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GEORGIA-MAY

I stare at my lap while Rob, seated next to me in the driver’s seat, is lost in his own world of thoughts. The silence between us stretches thick with the aftermath of the past hours.

“I’m really sorry, Rob,” I murmur. I’ve offered apologies too many times to count, yet now, in this solitary moment with him, it feels as if they might hold more weight. “You do believe me, don’t you? That I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

That man has been a pillar of quiet strength from the very start. No, even before the beginning, when my ideas were just sparks waiting to catch fire. He and his brother are among the reasons Coco is thriving today.

Rob turns toward me. Though it’s too dark to see clearly, I can feel the gentleness in his gaze. “Hey,” he begins, his voice calm and soothing, “everyone makes mistakes. When we received the alert from Blake, Thomas broke down just how intricate the software design was. I always knew it was complex, but the full extent really hit me then. Tens of thousands of lines.”

Memories of those sleepless nights flood back, and I recall how my thoughts always circled back to Coco.

He continues, trying to reassure me, “This was a monumental task meant for a team, yet you managed it solo and did so with remarkable skill. Despite the hiccup, the truth stands—your program is nothing short of extraordinary.”

Rob then pauses, turning to me as we stop at a traffic light. “It’s our job at Hartley Marine to do what we do best—to stress-test the code, to hammer out the flaws. You heard what Thomas said, didn’t you? No real harm was done. And I assure you, your efforts on QEOPA won’t go to waste. It’ll take time, but we plan to implement the system.”

His words, simple and sincere, shatter my doubts. Yet, in the quiet comfort of the car, I know this is far from over.

As if on cue, Rob’s phone buzzes sharply against the console. He picks it up with a steady hand, his eyes never leaving the road. “Yeah,” he answers curtly, then listens intently, ending with a confident “I’ve got it!” The intensity in his posture tells me it’s urgent.

Suddenly, the intrusive glare of headlights looms from behind, growing larger and more menacing by the second. Panic grips me, cold and hard.

“Rob! We’re being followed!” I yell, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush.

He surveys the scene behind us through the mirror. “Yeah, we are, but I’ve got this,” he responds with a calm that belies the danger nipping at our heels.

Instead of speeding up, Rob makes a counterintuitive move. He slows down, easing off the accelerator. The bright beams behind us become overpoweringly bright, yet his expression is one of calculated control. He’s playing a game I don’t fully understand, luring our pursuer closer on his terms.

I stay silent, my mind whirling with confusion and fear, not daring to question Rob’s strategy. As a former SEAL and the patriarch of the Hartley family, he undoubtedly knows what he’s doing.

The car slows to a complete stop while the pursuing car mirrors our actions, pulling up with ominous ease beside us.

Then, the door of the other car opens, and Blake steps out. His posture is subdued and yielding, reminiscent of a man who’s lost more battles than he’s won lately.

“Rob, please, take me to Coco!” I plead, my voice laced with desperation. I remain firmly seated, unwilling to face Blake. My heart rebels against my mind’s resolve, aching with a fresh, raw pain I’ve never known before. It yearns to leap out, to bridge the distance, to forgive and forget, yet in doing so, it feels the sting of betrayal anew.

“I know you want to be with your daughter,” Rob responds, his voice firm yet empathetic. “But I can assure you, Coco is safe with Isabelle and Wyatt, and Clay is already on his way there.”

“I don’t want to see him ever again,” I whisper fiercely, turning my head away from the window, refusing to let Blake’s presence invade my space any further.

“Come on now, Georgia-May,” Rob presses, his tone insistent yet understanding, acknowledging the tumult of emotions clashing within me.

“You’re his friend. Of course you’re on his side!” I argue, feeling the ‘bro code’ vibe playing.

“I’m not taking sides here,” Rob responds, his tone fatherly, quashing my argument. “I just don’t want you to look back with regret. Blake is a good man. Just give him a chance.”

I fall silent, my mind a clump of conflicted emotions.

“Talk to him, please,” Rob coaxes. “Just look at him.”

Reluctantly, I lift my head. Blake stands a few feet away, the embodiment of sorrow. For such a large man, his presence seems diminished, almost as if he’s physically crumbling under the heft of his remorse. His eyes, usually so full of life, now project the hollows of his heart.

I open my door, and Rob is instantly by my side, his actions protective as he opens it wider for me. He escorts me toward Blake with a solemnity that feels as momentous as a father walking his daughter down the aisle.

“You okay?” Rob checks in, his voice laced with concern, ensuring I’m not about to retreat.

“Yeah.” I nod, more to convince myself than him.

“Coco and the rest of us will be waiting for you. When you’re ready,” he adds with a reassuring smile and a wink, as if to remind me that no matter what happens here, I won’t be alone.

“Hey…” Blake’s voice quivers.

“Hey,” I reply in a whisper, my eyes flickering toward Rob as he discreetly moves away, giving us space.

Blake steps closer, reducing the distance between us. “I’m sorry, Georgia-May,” he starts, his gaze locked intently on mine, “I overreacted.”

I offer a slight gesture, appreciating his straightforwardness. “Perhaps you did.”

“The moment I saw you with Christian Cartwright in that changing room, I…I lost it,” he confesses. “I felt cheated. Images of you slipping away from me—they looked so real.”

“He caught me by surprise, too, Blake,” I say, desperate to convince him of the innocence of that encounter.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his eyes searching mine for forgiveness. “Rob and Clay, they mean a lot to me, and when I heard about those pings, I jumped to conclusions. I thought Bertram was already destroying Hartley Marine, and I didn’t stop to think things through.”

“The Hartleys mean a lot to me too. And yet, they have more faith in me than you did!” My words are not meant to wound but to underline the hurt his doubts have caused.

Blake looks stricken, his struggle palpable as he grapples with the reality of my words and his own misjudgments. The air between us is charged with a tumult of hurt and hope, each seeking solace in the other’s eyes.

“I was wrong, Georgia-May,” Blake confesses. “I was blind. For God’s sake, I was jealous! I understand now that Christian Cartwright is just a friend. But I can’t help it. The truth is, I’m jealous of how much Sebastian was, and still is, a part of your life.”

“Of course he is, Blake! He’s not just my dead boyfriend.” I recall how easily he said those words. “I loved him! Before you, I was never with anyone else but him.”

“Georgia-May…” His voice trails off, a blend of regret and understanding.

“I don’t know how your relationship was with Flo, but you’re not the only one losing someone in such a cruel way. When I said sorry to you about your loss, I meant it. And you know what, I wish someone had said sorry that I lost Sebastian!” My words dissolve into a screaming sob, raw and piercing.

Blake doesn’t say a word; instead, he steps forward. He wraps his arms around me, an embrace that pulls me into the haven of his chest. It’s a silent contact, but the way he holds me speaks to the depths of his care. As if each fold of his embrace is weaving a tapestry of apology, understanding, and a silent promise to bear the weight of my sorrows with me. In this moment, encircled in his arms, the world falls away, leaving only the poignant truth of our shared pain and the fragile hope of mending hearts.

“I didn’t even tell my sister about him,” I murmur, my voice muffled as I tremble with sobs, my face buried in the solidness of his chest. “Do you know what I told her?”

Blake loosens his hold slightly, allowing me to tilt my head as if urging me to open up fully.

“I told her I had a one-night stand with a stranger. I didn’t want her to get tangled with Bertram. The less she knew, the better. So to her, Coco is a daughter I had with a man that could’ve been any random passerby.”

Putting those words in my mouth makes it even feel more wrong, and my God, it hurts. I clench a fist, pounding with no force against his chest. Blake lets me, then slowly wraps his palm around my fist, taking my hand close to his lips. He kisses my knuckles.

Looking me in the eye, no doubt, no hiding, he says, “I’m sorry you lost Sebastian. I mean it, Georgia-May. Not just as a mere formality or a hollow olive branch.” His words are emphatic yet gentle.

“I saw him being dragged out of the cottage that held so much of our memory together. And I just ran. I don’t even know what they did to his body.” The horror of the memory makes my voice quiver.

“You had to do what you had to do,” he reassures.

“Yeah. But why do I still feel like shit?” The question escapes me, a raw and aching whisper. “Like I’m the worst person in the world?”

“You’re not a bad person. Coco loves you. You gave her everything. She’s his legacy, is she not?” he says, his words imbued with a comforting certainty.

Touched by his words, I feel a flicker of warmth in the coldness of my grief.

Then he says, “Look, it was wrong for me to dismiss you saying sorry to me when I told you about Flo. I genuinely couldn’t take any more apologies from anyone. But I was a jerk. You meant well.”

“I think you just wanted to hide,” I respond, still grappling with the tangled emotions and uncertain of what we can salvage.

“You might be right. But here I am now,” he admits.

“Sebastian means a lot to me, but you, Blake, you’re my world!” I confess. While making up is one thing, building a solid relationship is another—something that may be forever out of reach if he can’t accept the truth. I continue firmly, “If we’re just going to keep hurting each other, then it might be best for you to walk away.”

“No. Never.” Blake’s response is immediate and fierce.

“I’m still in pain now, Blake,” I confess.

“I can never fill Sebastian’s shoes,” he admits. “But I know exactly how he felt when he knew those men were coming for you. I know exactly what went through his mind when he protected you. I feel it here, Georgia-May.”

He places a hand over his chest. I slip my hand under his, pressing against his pec so I can feel the strong beat beneath.

He continues, “The fear of losing you, I live it, I breathe it every second! And I never want you to hurt. Don’t let pain define us. I’ve been there, and it’s a terrible place.”

His fervent, sincere words cast a spell of hope and determination, urging us to rise above the pain and to embrace the possibility of a future forged together, not apart. He pulls me close as he nuzzles his nose through my hair. He then lowers himself, eye to eye with me.

“How do we move on, Blake?”

“First, let me soothe your pain,” he rasps, and the sight of him simply melts me. I’m powerless to resist anything he does. Including his kiss, even as I’m still coming down from the peak of my anger.

“It’s a good start.” I huff, then latch onto him again.

I’ve experienced his kisses many times and am well-versed in his skill, but this kiss is different. It strikes directly at the heart and lingers there. It transcends mere romance and doesn’t seek to ignite further physical intimacy. Instead, it dismantles the barriers I erected to shut him out after he left me in that IT room at Hartley Marine. It feels like he’s recalibrating my bloodstream, syncing it with his own rhythm.

He murmurs, his lips grazing mine in a tantalizing hover, “You’re not just a code queen. You’re the queen of my heart. You have no idea how much I love you.”

What was I thinking? Believing that I could move on without him?

“I love you, too,” I whisper, and he immediately reclaims my mouth with his. This kiss, which I thought wouldn’t lead to anything but reconciliation, proves I’m too weak to resist him. Though I’m eager to see Coco, knowing she’s safe, the chance to be alone with him outweighs everything else.

I lean my crotch against his, and he takes the cue and pushes me backward, his lips still locked with mine. I stumble along with him, feeling the tailgate beneath my fingertips as his hands fumble to open it. With a swift motion, he lifts me so I sprawl on the cargo space floor. My legs dangle over the edge, brushing against the cool night air.

With impatience, he removes my jeans. He then stretches my panties, possibly even tearing them, as he hastens to gain access to me. He extends my arms above my head, keeping them in place as his upper body looms over me.

“No feathers?” I tease.

“Trust me, my abilities go beyond exploiting your ticklish soul.”

I’m completely under his control as a kiss lands on my lips. God, reconciling has never felt this good.