With a sigh, I spoke in a hushed tone. “Yeah. I really think it is.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I saw him nod slowly, then look up at the sky above us that appeared as though someone tossed copious amounts of glitter into it, the stars sparkling bright.
“You’ve done more than your share to help rid the world of these goatfuckers,” he told me. “Problem is they seem to multiply faster than we can kill them.”
I huffed out a sound of disgust. “That’s the truth.”
“But you’ve done your part, Fos. You can leave here knowing you’ve saved lives, you’ve done good.”
We fell silent for a long moment before I posed the question.
“What about you? When do you think your time will be?”
He gave me a casual shrug as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But I knew the truth. I knew the Hendy not many come to know. Which is why he let out a sigh knowing he couldn’t—wouldn’t—bullshit me.
“A few times, I wondered if it was already time. We all know I don’t have any family, and I’ll be honest, the more I’m here, the more missions we go on, the more I think I’ll find my time ending here.” My throat grew thick at his words. “I’m okay with it, though,” he added softly. “Because I know I won’t be going out in anything less than a blaze of gunfire and glory.” He turned to me and I saw the slight wry grin on his face.
Because I know I won’t be going out in anything less than a blaze of gunfire and glory.
His words echoed in my dreams tonight before Harley woke me. I can’t help but wonder if he knew. If he knew what he was going to face over there. I wonder if he knew that he was going to die.
Stop, I berate myself. I can’t believe he’s gone. Not yet.
Suddenly, I sense someone’s presence. The sliding glass door quietly slides open, and I hear her whisper.
“You okay?”
My lips turn up at her question because here’s a woman who’s dealing with some serious shit and yet, she’s asking me if I’m okay.
Keeping my gaze straight ahead, I nod. “I’m good.” She doesn’t immediately step down onto the deck, hesitating. The smart part of me is willing her to turn back around, to stay on the other side of that closed door. To stay away from me. The selfish part of me wants her to come out and sit with me. To be near me so that I can feel her … goodness. It’s not smart, but I don’t usually tend to be smart when it comes to a certain curvaceous blonde.
“You want to join me?” I catch myself off guard by voicing this question. My tone is gravelly, and there’s a distinctive intimate quality to it. Damn it.
“Sure,” she says after a millisecond of hesitation, the sound of the door sliding closed behind her. When she drags the other chair over to set it beside me, I turn and … instantly falter. I hadn’t prepared myself to see her still wearing my shirt, blond hair slightly mussed from sleep, the ends curling up a bit. Even though my shirt is loose over her body, something runs through my veins; a mixture of want and something else—something far more dangerous. Something that feels a lot like affection.
Turning away, clenching my jaw, I stare sightlessly out into the darkness.
“My excuse is a bad dream.” Her voice is subdued, and I feel the weight of her eyes on me. “Yours?”
Rolling my lips inward, I don’t immediately answer.
“Same.”
Silence falls between us as we sit for a while with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline. And then it happens.
It takes everything in my power to restrain the jolt—the shudder of my body—because her hand slides over to grasp my own, resting on the arm of the chair, fingers entwining with mine. Like she knows how much I need a comforting touch in that moment.
Just as much as she does.
“Hey, Kavanaugh,” she whispers. “Have I told you yet today how grateful I am for your help?”
A tight smile forms. “Not yet, no.” Deep down, I don’t want her to be grateful or feel obligated. I want her to—well, what I want is what I shouldn’t.
“Well, I am.”
“Anytime, Davis,” I answer softly. “Anytime.”
We sit on my deck, holding hands, until about four a.m. at which time I gently slide my arms beneath Noelle’s slumped, sleeping form and carry her inside to lay her in bed. After pulling the comforter up over her, noting the lines of both exhaustion and worry on her face, I can’t resist running my index finger over the crease still between her eyebrows before I bend to dust a kiss over the same spot.
“Sleep well. You’re safe here.” My whispered words appear to calm her, her face relaxing. As I take one more look at her, at my very own real-life version of Sleeping Beauty, I wish things were different.
Exiting her room, closing the door behind me, I get to work on laying the groundwork for slaying Noelle’s dragon. While I’m the furthest thing from being anyone’s Prince Charming, she’s the only woman who’s ever made me want to be—the only one who’s ever made me wish things were different.
She’s the only one who makes me wish for the impossible.
Chapter Twelve
Noelle