underwear from last night. Her bare feet hit the hardwood, the floor cool against her skin. She padded down the hallway, listening.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
She moved through the living room. The space was empty now, blankets folded, glasses cleared, the last traces of the team gone. Whatever noise had filled the house last night had faded with them.
She looked around. The kitchen was dark. The hallway empty.
"Logan?"
No answer.
Then she noticed the back door standing open, a rectangle of bright afternoon light spilling across the floor. Ocean air drifted in, carrying salt and the distant sound of waves.
She moved toward it and stepped out onto the patio.
Sunlight hit her immediately, warm and almost too bright after the dim interior. The ocean stretched out below the cliffs, endless blue under a cloudless sky. Waves broke in steady rhythm against the rocks.
Logan stood near the railing, arms braced wide as he leaned forward, staring out at the water.
He didn't turn when she came outside.
But the moment she stepped through the doorway, his shoulders shifted slightly. The rigid line of his back eased just a fraction.
Rachel paused, watching him. He'd showered at some point, his hair was damp, and he'd changed into clean clothes. But dried blood still marked his bandaged knuckles. His shoulders were set, tension visible in every line of him.
She crossed the stone patio slowly, her bare feet warm against the sun-heated pavers.
"Hey," she said softly.
Logan turned his head, and the look he gave her was heavy. Worn. But when his eyes found hers, something in his expression gentled.
"Hey, baby."
Rachel stopped beside him, wrapping her arms around herself. "What time is it?"
"Almost three."
Her eyes widened. "Three? Why didn't you wake me?"
"You needed to sleep." His voice was quiet, certain. No room for argument.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sleep so late. You should've—"
"Rachel." He turned fully to face her now, reaching out to cup her face. "You have nothing to apologize for."
She leaned into his palm, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she really looked at him. At the exhaustion etched into his face. The tightness around his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't answer right away. His hand dropped from her face, and he turned back toward the ocean. His jaw clenched once.
Then he shook his head.
"You should change your name," he said quietly. "Disappear for a while. Go somewhere safe. Somewhere in the middle of the countryside where no one knows who you are."
Her brow furrowed. "Logan—"
"I'm serious." His voice low. "You could build something normal. Find a place where no one's looking for you. Write under a different name. Leave this behind."
Rachel stared at him, caught off guard. He wasn't angry or distant, but the certainty in his voice cut deep.
"Every op, every mission—it costs pieces you don't get back." He looked away. "You've already given up too much. You deserve better than this."
"Don't," she said, her voice sharper. "None of this was your fault."
"You don't get it." He looked at her then, really looked. "You were taken from my house. My house, Rachel. You were under my protection, and they still got to you."
She held his gaze without flinching. "And I'm the one who left."
"I ran out to help Mrs. Chen," she said.
"I saw her fall and I didn't think—I just ran.
No weapon. No phone. I left the house wide open and ran straight into the open.
" Her voice stayed steady. "You saw the footage.
You know I made that choice. If I had stayed inside, called for help instead of running out there myself, they wouldn't have gotten near me. You didn't fail."
His hands tightened in hers.
"I chose this job," she continued. "I'm the one who recorded those men. I made the decision to publish. I walk into war zones because I believe people deserve the truth. That makes me a target, Logan. You didn't force me to do any of that."
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, then his voice came, low and strained. "Look at what they did to you."
His fingers tightened slightly around hers. "I should've been there faster. Your job might be to walk into war zones to document everything, but my job is to protect people, to save people, to kill bad guys. I wasn't fast enough."
Her chest ached, but she didn't let go. She stayed close, their hands still joined.
"You saved me," she said quietly. "I'm standing here because of you. I'm breathing because you didn't stop. The bruises will fade. The cuts will heal. But you—" She lifted her free hand to rest against his chest, right over his heart. "—you are the reason I'm okay."
His eyes closed. She felt the shift in him as the fight started to ease. Her words had cut through the guilt he was carrying.
"You didn't fail me."
His shoulders dropped slightly. The tension cracked but didn't break completely. Then, slowly, the edge of his mouth tugged into a crooked smile, weary but real.
"I really hate your job, baby."
It caught her off guard, and she let out a quiet laugh. The sound slipped free before she could stop it. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight between them lifted.
"You're not the only one," she said, a small smile pulling at her mouth.
Logan drew her in, one arm slipping around her waist as he pulled her close and kissed her. Deep and sure, no hesitation. When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his mouth brushing just above hers.
"That sound," he murmured. "I love the way you laugh."
His lips traced her jaw before trailing down the curve of her neck. Her breath hitched, then escaped as a soft moan.
He chuckled against her skin, rough and low. "And I'm going to make sure you make that sound every day."
Then he kissed her again, harder this time. His mouth moved against hers with intensity born of fear and need and relief. All the grief, the guilt, the fury poured into it.
Rachel answered with her own need. She moaned into his mouth, her arms sliding around his shoulders as her fingers grazed through the short hair at his nape. She needed the weight of him, the heat, the solid pressure of his body.
Logan moved with her, guiding them back across the patio until the backs of his legs hit the outdoor couch. He sank down without letting go, pulling her into his lap.
She straddled him without hesitation, her knees bracketing his hips. Her hands slid slowly over his shoulders, down the broad line of his back, palms pressing into the muscle beneath his skin.
His fingers gripped her hips, anchoring himself. He kissed her again, slower this time. Less frantic, but no less intense. His mouth moved with purpose, his hands steady on her.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. His breath came ragged between them. His chest rose hard beneath her hands.
He cupped her face gently, thumbs tracing slow lines along her cheekbones. His eyes never left hers.
"Rachel," he rasped, her name rough in his throat.
She held his gaze, her lips parted, her heart racing. "Say it," she whispered. "Whatever's got you looking like this."
His thumb brushed over her lower lip. His voice followed, rough and quiet.
"I love you."
Rachel stilled. The words hit hard, overwhelming. Her pulse roared in her ears, but her eyes never left his.
"I don't know when it happened," he said. "Maybe the first day, when you ran into me. Or when you looked me in the eye and told me you weren't afraid of me."
She couldn't speak. Her throat was tight, breath shallow, but she felt every word.
"I love you," he said again, firmer this time. "And I'm not letting you go."
Rachel's breath came out ragged as her palms traced down his chest, fingers finding scars she'd only glimpsed before. Under her touch, he was solid. Warm. Real.
He looked up at her, eyes searching. He held her close, waiting for the words he needed to hear.
"Say something, baby," he murmured, fingers curling at her waist.
Rachel smiled, a slow smile that softened her whole face. "I love you too."
The sound that came from Ghost’s chest was low and guttural, part exhale, part growl, then he kissed her again, all restraint gone.
Hot and possessive. Pure need. Completely hers.
She sank into him, into the kiss and the way he held her. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she laughed against his mouth, the sound soft and breathless.
"You're mine now, Parker," he muttered against her lips.
Rachel smirked, her forehead resting against his. "Good," she whispered. "Because you're mine too, Hayes."
He slipped his hands beneath the oversized shirt she wore, palms gliding over warm skin. The contact was slow, deliberate. She felt the heat of his touch everywhere, her whole body responding.
Rachel pulled back just enough to lift the shirt over her head. The fabric slipped free, falling to the ground. Cool afternoon air moved over her bare skin, but it wasn't the breeze that made her shiver, it was his gaze.
A guttural sound tore from his throat.
"Fuck, baby," he rasped. His hands rose, claiming her breasts. His thumbs circled her already hardened peaks with patient precision, teasing her until she gasped and arched into his touch.
His palms were rough and calloused but warm, every movement careful. She gasped. She felt herself responding, her body wanting more.
Just as his hands slid lower, he stopped.
His fingers flexed at her ribs, holding but not claiming. His breath slowed. His gaze wasn't on her lips anymore. It wasn't on her breasts.