Page 48 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)
“We honor him.” Jenna’s voice cuts through the chaos, steady despite everything. Military training holding her together when emotion threatens to shatter her completely. “We make sure his death means something.”
One of the medics approaches with that dreaded white sheet—cotton that will erase Hank’s face, hide the man we love behind sterile fabric.
“Wait.” My voice cracks on the word. “Please. Just—wait.”
I lean over him, memorizing details I should have paid more attention to while he lived. The scar on his chin from a childhood accident. The way his dark lashes look longer against pale skin. The callus on his trigger finger from years of service.
Features I’ve kissed, touched, and loved. Now still as a photograph.
“I’m sorry.” The words tear from somewhere deep in my chest.
“Don’t.” Gabe’s voice breaks completely. “Don’t you dare. He chose to save you because you were worth everything to him. To both of us.”
The medic’s hand settles gently on my shoulder. “Ma’am, we need to?—”
“I know.” I don’t look away from Hank’s face. “I know what you need to do.”
But I don’t move. Can’t move. Moving means accepting this is real. Moving means leaving him to whatever comes next—body bags and transport and all the administrative machinery of death.
“We need to call his parents,” Ethan says quietly, his command voice steadier now that he has practical tasks to focus on. “His sister. They deserve to hear it from us, not through official channels.”
“What do we tell them?” Carter asks, his tears finally stopping.
“The truth.” Jenna’s response is immediate. “That he died a hero. That he saved lives. That he was loved.”
“That he was the best of us,” Walt adds softly.
The sheet settles over Hank’s face like snow. White cotton erasing the features I’ve memorized, loved, needed more than breath itself. My hand still holds his beneath the thin fabric, fingers intertwined with his cooling ones.
I sob, the sound cutting through me like a blade—not the controlled grief of before, but something wild and broken. The strength I’ve maintained through captivity, torture, and rescue finally cracks completely. My body shakes with the force of love and loss pouring out in waves.
Gabe stares at the covered body for a long moment, something terrible building behind his eyes. Then he turns and walks out of the medical bay without a word.
“Gabe—” I start to follow, but my legs won’t support me. The breakdown I’ve been holding back hits full force.
“Let him go.” Ethan’s voice carries command authority even in grief. “He needs space right now.”
“He needs—” I can’t finish the sentence through my sobs.
“To process this in his own way.” Ethan’s eyes track to where Gabe’s footsteps fade down the corridor. “We all do.”
The women move as one, surrounding me in a circle of fierce, unspoken love. A sisterhood forged in captivity, in blood and bruises and whispered hope. They know what it means to love men who bleed for others.
Who would die to protect us.
Who have.
“Come here.” Jenna’s voice is soft but firm. She pulls me away from the table, away from the sheet-covered reminder of what we’ve lost.
“I can’t leave him.” Leaving feels like abandonment, like the final betrayal of everything we were together.
My legs feel disconnected from my body, muscles unwilling to obey simple commands. The medical bay has become the last place we were all together, the last space where love existed in its complete form.
“You’re not leaving him.” Malia takes my other arm, gentle but insistent. “But you can’t stay here either.”
“He’ll always be with us,” Rebel adds quietly, her damaged face showing fierce conviction. “Death doesn’t end love. It just changes where it lives.”
They guide me out of the medical bay, a procession of wounded women supporting each other through the worst night of their lives. Our voices fade as we move toward the galley, leaving the men to stand vigil over their fallen brother.
“Three days to home port,” Ethan says quietly to the remaining team. “Captain’s running dark, minimal communications. Gives us time to figure out our next steps.”
“Memorial service?” Carter asks.
“Full military honors,” Walt confirms. “Guardian HRS will want to?—”
“No.” Blake’s interruption is sharp. “Not just Guardian HRS. This is bigger than that. Hank was—he was family to all of us.”
“Private service first,” Ethan decides. “For us. For the people who loved him. Then whatever official ceremonies Guardian HRS requires.”
Three days on this boat with Hank’s body in the ship’s morgue. Three days to process what we’ve lost and decide what comes next.
Three days to figure out how to live in a world that feels fundamentally broken without him.
Three days that feel like a lifetime.
But also like no time at all to say goodbye to the future we’ll never have.
I loved you , I think, grief settling into my bones like lead. I loved you, and I’ll keep loving you, and I’ll figure out how to live with that love even when you’re not here to receive it.
The thought doesn’t comfort. Nothing will comfort for a very long time.
But it’s a place to start.