Chapter 12
Russ
Lucas’s fist goes up.
Everybody drops instantly.
I slide behind a jagged stretch of rock and scan the valley below through the scope of my rifle.
Three vehicles crawl across the desert floor beneath us.
Slow.
Methodical.
Not random anymore.
Dust trails curl behind their tires as they split apart, sweeping different sections of terrain.
Searching.
“They’re adapting,” Clay mutters beside me.
“Yeah.”
And that’s bad news.
Because desperate men make mistakes.
Trained men learn.
I study the convoy another second before glancing back toward the group tucked into the rocks behind us.
Children huddled beneath blankets.
Mothers exhausted enough they barely react anymore.
And Olivia—
She’s crouched beside the smallest little girl, carefully wrapping another layer around her shoulders.
Her movements are slower today.
More controlled.
Every time she shifts, there’s the slightest tightening around her mouth.
Pain.
She’s trying hard to hide it.
Not hard enough.
I move closer without thinking about it.
Not obvious.
Just enough to reach her fast if she starts bleeding again.
Her eyes flick toward me immediately.
Always aware.
“You okay?” I murmur quietly.
“Fine.”
Automatic answer.
I glance pointedly toward the hand pressed subtly against her ribs.
Her mouth tightens slightly. “Manageable.”
Still not the truth.
Closer though.
I settle beside her anyway.
Close enough our shoulders almost touch.
She doesn’t move away.
Good.
The wind whistles softly across the ridge while engines rumble below us in the valley.
Nobody talks for a minute.
But I feel her beside me.
Every shift.
Every breath.
Every ounce of tension she’s trying to bury beneath that calm doctor mask.
“You’re staring,” she whispers finally.
“I’m thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
A rough breath almost turns into a laugh.
Almost.
“Depends what I’m thinking about.”
Her fingers still against the blanket in her lap.
Then quietly—
“What are you thinking about?”
I look at her fully then.
Probably a mistake.
Dust streaks her face. Exhaustion shadows her eyes. Her hair’s half falling loose from whatever was holding it back earlier.
Still the prettiest thing I’ve seen in years.
“You.”
The word lands between us heavy and immediate.
Olivia looks down briefly like she needs a second before meeting my eyes again.
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
The wind shifts colder across the ridge.
Below us, one of the vehicles slows near a dry creek bed.
I barely notice.
Because Olivia’s watching me now with that same guarded look she gets right before she says something honest.
“What about me?”
Everything.
The way she shields children before herself.
The way she almost died and still worried about everyone else first.
The way she melts against me in her sleep like her body trusts me before her mind does.
But none of that leaves my mouth.
“Trying to figure you out,” I say instead.
A faint tired smile touches her lips. “Good luck.”
“Same problem with you.”
Her shoulder brushes mine lightly when she shifts.
Neither of us moves away from it.
“You don’t want to figure me out,” I tell her quietly.
“Why not?”
Because there’s nothing good under the surface.
Because people close to me tend to end up buried.
Because I already know losing her would ruin me.
I stare back toward the valley instead of answering.
Olivia watches me for another second before asking softly—
“What happened to you?”
There it is.
The question I avoid better than bullets.
My jaw tightens automatically.
“Not now.”
I hear the disappointment in the silence that follows.
Small.
Quiet.
Still enough to bother me.
Damn it.
I drag a hand across my face hard enough to scrape over stubble.
Then before I can stop myself—
“Afghanistan.”
The word falls rough and flat between us.
Olivia stills beside me.
Doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t push.
Just waits.
I swallow once before continuing.
“Lost my team.”
The memory flashes anyway.
Blood.
Sand.
Smoke.
The sound of screaming over comms before silence swallowed everything whole.
My grip tightens against my rifle.
“They didn’t come home.”
Olivia says nothing for a long moment.
Then quietly—
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug once.
Automatic.
Meaningless.
But her hand slides slowly across the rock between us until her fingers brush against mine.
Not grabbing.
Not demanding.
Just there.
Warm.
Careful.
Human.
I look down at her hand touching mine.
Then at her.
“You’re still here,” she says softly.
The words hit harder than they should.
I huff a quiet breath. “Barely.”
Her fingers curl slightly against mine.
“But you stayed.”
Neither of us says the obvious.
So did she.
After being hunted.
After being shot.
After every chance to walk away.
Still here.
Still fighting.
Still beside me.
The convoy below us splits in two directions.
Lucas mutters something under his breath into comms.
I barely hear him.
Because Olivia’s closer again.
Not physically this time.
Something else.
Something worse.
Something deeper.
“Russ,” she whispers.
The way she says my name now feels different.
No distance left in it.
No pretending.
I turn toward her fully.
She’s already looking at me.
And there it is again.
That pull.
That impossible moment where the rest of the world fades out around her.
I’m done fighting it.
Done pretending this is temporary.
My hand lifts slowly to her face.
Enough time to stop me.
Enough time to pull away.
She doesn’t.
Her breath catches softly as my fingers brush her cheek.
The valley.
The convoy.
The mission.
All of it disappears.
There’s just her.
Her eyes drop briefly to my mouth.
That tiny movement almost wrecks my self-control completely.
I lean closer.
Slow.
Certain.
“Convoy’s splitting.”
Lucas’s voice cuts through the ridge like a gunshot.
I close my eyes briefly.
Seriously?
A quiet breath leaves Olivia that sounds dangerously close to disappointment.
Same.
I force myself back before I do something reckless in front of the entire team.
“Later,” I mutter roughly.
Her breathing’s uneven when she answers.
“…yeah.”
Later.
Not denial.
Not avoidance.
Promise.
And somehow that’s even more dangerous.
I shift back toward the valley and raise my rifle again, but everything feels different now.
Because this thing between us?
It’s not fading.
Not after carrying her through gunfire.
Not after waking up with her in my arms.
And definitely not after the way she just looked at me like she already knew I was hers.