Page 100 of Worshiping Faith

I love you.

I let him kiss me. I let myself sink into it. And when he pulls back, I’m not pissed.

I’m just...

So.

Fucking.

Tired.

“Nothing from the mainland means more to me than you do.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

Zachs stares.

Like I just hit him over the head with a two-by-four.

Like I spoke in a language he should understand, but somehow, it’s not computing.

His hands twitch on my hips, grip tightening just enough to feel like he’s grounding himself. His mouth opens, then closes.

No joke.

No smirk.

Nothing.

Just Zachs, standing there like I just upended the world he thought he knew.

A slow breath escapes his lips. When he speaks again, it’s not playful. His voice is even, careful. “I’m really the best one for this mission,” he says. “In and out. No dicking around.”

The words are solid, certain.

But his tone?

It’s not Zachs. It’s too measured. Like my words took all the playfulness from him. And I hate that.

“It’s for Trip,” Zachs says. “His son’s out there. I know the city, I know where he is, or was, anyway. There’s shit between them, so yeah. I’m going.”

I swallow my initial reaction.

Trip’s son?

Trip isn’t here arguing about his injuries. Trip isn’t even trying to go.

Zachs keeps talking. “It’s his tale to tell. But I’m going. So if you need anything while I’m there, anything, you just say the word.”

Shit.

“You’re in no shape to fight zombies, or desperate survivors,” I say, shaking my head. “We don’t even know what it’s like over there. Send someone else. None of you have to go.”

“It’s too important.” His voice is final.

I exhale, exhausted. I hate this. I hate that I can’t stop him.

Zachs sees it. Smirks. “I’ll be back, Doc,” he murmurs, pulling me in. “Fuck, you know nothing out there can take me down.”

I tighten my grip on his shirt, my voice rough. “Bullshit. You got shot. You are not invincible.”