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She made a move to shift away, to grab the sheet, but before she could, he was there, one hand catching her wrist, the other flattening against her stomach, anchoring her in place.
“You really think I give a damn about a few marks, Quinn?” His voice was low, edged with something rough and undeniable. “That just means your body did something incredible. It carried life, my blood, my boys. I look at you, and all I see is strength.”
Her throat went tight. She forced a breath, rolling her eyes to deflect. “Damn, Kade, that’s a hell of a line.”
His grip on her tightened, not rough, not demanding, but firm enough that she felt it all the way to her bones. “That’s not a line. That’s the truth.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, well, I had to work my ass off to get back into shape.”
A slow, almost dangerous smile tugged at his mouth. “You think hitting the gym is what made you beautiful?” His thumb brushed just below her ribs, a lazy, possessive stroke. “You were already there, babe. All that did was remind you of it.”
The way he said it, so damn matter-of-fact, like it was indisputable, made something deep inside her twist with a melting tenderness for this man she held.
Still, she tried again, shaking her head. “Dagger?—”
But then his palm was sliding lower, tracing the soft plane of her stomach, the faint lines she’d been so hyperaware of. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t shy away. “This body? It’s perfect,” he murmured, voice like gravel and promise against her skin. “If you ever doubt it again, I’ll just have to remind you, over and over, until you believe me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
God help her, but she believed him, and she ached with all that was between them, and all that wasn’t.
For so long, anger had felt like all she had left. Anger at Dagger. Anger at Brian’s death. Anger that her life had turned inside out in what felt like a cruel cosmic joke. Part of her had thrived on that fury, letting it define her. Because she craved depth, craved meaning, craved that sense of identity rooted in intense emotion, and her grief had become both a compass and an anchor.
Letting go of that grief seemed tantamount to abandoning Brian’s memory. If she stopped blaming Dagger, if she stopped raging, what would be left of the story she’d told herself? The onewhere she was Brian’s grieving widow, burdened with tragedy and righteousness in her suffering.
But this day, this near-death moment, had cracked her open.
If she stayed bound to the past, if she kept clinging to the chains of her pain, she might never truly live again. Never break free from the narrative that had shackled her since Brian’s death.
Healing doesn’t equal forgetting.
The idea took root in her mind, quiet at first, but unrelenting.
Healing meant acknowledging Brian’s faults as well as his virtues, accepting that their marriage hadn’t been a storybook romance. It meant forgiving Dagger for not being able to save Brian and forgiving herself for wanting something more than the life she’d known.
Her eyes slipped shut, tears escaping despite her attempts to hold them back. Forgiveness didn’t mean absolving blame. It meant freeing herself.
That was the truth she’d been hiding from.
If she let herself heal, she’d have to face the terrifying possibility that she might still have a future, one that included letting go of Brian in a way that honored his memory without chaining her to it. Possibly, maybe even letting Dagger in enough to create something new.
She pressed her hand against her bandaged arm, feeling the painful throb and yet a strange, unsteady gratitude for the chance to reevaluate everything. She wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to take that leap, but for the first time, the idea of stepping forward, of taking Dagger’s outstretched hand, didn’t feel like a betrayal.
It felt like possibility.
That realization, as terrifying as it was, made her feel more alive than she had in years.
Quinn let out a slow exhale, her lips curving despite herself. “So… you weren’t kidding about your stamina.”
His chest rumbled with a low, satisfied sound that was damn near a purr. He didn’t even open his eyes, just smirked. “Babe, I never kid about stamina.”
She laughed softly, shifting slightly, only to feel a deep ache in muscles she hadn’t used in far too long. “Wow.” She stretched out her legs, testing her limbs. “Who do I write my thank-you email to? Tex? Your BUD/S instructors? Uncle Sam?”
Dagger finally cracked an eye open, that pale green gaze sharp with amusement. “Send it to the entire US Navy, sweetheart. But if you want to get personal, I’d say Tex deserves at least a ‘job well done.’”
Quinn bit her lip to keep from laughing outright. She lifted onto one elbow, mock-serious. “You think he’ll accept a fruit basket?”
Dagger’s eyes darkened slightly as his fingers drifted lower, teasing just above her thigh. “I can think of better ways to show your appreciation.” His shaft thickened and hardened inside her.