Page 48 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

The moment crashes over us, and as I allow myself to surrender, I realize that I’ve left behind the ghosts of my past entirely.

In Sloane's embrace, I am reborn; light, free, and alive.

We lie intertwined together, our hearts racing, the burdens of yesterday nothing more than fading echoes, erased by the warmth of now.

Pulling her close, I whisper against her hair, “I’ve got you.”

For the first time in years, everything feels right.

15

SLOANE

Idon't remember falling asleep.

The first thing I register is warmth—Logan's breath against my neck, the solid weight of his arm draped over my waist, anchoring me to this moment. To him.

For the first time in what feels like centuries, I feel... safe.

Safe.

The word sits unfamiliar in my mind, like trying on clothes that don't quite fit.

When was the last time I truly felt that?

Before Max's death?

Before my father disappeared?

Maybe never.

Dawn's pale light spills through the cabin windows, painting Logan's bedroom in shades of blue and gray. Reality seeps in with the morning, as insistent as the sunlight.

What we shared last night—the heat, the connection, the way he looked at me like I mattered—changes everything.

He's not just the man who pulled me from death's grip anymore.

Not just a protector with steel in his spine and ghosts in his eyes.

He's...more.

And that terrifies me more than any sniper's scope.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, and study his face in sleep. The hard lines soften. The constant vigilance eases. He looks younger like this, almost peaceful. My heart clenches painfully in my chest.

This is dangerous.

Not the physical danger of bullets and shadows, but the emotional precipice we're teetering on. I know too well how caring about someone can become a weapon—just ask Max. Just ask my father.

Logan stirs beside me, and I feel our careful bubble of intimacy begin to crack. I sit up slowly, pulling away from his warmth before it can burn me.

When I glance back, his eyes are open, something complicated flickering in their depths—hesitation, maybe. Or regret.

"Morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

I manage a nod, forcing a smile that feels more like armor than greeting. We dress in silence, both pretending this is normal, natural, fine.

Like we haven't crossed a line that can't be uncrossed. Like we aren't two people who've waded into deeper waters than either of us meant to.