Chapter 20
ACE
“What if he hates me, like Davis?”
It’s the first thing Yara’s said since we left our hotel.
On the ride to the hospital, she was silent and pensive, gnawing on her lower lip while she stared out the window and nervously drummed her fingers on the dash.
And even before that, while we were at our hotel in Bethesda, getting ready to leave, she was quiet—only giving brief responses whenever I’d ask her a question.
Would you like coffee? Sure.
Do you want to order room service for breakfast? No thanks, I’m not hungry.
Are you feeling okay? Yes. I’m fine.
And it was the fine I’ve learned doesn’t really mean fine. It just means, I don’t want you to worry.
But I am worried. How could I not be?
Yara’s one of the strongest people I know, but even strong people reach their breaking point, eventually. And when I think about everything she’s been through over the last couple of months, I’m honestly surprised she’s held it together this long.
Actually, no. I’m not. Because on top of being strong, Yara’s stubborn.
She refuses to let her struggles define her.
That asshole Winthrop, Davis, getting fucking shot in Iran—and yes, she was shot, I don’t give a shit that she was wearing a vest, I’ve seen the damn bruise that covers half her chest—and her worry for everyone but herself.
Oh, and the three months she was held captive, of course. It doesn’t matter if it happened three years ago, or thirty. That’s something she’ll never be completely free of.
So, yeah. If her rigid control slipped, I wouldn’t blame her. But it hasn’t.
We’re nearly to the hospital entrance when Yara asks her question, and I don’t want to get into a serious discussion in the busy lobby. So I steer her off the sidewalk and onto the yellowed grass, then grasp her arms and turn her to face me. “Why would Malik hate you?” I ask.
Her forehead creases. “Because.”
“Because?” I raise my eyebrows at her. “That’s not much of an answer.”
She chews on her lip again. Then her gaze moves from my face to my arm.
My injured one, more specifically, though the bandages are hidden beneath layers of clothing.
That’s one of the big things she’s been worried about—first that I’d bleed to death in that shitty house in Iran, then, during our seemingly endless trip back to the States, that I’d end up with blood poisoning or an infection.
And even now, despite the assurances of the doctor, she’s not fully convinced that I’m really okay.
“Maybe you should see a specialist,” she brought up yesterday. “There could be nerve damage. I bet Tyler could get you in to see one of the best.”
“My arm’s going to be fine,” I reassured her. “I’ve been shot before, you know.”
In hindsight, maybe bringing up the other times I’ve been shot wasn’t the best idea at the time. As soon as I said it, Yara rushed off to the bathroom, and when she finally emerged, her eyes were all pink and swollen.
Which, shit. I didn’t mean to upset her. I thought I was helping. But when I mentioned it to Rafe in the hotel gym first thing this morning, he just shook his head. “Never bring up shit like that, Ace. It’ll never turn out well.”
“But Yara knows how it is,” I protested. “She’s been through it. She knows the dangers—”
“It’s different now,” he interrupted. Then he smirked at me. “Being in love and all. It changes things.”
He had a point. Being in love does change things.
Somehow, it makes things simultaneously more amazing and terrifying.
When I’m with Yara, when I even think about her, it’s the best thing in the world.
But I’m absolutely terrified of anything bad happening to her.
That’s why bringing her to Iran was so fucking scary.
And shit, she was hurt, just as I feared.
But on the flip side, she had my six when I needed her. And that’s pretty fucking amazing, too.
Realizing Yara’s still staring at my arm instead of answering my question, I jostle her gently to get her attention. “Tink.”
Her eyes jump to mine. “What?”
“Stop staring at my arm. I promise, it’s not going to fall off.”
She frowns. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“If you keep staring at where I got hurt,” I tease, “then I’ll have to stare at where you were hit, too.” Dropping my gaze to her chest, I eyeball her breasts for a few seconds before looking back up at her. “Not that I’d complain. But I’m not sure you’d like it.”
Yara’s lips twitch. “I don’t mind when we’re home alone. But maybe not in the hospital. And probably not when we’re visiting Malik. That might be weird.”
“It might be,” I agree. “So. Now that you’re not going to stare at my arm—which, for the record, is going to be fine—why don’t you tell me why you think Malik hates you?”
She sighs. “All the reasons Davis hates me, to start. The way I was treated compared to the others. That I was rescued after three months—”
“Three months is a long time,” I interrupt. I’m tired of Yara trying to brush it off like it’s nothing. Like because she wasn’t held as long as Davis or Malik, she didn’t suffer terribly.
“But three years, Ace. That’s so long.” Moisture gleams in her eyes. “He must have been wondering why I didn’t come sooner.”
“Yara. That’s just not true. No one would expect you to stage an independent rescue, even if you did know where he was. Or that he was even alive. Which you wouldn’t have known, since everyone thought he was dead.”
Well, except for Davis, that is. But he was so wrapped up in his plans for vengeance against Yara, he didn’t consider anything or anyone else. Which makes him complicit in Malik’s captivity, in my opinion. Davis had been out for six months, and he never told anyone.
But Davis is a piece of shit, so I guess I’m not surprised. Any sympathy I might have had for what he went through disappeared the second he laid a hand on Yara.
Yara looks past my shoulder at the entrance to the hospital. Then she sighs again. “Logically, I know you’re right. I just can’t help worrying that I’ll get into Malik’s room and he’ll tell me to leave.”
“Tink. You talked to him on the trip home. Why would he say that now?”
“Because he was hooked up to an IV with painkillers at the time,” she explains. “And we had just rescued him. He was overwhelmed and not thinking clearly. But now…”
Yara trails off, looking sadder than before.
“Tink.” I hug her to me, ignoring the flare of pain in my arm. “Malik does not hate you.”
“He’s probably wondering why I didn’t come the day he was admitted to the hospital.”
“The doctors said only family to start,” I remind her. “You couldn’t have seen him.”
“But what if—”
I cup Yara’s cheek. Her skin is chilled from the December weather. “Stop what-if-ing. Let’s just get inside and go see him. You’ll discover that Malik doesn’t hate you.” I pause before adding lightly, “And that I’m right. As always.”
As I had hoped, Yara snorts softly. “You mean you’re right for once?”
“Right all the time,” I repeat, hiding my smile. Then I loop my good arm around her shoulders and start heading towards the hospital again. “It’s tough, really, being right all the time. It gets kind of tiring, honestly.”
Yara laughs.
My heart lifts.
“I think you mean I’m right all the time,” she parries back. “And you’re right. It can get tiring, sometimes.”
“Oh, really?” I kiss her cheek as we continue down the sidewalk. “So you’re saying you were right about the best method to throw a bowling ball?”
She laughs as she lightly jabs me with her elbow. “Okay, fine. Maybe my technique isn’t as good as yours. But that’s the only time you were right.”
“I’ll take my wins where I can get them,” I reply cheerfully.
Honestly, I don’t give a shit about being right. It reminds me of something Alec told me after getting together with his fiancée, Hazel. “I never would have thought it before,” he said, “but seeing her smile, and knowing I put it there? It’s the best feeling in the world.”
Before, I didn’t really get it. Now, I do.
When we enter the hospital, Yara tenses a little. She squeezes a little closer to me. Sensing she needs it, I drop my arm from her shoulders and take her hand. Her fingers lace between mine, holding on tightly.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say as we wait for the elevator. “I’m sure of it. He’s going to be thrilled to see you.”
Once we’re inside the elevator, Yara turns to me. “I forgot to ask earlier. Did you hear from Rafe? Are we—” Her cheeks go pink. “Is everything okay?”
I know what she intended to ask. Are we in the clear after our extremely unsanctioned trip to Iran?
Tyler, along with Leo and Matt, did their best to erase any sign of our involvement.
The Army wouldn’t be too thrilled, after all, to discover that we took it on ourselves to rescue a hostage instead of sending the intel through official channels.
The story, as Malik promised to tell it—we discussed it in depth before leaving Armenia—is that he escaped his captors on his own, hitched a ride with a local to the Armenian border, and found his way to an airport from there.
Even exhausted and in pain, Malik understood why we needed to keep the real story a secret. “I get it,” he said. “And I won’t say anything about you guys. I promise.”
I might not know Malik well, but I believe him. And I know, despite Yara’s worries to the contrary, that Malik doesn’t hate Yara at all. He would never do anything to get her in trouble. Just like I never would with any of my teammates.
Mindful of the camera peering at us from the top corner of the elevator, I respond to Yara’s question in the same, vague way. “Everything’s good,” I tell her. “Rafe stopped by the room while you were showering. He said there’s nothing to worry about.”
Yara releases a heavy breath. “Good.”
A bell dings, signaling we’ve reached our floor, and the elevator stops with a little jerk. As the doors slide open, I squeeze Yara’s hand lightly. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”
She looks up at me with so much trust in her eyes, it almost brings me to my knees. “As long as I have you, I know it will be.”