Chapter 57 Rhys
Rhys
The helicopter bucks in the crosswind, the roar of the rotors competing with the rhythm of my heart. Lachlan O’Rourke shouts into his headset, assuring his wife he’s all right. My Quinlan cousins and Trace keep watch out of the open hatch, but none of it affects me.
Inside the cabin, it’s a cocoon of heat with Fallon pressed against me on the bench, wrapped in my jacket. Her skin is ice-cold, her fingers locked around mine, but everything is slowly warming.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I let myself believe she’s really here.
Her hazel eyes are alive. Fragile. Beautiful.
I press my forehead to hers, just breathing her in. For a second, the whole world fades away.
Everything is just Fallon. Just me.
“You’re safe,” I whisper. “I’ve got you, love.”
She turns her head slightly, her lips brushing the edge of my jaw as she murmurs, “You left me.”
The words gut me, but I knew it would come up again.
“I know,” I rasp, eyes squeezing shut. “I’ll spend every day begging your forgiveness for that. Every fucking day.”
She doesn’t answer right away. She just stares at me, searching my face like she’s trying to see if I mean it. If I’ll keep meaning it tomorrow.
I cup her cheek, thumb brushing over a smudge of soot. “I almost lost you. I can’t—” My voice cracks. I don’t care. “I can’t breathe without you, Fallon.”
Her lashes flutter, and then she leans into my palm like she’s been starving for the contact, too. Her mouth curves with the faintest ghost of a smile. “You’re dramatic.”
I huff out something close to a laugh, though it’s jagged around the edges. “Dramatic? Love, I just blew up a motorcade of killers to get you back. You’re damn right I’m dramatic.”
A little laugh slips out of her, soft but real, and it shreds me more than her tears ever could. Because that sound means she’s still here. She’s still mine.
I tug her in tighter, wrapping both arms around her. She curls into me, head on my chest, body still trembling from the cold. Or maybe it’s the terror she hasn’t let herself show yet.
My hand finds the back of her head, stroking gently, grounding both of us.
“Rest,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve got you now. Nobody is taking you from me again.”
Her body relaxes just enough that I feel her weight sink into me. A trust so fierce that I will fight every day of our lives to keep it just as it is today.
The helicopter jolts as we hit turbulence. My arms tighten automatically.
She stirs, whispering, “Where are we going?”
“Home,” I promise. “How about we smash down that annoying wall between our flats?”
“There’s a waste of a perfectly good stethoscope,” she manages to joke.
Which means she’s coping. And that’s a lot.
“You can use it right here.” I take her hand and press it on my heart. “So long as this thing is beating, I’m yours.”
The words feel sacred.
Her lips press lightly against my chest, not quite a kiss, more a breath of acceptance. And that’s the moment I know we’ve survived.