Chapter 61
Russ
Idon’t knock.
I should.
I don’t.
The door closes quietly behind me as I step into Olivia’s room.
She’s by the window this time.
Not in the bed.
Wrapped in a loose hospital sweater, arms folded lightly across herself as she looks out at the city below.
Alive.
Standing.
Breathing.
That still hits me.
Harder than anything else.
“You’re not supposed to be up,” I say.
She doesn’t turn right away.
“Funny,” she replies softly. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”
Yeah.
That tracks.
I move closer anyway.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Because this—
This isn’t something I rush.
Not with her.
“Doctors say I’m fine,” I add.
She glances over her shoulder at me.
One brow lifts slightly.
“Do they?” she asks.
There’s just enough challenge in it to make me almost smile.
Almost.
“I might’ve said that before they could argue,” I admit.
That earns me a look.
A real one.
“You’re impossible,” she says.
“Been called worse.”
“I’m sure you have.”
Silence settles between us.
But it’s not awkward.
Not uncertain.
Just… quiet.
Full.
I step closer.
Close enough now that I can see the faint bruising still along her collarbone.
The healing cut near her wrist.
Reminders.
Of everything she went through.
Of how close—
I shut that thought down fast.
Because she’s here.
That’s what matters.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” I say again, quieter now.
“I needed to feel like myself again,” she answers.
That hits.
Because I get that.
More than I probably should.
“Yeah,” I say. “I get that.”
She turns then.
Fully facing me now.
And there’s something different in her eyes.
Not fear.
Not uncertainty.
Something steadier.
Something that wasn’t there before.
“Thank you for saving me,” she says.
Not a question.
A statement.
“Always, sweetheart.”
Another pause.
Then—
“And you meant everything you said.”
That one lands.
Because we both know what she’s talking about.
I don’t look away.
“I did.”
Her breath catches slightly.
Just enough for me to notice.
Always enough.
“And you still do?” she asks.
Quiet.
But not unsure.
Just… needing to hear it again.
I step closer.
Closing the last bit of distance between us.
“Yeah, I love you,” I say.
Simple.
Certain.
Her hand lifts slightly—
Then hesitates.
Just for a second.
I take it.
Thread my fingers through hers.
Hold on.
Because I’m not letting this slip away.
Not after everything.
Her breath softens.
Her shoulders relax just a fraction.
“You’re not going to pretend this is nothing,” she says.
Not accusing.
Just making it clear.
“No,” I answer.
“Good.”
A beat.
Then—
“Because it’s not. I love you, too.”
No.
It’s not.
Not even close.
My free hand lifts—
Slow.
Careful.
My fingers brush lightly along her jaw.
Tilt her face up just enough—
So she has to look at me.
So I can see it.
Everything she’s not saying out loud.
Everything she doesn’t have to.
“You sure about this?” I ask.
One more time.
Because I need to know.
Because once this line is crossed—
There’s no going back.
Her answer doesn’t take long.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just truth.
That’s all I need.
I close the distance.
Slow at first.
Giving her time.
Letting her feel it coming.
Letting myself feel it too.
Then—
Her lips meet mine.
And everything else—
Falls away.
No chaos.
No gunfire.
No fear.
Just her.
Soft.
Real.
Alive.
My hand tightens slightly at her jaw as I deepen the kiss—
Careful.
Controlled.
Even as something inside me shifts.
Breaks.
Settles.
Because this—
This isn’t just relief.
It’s not just adrenaline.
It’s not just surviving something together.
It’s more.
A lot more.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
Holding on.
Like she’s not letting me go either.
Good.
Because I’m not going anywhere.
Not now.
Not after this.
The kiss slows.
Softens.
But neither of us pulls away completely.
Not right away.
Her forehead rests lightly against mine.
Breath uneven.
Warm.
“You’re going to go back out there,” she says quietly.
I don’t lie.
“Yeah.”
Her fingers tighten slightly again.
But she doesn’t step back.
Doesn’t let go.
“Then come back,” she whispers.
That—
That hits harder than anything else.
Because that’s the ask.
Not don’t go.
Not stay.
Just—
Come back.
I rest my forehead against hers.
Close enough to feel every breath.
“Always,” I tell her.
And this time—
It’s not just a promise.
It’s a vow.