Page 9

When I tell Dad about meeting Hank and Gabe for coffee, his face tightens with worry. We’re in his study, where he’s been working from home since my return—or pretending to work while keeping an eye on me.

“Ally, sweetheart, are you sure that’s wise? It’s only been a few days … We need time to secure the site…”

“Dad.” I keep the frustration out of my voice. “They’re the people who rescued me. Twice. I’m sure they know how to ensure the site is safe.”

He runs a hand through his silver hair, a gesture I recognize from countless arguments about my independence. “I know, I know. But after everything?—”

“I can’t stay locked in this house forever.”

“No one’s locking you in, and it’s not forever.” He sighs, looking suddenly tired. “Just … take Harrison and the team with you?”

I want to argue, to insist I can manage a simple coffee date on my own, but I see the fear behind his eyes, the way his hands grip his desk just a little too tightly.

He may have a point, but I’m too eager to see Hank and Gabe again .

“Fine,” I concede. “But they stay at a distance. I don’t need armed guards hovering over my latte.” I almost say “date” but catch myself just in time. If my father knew this was a date with two men, that his daughter was even contemplating the idea of a threesome, I’d never be allowed out of the house.

I squirm a little, excitement fizzing beneath my skin at what might happen after our date. With my father’s reluctant approval, I climb into the back of an unmarked SUV with Harrison and my protective detail.

Harrison and two other security team members create a subtle perimeter as we enter the café. I feel ridiculous—like a child being chaperoned to a playdate, but then I spot Hank and Gabe at a corner booth, and my embarrassment shifts to something else entirely.

Anticipation.

They stand as I approach. Gabe’s eyes glint with amusement as he takes in my entourage. Hank tries to hide a smile but fails spectacularly.

“Brought some friends, did you?” Gabe asks, his voice warm with suppressed laughter. “Didn’t feel safe with us?”

My cheeks heat. “Dad insisted. I know it’s ridiculous?—”

“It’s not,” Hank cuts in, but he’s grinning now too. He turns to Harrison. “Thanks, mate. We’ve got it from here.”

Harrison hesitates, glancing at me. “Miss Collins?—”

“You can maintain the perimeter outside. We’ll keep her safe in here.” Gabe shifts his tone to something more professional.

Something passes between them—professional respect, maybe, or some security team shorthand. Harrison nods sharply and leads his team outside, though they position themselves with clear sightlines through the café’s windows.

My fingers twist as heat floods through me.

The promise in Hank’s voice makes my stomach do little flips, and I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling too obviously. The café suddenly feels too warm, too public for the thoughts racing through my mind.

“Don’t make fun of me,” I grumble. “Dad wouldn’t let me leave without them.”

“We’re not laughing at you,” Gabe says, though his eyes are still twinkling. “We’re glad you’re taking security seriously.”

“Besides,” Hank adds, “it saves us having to do a risk assessment on the café ourselves, though we already checked all the exit routes and camera positions when we arrived.”

I look between them, realizing they’re not joking about the security checks. “You two never really stop being protective, do you?”

“Never.” Gabe’s answer comes immediately.

“You look well,” Hank observes, his gaze lingering in a way that sends warmth cascading down my spine.

“Thanks,” I reply, suddenly aware of how my pulse has quickened. “It’s good to see you both.”

Hank’s gaze holds mine for a moment longer than necessary, and the flicker of heat behind his calm exterior makes my breath catch. He steps closer first, opening his arms in a way that sends a flutter of anticipation through my stomach. When I move in for the hug, it’s more than a polite greeting—his arms come around me fully, his hold warm and undeniably possessive.

The press of his body against mine lingers for several heartbeats, too long to be casual. My pulse races, and I inhale his faint scent—something clean and solid that makes my mind drift to the memory of being carried in his arms. His lips brush against my temple, so light I might have imagined it if not for the way his arms tighten fractionally around me.

“Missed you,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice dropping to a register that sends a shiver down my spine. “More than I should admit.”

When Hank finally lets me go, Gabe steps forward, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He offers the same invitation, arms extended just enough for me to slip into his embrace. His hug is different: firm in a way that anchors me, with his fingertips pressing slightly into the small of my back. The moment his cheek brushes mine, his lips graze my ear deliberately .

“We’ve been thinking about you,” Gabe whispers, his breath warm against my skin, making the fine hairs on my neck stand up. His hand slides up my back in a slow, deliberate caress before he releases me, the ghost of his touch lingering even after he steps away.

When I pull back, the café feels smaller, the rest of the world a distant hum behind the glass windows. I can’t quite stop a deep blush from coloring my cheeks as I slide into the U-shaped booth, my skin still humming with the memory of their hands, their whispers, and the solid press of their bodies against mine.

A current of energy crackles between us—charged, electric, and undeniable.

I clear my throat, willing my voice to steady. “Well, you two certainly haven’t lost your knack for making me feel…” I pause, searching for the right word. “ … protected,” I finish, though the word feels inadequate for the heat still coursing through me.

Hank slides in on my left, his arm brushing mine as he settles, the brief contact enough to rekindle the warmth his embrace had ignited.

“Old habits,” he says, though the ghost of a smile plays at the edges of his mouth, a silent acknowledgment of what just passed between us.

Gabe slides in on my right, the two of them flanking me. He shares a brief, meaningful glance with Hank before shifting his focus back to me. His knee presses against mine under the table, a deliberate point of contact he makes no effort to break.

“We’re just happy to see you again,” Gabe says, his eyes warm as they meet mine. “You’re looking well.” His gaze lingers on my face, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Especially with that blush coloring your cheeks. I wonder why that is?”

The teasing note in his voice is gentle yet knowing, and the way he looks at me clearly shows he understands precisely what’s causing my reaction.

My cheeks warm further under his scrutiny, but I don’t look away. “I missed you both,” I admit, surprising myself with my honesty. “More than I expected to.” The words come out softer than intended, hanging between us like a confession.

“We missed you, too,” Hank says quietly from my other side, his voice a low rumble that sends a pleasant shiver through me.

Hank’s lips curve into a slow smile, and Gabe’s eyes darken. It’s obvious they revel in knowing exactly how much they affect me, and neither bothers to hide it.

Gabe lets out a low chuckle while Hank shifts subtly closer, his thigh pressing against mine in a mirror of Gabe’s position.

“Care to explain why your pretty cheeks are so flushed?” Gabe asks, his voice a mixture of curiosity and heat. “Or is there something you’re not telling us?”

I meet his gaze directly, my chin lifting in a show of boldness even as heat spreads further up my neck and across my chest.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable explaining that,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. “At least not in public.” The last words slip out before I can stop them, hanging between us with all their unintended implications.

“Fair enough,” Gabe says, leaning back in his seat but not breaking the contact under the table. “Full disclosure: I wouldn’t mind seeing you blush a little more.”

Hank merely nods in agreement, his gaze tracing a slow path from my eyes to my lips in a way that prickles heat at the nape of my neck. “No complaints here,” he adds, sounding entirely unapologetic. “I agree with Gabe. Making you blush like that,” he pauses, his eyes never leaving my face, “is definitely something I could get used to.”

My cheeks are positively burning now, and heat spreads down my neck to my chest. Between Hank’s heated gaze and Gabe’s knowing smile, I’m caught in a delicious trap of my own making. I bite my lower lip, trying to collect myself even as I’m acutely aware of being sandwiched between them.

“If you two keep looking at me like that,” I say, my voice lower than I intended, “I might spontaneously combust right here in this café.” I take a steadying breath, deliberately not breaking the contact with either of their thighs against mine. “Maybe you should buy me that latte first? You know, before you find out exactly how much you can make me blush. ”

The invitation in my words hangs between us, unmistakable.

Hank’s eyes darken as they hold mine, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That sounds like a challenge we’re perfectly up for exploring further,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. “But you’re right. First things first.” He glances at Gabe.

“What would you like?” Gabe asks, his hand briefly brushing against mine on the table, a casual touch that feels deliberate. “Let me guess,” Gabe says, his eyes twinkling confidently. “Vanilla latte with an extra shot?”

I blink in surprise, my lips parting slightly. “How did you?—”

“Lucky guess?” he offers with a smile that suggests it was anything but.

Hank leans in, his shoulder brushing mine. “We might have done some research on what you like,” he admits, his tone casual but his eyes watchful for my reaction.

“Research?” I repeat, surprised. “On my coffee preferences?”

Hank’s smile is small but significant. “Among other things,” he says quietly.

My mind races, wondering exactly what “other things” they’ve looked into and why they would bother. The thought that they’ve been thinking about me enough to investigate my likes and dislikes makes my pulse quicken.

“I’m … impressed,” I say finally, not bothering to hide my smile. “And maybe a little curious about what else you two know about me.”

Gabe winks as he stands. “All in good time,” he says. “We’re hoping we’ve got the rest right, too. We’ll see about that soon enough.” The way his eyes move between Hank and me leaves little doubt about what he’s suggesting—that they’ve thought about more than just coffee and what a relationship involving all three of us might look like.

The air between us practically crackles with possibility.

A comfortable silence settles over the table as Gabe stands to place our orders. The heat between us hasn’t disappeared, but it simmers below the surface, giving us room to breathe. I watch his confident stride toward the counter, aware of Hank’s steady presence beside me.

Minutes later, Gabe returns, expertly balancing three steaming cups. “One vanilla latte with an extra shot,” he announces with a flourish, placing it in front of me before distributing the remaining cups and sliding back into the booth.

Hank’s demeanor shifts subtly as I wrap my hands around the warm mug. His eyes, which had been dancing with playful heat earlier, turn serious as he studies my face.

“How are you really holding up, Ally?” he asks, his voice gentler than before. “Not the version you tell your dad or the doctors. The truth.”

The question catches me off guard after our flirtatious exchange. Something in Hank’s tone gives me pause—a quiet command beneath the concern—that makes evasion feel impossible. Though his words are gentle, an undercurrent of authority resonates deep within me, making the truth rise to my lips before I can second-guess myself.

I look down at my coffee, surprised not just by his directness, but by my overwhelming urge to answer him honestly. Something about pleasing him feels right. It’s strange how withholding the truth from him feels fundamentally wrong, even though we barely know each other.

Yet, as I sit between them, I realize these men who should be strangers somehow feel like anything but.

The pull is inexplicable, a sense that I could bare my soul to them, and they would understand parts of me others never could. It’s terrifying and comforting all at once—this natural instinct to let them see past my carefully constructed walls.

“I’m … ” I begin automatically, then stop myself from giving the standard “fine” I’ve been handing out. They deserve better. I glance up to find both men watching me with identical expressions of genuine concern.

“I have moments,” I admit finally. “Nothing I can’t handle, but there are times when a car backfires or someone moves too quickly nearby, and suddenly I’m … ”

I trail off, not wanting to revisit those flashes of terror that occasionally ambush me.

“It’s normal,” Gabe says quietly, his usual playfulness momentarily set aside.

“The body remembers even when you’re trying to move forward,” Hank adds, his hand moving to cover mine on the table, warm and steady. “It’ll get easier with time.”

“Voice of experience?” I ask, grateful for their matter-of-fact approach that doesn’t make me feel broken.

Hank nods. “Unfortunately.”

“We’ve both been there,” Gabe confirms, a shadow crossing his features before he offers a small smile. “But you’re strong. Stronger than most people we’ve seen go through something like this, and if you allow it, you have us as well.”

No pity exists in either of their eyes, just recognition and a steady confidence in me that makes my chest tighten with something other than attraction.

“I do?” I ask, genuine surprise coloring my voice. The offer catches me off guard—these men who barely know me, offering their support so freely. “I wouldn’t want to bother either of you. I can handle it on my own. I’ve been managing fine so far.”

Gabe shakes his head firmly. “That’s the last thing we’re going to allow,” he says, all playfulness gone, replaced by unwavering conviction. “You handling something like this alone.”

“We’re here for you,” Hank adds, his voice low but resolute. “Whether it’s a phone call at 3 a.m. or just someone to sit with. That’s not negotiable.”

The intensity in both their expressions makes my throat tighten. I’m not used to this—people offering help without being asked, without me having to prove I need it first.

“I wake up sometimes,” I confess, relief washing through me at finally voicing what I’ve kept hidden, “for a second, I’m not sure where I am.” It feels good to say it out loud to people who don’t immediately try to fix me.

Gabe leans forward slightly. “Have you tried any grounding techniques for when that happens?”

“Like what?” I ask, intrigued.

“Simple sensory things,” Hank explains, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of my hand. “A specific scent by your bed—lavender or something distinctive. A texture to touch. Something that tells your brain ‘you’re home, you’re safe’ before your thoughts even kick in.”

“I keep a small light on,” Gabe adds. “First thing I see when I open my eyes. Reminds me where I am.”

The way they explain it makes me wonder what anchors they use and what ghosts they’ve had to learn to live with. I’m struck by the realization that these two men understand parts of me that even my closest friends and family can’t.

“I’ll try that,” I say, genuinely grateful for the advice.

Hank gives my hand one last squeeze before letting go, the gesture saying everything his words didn’t: We’re here. You’re not alone.

Something has shifted between us—a deeper understanding that parallels the attraction.

We move into easier conversation—how my recovery’s going, how I’m managing the whirlwind of security and medical checkups. Hank and Gabe listen intently, asking questions about any lingering pain and what it’s like being cooped up at home.

There’s something profoundly reassuring about how they focus on me as if every word matters.

It’s surprisingly … normal.

Little by little, the mood shifts from playful banter to genuine concern. I find myself sharing bits and pieces of the past few days, the frustration of fatherly overprotection, and the restlessness of needing something—anything—to do besides dwell on memories.

Oddly enough, it feels therapeutic to talk with them.

Hank leans forward, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Have you thought about returning to your doctorate? Finishing your thesis?”

I pause, the question weighing heavily on me. “I don’t know if my head’s in that right space after everything that’s happened,” I admit. “Whittman wants us to take a couple of months off. I think he needs space after… everything. ”

Hank and Gabe exchange a silent look, communicating without words. Then Gabe speaks up, his voice warm with certainty. “If that’s the case, you’re coming home with us.”

Surprised, I look between the two of them. “What do you mean, home with you?”

“It’s easier to sort things out when you’re not in the middle of everything.” Hank shares a look with Gabe. “And I think we can help distract you from your memories.”

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate, but then I glance over my shoulder at Harrison and the others lurking by the window. “But what about them? Dad will never?—”

“Don’t worry about the security detail,” Gabe says, that professional tone sliding back into his voice. “We’ll handle them.”

“Your father trusts us,” Hank adds with a slight smile. “And we’re technically more qualified than his team anyway.”

“We’ll make the arrangements,” Gabe says. “Just pack what you need.”

“I don’t need anything but the two of you.” The words slip out before I can stop them, soft but certain. I look between them, feeling a flutter of anticipation in my chest.

The intensity of their responding gazes makes my breath catch. The crowded café seems to fade away, leaving just the three of us and the electric, unstable heat simmering between us. The chemistry is undeniable—it has been since Kazakhstan—raw and magnetic and impossible to ignore.