Page 40

“Of course. But Logan, I can tell you without even looking that most injuries like that…” I chose my words carefully.

“Even in a fully equipped OR with a trauma team standing by, the survival rate for carotid artery injuries is probably less than twenty percent. In the field, under fire? The fact that you tried, that you didn’t leave him to die alone—that matters. ”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I know Jace can get the files. They’re classified, but he has ways.”

“Good. We’ll look at them together.”

“Together,” he repeated, like he was testing the word.

The silence that fell between us now felt different. Less charged, more…possible. We sat in that renewed silence for a long moment.

“What have you been doing?” I asked finally. “Since Puerto Rico?”

“Working.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Multiple back-to-back deployments. Myanmar, Somalia, Ukraine. Anywhere that would keep me moving.”

“All in two months?”

“Turns out you can’t outrun your own head, no matter how many miles you cover.” He rubbed his face, exhaustion clear in every line. “The team staged an intervention. Told me I was trying to commit suicide by mission.”

“Were you?”

“Maybe. Not consciously, but…” He shrugged. “Staying in motion meant not thinking. Not feeling. Not remembering how you looked that morning, peaceful and trusting and everything I didn’t deserve.”

I didn’t know what to do with the ache twisting in my chest. The part of me that wanted to believe him. That still wanted him.

I swallowed hard. “So, what changed? Why are you here now?”

“Your parents called Citadel. Said you’d been mugged.” His hands clenched again. “All I could think was that you’d been hurt while I was halfway around the world playing hero for strangers.”

“And you volunteered to be my security.”

“Jace was going to do it. Offered to help you find someone local, get you settled.” Something dark flashed across his face. “The thought of him or anyone else protecting you… I was on the next flight here.”

Despite everything, warmth bloomed in my chest. “Logan?—”

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I fucked up in ways that can’t be fixed with an apology. But Lauren, I—” He stopped, seemed to gather himself. “I want to try. To get help, real help. Find a therapist who actually understands PTSD, not just someone who wants to talk about feelings.”

“I can help with that. There are specific therapeutic approaches that work better for combat-related trauma. EMDR, cognitive processing therapy. I can help you find someone who specializes in what you need.”

“You’d still help me? After everything?”

I thought about the past two months. The sleepless nights, the constant looking over my shoulder, the hollow feeling that had taken up residence in my chest. But I also thought about the jungle, the hurricane shelter, the way he’d looked at me like I was something precious.

“I’m still hurt,” I said finally. “And angry. And it’s going to take time to trust you again.”

“I know.”

Silence overtook us again, both of us with so much more to say but not knowing exactly how.

“How about you since we’ve been back?” he finally asked. “Chicago. The new job.”

“Neither has been particularly fulfilling.”

“I have to admit, I was surprised you were working at the hospital. It wasn’t what I’d figured you’d do. I thought you might sign up for another mission with Compass or some other organization.”

I leaned my head back against the metal wall. “Let’s just say I figured out you were right before. About my being naive.”

“I was wrong about that. So wrong.” The intensity in his voice made me look at him. “Lauren, what you did in Corazón, what you do… If all you accomplished in six months was teaching Elena English and treating wounds and delivering babies, that’s more good than most people do in a lifetime.”

“That’s not what you thought in Corazón.”

“And you proved me wrong every single day. You stayed when everyone else evacuated. You saved lives with nothing but determination and whatever supplies you could scrounge. You faced down a cartel leader and didn’t break.

” He met my eyes. “Don’t let my stupid words make you doubt what you’re meant to do.

This hospital job, this life—it’s not you. Not unless it’s what you really want.”

“It’s not,” I admitted. “But after everything that happened, I thought maybe I should want something safer. Something normal.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting safety. But giving up who you are because of fear? That’s not living.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Hell yeah, I am.” He shifted against the wall. “I’ve been hiding in war zones because they’re easier than facing real life. You’ve been hiding in normalcy because it’s easier than risking your heart again. We’re both being cowards, just coming at it from opposite ways.”

The truth of it stung, but he wasn’t wrong. “So what do we do about it?”

“I don’t know. But maybe we figure it out together?”

The word hung between us again. Together. Such a simple concept that felt impossibly complex given everything that had happened.

“I want to try,” I said finally. “But Logan, if you run again?—”

“I won’t.” He said it with such certainty that I had to believe him. “I’m done running. From you, from this, from myself. I want to get better. Be better. Be someone who deserves you.”

“You already?—”

He moved then, scooting across the small space between us but stopping just short of touching me. “Can I?”

I nodded, and his hand found mine, our fingers interlacing with the same perfect fit I remembered. Such a simple touch, but it felt like coming home.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “For the bruises, for leaving, for the silence. For all of it.”

“I know.”

“And I’m going to keep apologizing until you’re sick of hearing it.”

“That might take a while.”

“I’ve got time.”

I squeezed his hand, feeling something ease in my chest for the first time in months. We weren’t fixed. We weren’t okay. But we were here, together, and that was a start.

He reached up with his other hand and cupped my cheek. “May I? I understand if you want to take things slowly.”

“I do want to take things slowly.” His hand slid away from my face, but I caught it and pressed it back against my skin. “But I also want to kiss you.”

It was like a first kiss all over again. Except this time, rather than being about survival or proving something, it was about promise.

It was about beginnings.

He leaned his forehead against mine. “I’ve never been so thankful to be stuck in an elevator before.”

And just like that, it lurched into motion, smooth as silk, as if it had never been broken at all and began heading down. We both looked up at the ceiling, then at each other. What timing.

We stood, and a few seconds later, Logan’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and let out a surprised laugh.

“What?”

He showed me the text. Two words from Jace:

You’re welcome.

“He didn’t.” But even as I said it, I knew he absolutely had. “He hacked the elevator?”

“Locked us in here until we talked.” Logan shook his head, but he was smiling. “Interfering bastard.”

“Good friend, though.”

“The best.”

The elevator continued its descent, and too soon, we were approaching the lobby. He grabbed my hand and I squeezed it, unable to hold back my smile.

“I am so late for work.”

“Worth it?”

I looked at our joined hands, then up at his face. The shadows were still there, the exhaustion and pain that months of running had carved into his features. But there was hope too, fragile and new.

“Yeah. Very much so.” I had to get out of this job anyway.

The elevator doors opened to the marble lobby, morning sunlight streaming through the glass entrance. We stepped out together, hands still linked, and I felt lighter than I had in months.

“We should probably—” I gestured toward the entrance, the doorman already holding the door open.

“Right. Work.”

But neither of us moved to let go. Finally, laughing at ourselves, we walked toward the entrance together. I knew if he suggested heading back up to my apartment, I would definitely not say no.

The morning air hit us as we stepped through the opened glass doors, crisp October wind carrying the promise of winter. I turned my face up to the sun, smiling at Logan, feeling possibility stretch between us.

“So I was thinking, maybe tonight we could go out on our first date.”

He smiled. “I would be honored.”

“Good. I know this place on the westside if you’re feeling adventurous.”

He stopped. “Do you smell that? It’s?—”

The crack of gunfire shattered the morning calm.

One second, Logan was beside me, the next, he was gone, tackled to the ground by someone I couldn’t see. Hands grabbed me from behind, yanking me backward.

“Logan!”

A hood came down over my head, blinding me. I screamed, kicking out, but the hands were too strong. I heard Logan’s voice, muffled and distant, shouting my name.

Car doors. Movement. The prick of a needle in my arm.

Then nothing but darkness pulling me under.