Page 45 of Love at First Sighting

Carter and I lock eyes as Marcus turns back to him. Pain is heavy in his eyes, and each breath is punctuated with a quiet gasp. We need to get out of here fast and get him to a hospital. Carter gives me the slightest of nods. He’s telling me to run.

But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to give him a distraction.

I shove a stack of books off one of the shelves and Marcus snaps his attention to me. It’s all the time Carter needs to punch him with all the might he still has left.

Marcus stumbles backward and his gun skitters out of his hand, metal against rough concrete. I dive forward and kick it farther under a desk. He’ll have to offer us a chance to escape if he really wants his gun back.

Instead, he doesn’t go for the gun. He turns and throws an unforgiving punch at the side of Carter’s face, and Carter goes down with a sharp cry.

Blood flows from a cut on his cheek, left behind by one of Marcus’s rings, but the bigger problem is that Carter’s other wound is bleeding far worse now.

He curls into himself with a broken shudder and reaches feebly for his gun, but Marcus snatches it and aims it at me.

I hold my hands up in surrender. I glance down at Carter as he struggles to keep his eyes open and spits blood onto the porous concrete floors. When he tries to pick himself up, he collapses.

“Carter…” I say. My voice shakes and tears fill my eyes. “Carter, please. I need you to hang on, okay? You’ve gotta stay with me.”

But he doesn’t have a response. Marcus turns his focus to me, and we stand at opposite ends of the aisle.

“I don’t think you want to take that with you,” he says.

I wrap my arms around my jacket, holding the file even tighter. “I actually really do.”

“Hand it over and no one has to get hurt.”

But Carter already is hurt. He’s walking a fine line between surviving and not. Marcus has already done so much damage.

That’s when I notice Carter isn’t on the ground anymore. He’s left behind a trail of blood that my eyes follow into the adjacent row of shelves, but I can’t see him and I can’t hear him. I’m led to believe maybe his defeat moments ago was merely an act. What we both need is time.

Think .

My years of peddling products I don’t like and fitting into molds I’ve grown out of will be behind me now, and a real, unfiltered future lies ahead. But if there’s one thing all that time taught me, it’s how to be the center of attention.

“I…I know exactly what it’s like trying to prove something to the world,” I start.

Marcus’s attention returns to me as Carter’s shadow moves down the aisle, out of view.

“Like you’re never going to be good enough?

Someone’s always more successful than you?

Better funded? Better resources? It’s so hard when the odds feel stacked against you. ”

Marcus’s brows furrow. “What…are you?”

“I used to feel like that, too.”

I rack my brain for the words of wisdom in all my self-help lifestyle podcasts. God knows Marcus needs to reevaluate a lot of things in his life. However, the influencer side of my brain knows what comes next after a solid intro—an ad roll.

“Femletics athletic gear actually helped me overcome a lot of those confidence issues.”

Based on the baffled expression on Marcus’s face, the distraction is working.

I need to keep his focus for a few seconds more, until finally I see Carter sneak behind Marcus into the opposite row of shelves, taking a far better, hidden angle on him.

His movements are silent, masking the immense pain he must be in, but he finds a place and a strategy for us.

“You can use code ARIEL20 for twenty percent off your first order—”

“What the fuck?” Marcus mutters, now even more confused than ever. “Why are you trying to sell me yoga pants right now? Just give me the damn file.”

“Or…” I pivot. Between the shelves, Carter gives me a single nod. “Could I interest you in a new printer?”

Marcus pauses and glares. “A new what ?”

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before Carter gives one heavy push and a printer from the literal nineties plummets from the top shelf and collides with Marcus’s head.

It takes him out instantly and leaves a spray of ancient computer parts, ink cartridges, and busted buttons in a heap in front of me.

“Maybe you’re out of ink,” I say.

I circle him, quickly grabbing the handcuffs Carter dropped in the scuffle and cuffing Marcus to one of the support beams in the bunker. He’s out cold, and after the second the handcuff locks into place, I rush to Carter’s side.

I’m stumbling and frantic, like I’m running out of time, but as I round the corner of the next aisle, I see Carter is still there.

Still breathing, still conscious. He’s struggling to sit up, both hands held firmly over his wound.

Blood seeps through his fingers and his breaths are shallow and labored.

I drop to my knees and ease him onto the ground. I shed my jacket and ball it up, setting the folder down next to us. Carter lets out a shuddering breath of pain as cold, dank bunker air sweeps into the wound.

“Here,” I say. “This’ll help. Keep pressure on it.”

He nods slowly, holding the jacket in place. He winces softly as I press my hands on top of his, which are sticky with blood. “Hope you don’t have to film any content with this.”

“I was testing the caption just now. Feedback?”

Carter manages a smile. “It’s a little violent. Help should be on the way.”

“It’s over,” I breathe, and tears leak down my cheeks.

We have our answers. Carter and his dad will have their justice.

Marcus will have his concrete jail cell to look forward to.

And Carter and I have the rest of our lives together.

We’ve come this far, and I’m determined to get us both out of here okay.

“It’s over, and you just have to hang on a little longer until help arrives. Just a little longer.”

His lips are ashy and blue, and he’s losing lucidity with each second. I’m terrified if help doesn’t arrive soon, I could lose him for good.

“I promised I’d come back.”

I caress the side of Carter’s face, wiping his own tears away with my thumb. “I knew you would.”

“B-because of that, do I get to tell you I love you now?”

I tilt his chin my direction, pressing my forehead to his. I steer him toward my lips and kiss him like it could be the last time. He tastes like mint gum, blood, and salty tears. Carter kisses back, tired, lazy, and aimless. He’s nearly unconscious, letting out shallow, delirious breaths.

“Please do.”

He offers a weak smile and squeezes my hand. “Great. I’m so in love with you, Agent Ariel.”

A distant blare of sirens renews hope that help is close and we’ll get him to a hospital and put all of this behind us.

I’m scared of what comes after this, how I’m ever supposed to go back to the life I had before, what starting over looks like with him.

And I’m a little scared of getting arrested for the car chase and all the government hoopla we’ve gotten ourselves into.

But we’ve proven we’re brave—brave enough to love each other—and together, we might be able to handle anything.

Instead of missing more chances, pushing it off out of fear, and waiting for a moment that doesn’t feel like a goodbye, I kiss him again and tell him the most honest, real thing I possibly can.

“I love you so much, Agent Carter.”