Page 69 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Connor

Despite the weakness of my body, my training kicks in.

The rebels’ harsh treatment dulled my senses but didn’t completely cut me off from myself. My mind zeroes in on the target, the way it has a million times before.

All I need to do is catch the hand outstretched before me… I take a few more steps, my fingers brushing those of Brody’s.

I stumble and begin to fall, when he leans out, grabs me under my arms, and hauls me inside the SUV and into the footwell between him and the dashboard. My legs hang out. It’s a tight fit, but goddamn, I’m so fucking glad to be here.

"Go, go, go," Brody yells at the driver.

The vehicle reverses. Meanwhile, I hear shots being returned. More shots fired. A bullet slams into the windshield, which cracks. Glass pieces shatter over us.

"What I wouldn’t give to have a battle-ready, reinforced-armored vehicle," Brody growls. "Get us the fuck out of here."

On command, the driver executes a U-turn. The vehicle leaps forward. Brody hauls the rest of my body inside. I’m doubled up, but this is safer.

The men in the back seat hang out of the vehicle and return fire.

"Not long now. We’ll be at camp soon. The rebels won’t follow us there."

I know this, but it’s good to hear it from someone else, too.

Brody pulls out a trauma bandage from his thigh pouch and jams it into my side. Pain shoots up my spine and explodes behind my eyes. "Fuck," I yell.

"You’re shot."

"I’m aware," I say through gritted teeth.

"Best not bleed out. Phoenix won’t be happy if you do."

At the mention of my wife’s name, everything in me lights up.

Do I regret leaving her? Hell, yes.

Every second since I stepped into that godforsaken compound, I’ve thought of her. Her face is what’s kept me going. The memory of her smile. The sound of her laugh. The way she says my name like it means something.

Has it been her, all this time, pulling me back from the edge? Her voice calling out to me when I’ve been unable to sleep at night. Her scent teasing me, evoking hope inside me every time I sank into despair.

Maybe, that’s why I’m still breathing.

Why I’m still fighting. Because I need to get back to her. Because I want— need —to hold her again. To tell her the thing I should’ve said before I left.

I love her.

And I promised myself, if I make it out of this alive, I’m not wasting another second.

I’m going to tell her. All of it. Every messy, broken, desperate part of me—laid bare at her feet. Because she’s it. My reason. My anchor. My home.

And I’m coming back for her. No matter what it takes.

Elation bubbles up in my chest. I can’t wait to be reunited with her. Her. My wife. Mine.

The emotions push aside the pain. The fact that I’ll be seeing her soon rushes to the front of my consciousness. I have no doubt, that’s why Brody mentioned it.

"Nothing’s going to happen to me." My voice weakens, my vision going black around the edges. Fuck, I must be losing a lot of blood.

Brody, too, must sense me fading, for he slaps my face.

"What the fuck?"

"Stay with me," he snaps.

"You’ve been waiting to do that since I kissed Miriam in fourth grade, when really, you had a crush on her all along." I manage to make my tongue form the words. Why does my face feel numb? And why the fuck am I shivering?

"That’s exactly right." He reaches under the seat, pulls out an emergency blanket, and wraps it around me.

"Hold on, almost there." His voice is calm, but I see the strain on his face.

"If something happens to me—" I touch the sparkly hairband around my wrist.

I brought it with me when I left her.

"Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Brody growls.

"If something… Happens to me… Tell Phe… I’m sorry… I didn’t…keep my promise and—" Darkness overwhelms me. I feel him slap my face again and manage to flutter open my eyes.

"You stay the fuck with me, Connor, you hear me?"

I manage to nod.

Then the vehicle screeches to a stop. Hands descend on me. I give in to the darkness.

My body feels weightless, untethered. The pain is gone. There are no more sensations—no heat, no cold, no breath. Only a vast stillness. And an overwhelming peace. It’s so comfortable. Quiet. Serene. A soft, shimmering light in the distance beckons.

I gravitate toward it, reaching for it until?—

“Connor.”

Her voice lassoes around me, halting my progress. I’m suspended, unable to move.

“Connor!”

Her voice again, calling me back, dragging me to the surface. I don’t want to go.

“Open your eyes.”

I want to resist, but the insistence in her tone resonates with something deep inside me. I need to return.

I turn to the light one last time. I can’t. Won’t. Not yet. My eyelids twitch, then flutter open—and I see her.

Hazel eyes drowning in fear. Tears streaming down flushed cheeks. Her chin trembling. “Connor.”

“I’m here.”

She kisses my mouth.

The taste of her detonates in my bloodstream—a lightning strike of adrenaline, a tidal wave of life exploding through my veins.

With that, the pain returns, slamming into me with such force I gasp and cough.

Something beeps too loudly, too fast. Warmth crashes over my body—and with it, white-hot agony. I feel like I’m being sliced in two.

I groan aloud, closing my eyes against the relentless blows of pain.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” she cries.

Through the searing hurt, through the sensation of my body being torn in every direction, I snap open my eyes.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” I grit out.

Her gaze widens.

“Except this time.” I try to smirk, end up coughing again.

She leans over me.

My last image is of her bitten lips. My last sensation, the edges of her hair brushing across my face. Then darkness pulls me under.

White. Everything is so white. And it smells of antiseptic.

Even before I’m fully conscious, I know I’m in the hospital.

Then, I remember seeing her before I passed out, and my eyes snap open.

I take in the white walls, the sunshine pouring in through the windows.

The muted beeps indicating machines are monitoring my progress.

Then, like a heat-seeking missile, my gaze locks onto her and doesn’t let go.

She’s in a chair next to the bed, her fingers woven through mine. And her head is cushioned on her other arm, which is on the bed next to me. Her thick, dark eyelashes form a fringed crescent over her cheeks. Her luscious lips are slightly parted. There are dark circles underneath her eyes.

She was there when the vehicle arrived back at camp. I’ve no doubt, she jumped into trauma specialist mode and took care of me. I couldn’t be in better hands. And then, she must have stayed up, keeping watch over me until I regained consciousness.

I don’t want to disturb her, but she must sense me watching her, for her eyelids lift. She looks up, and our gazes collide.

For a second she freezes, then she jerks upright. "You’re awake."

"I am." My voice comes out rough. My throat hurts. When I cough, she reaches for the drinking cup. Sliding her arm under my neck, she holds me, then urges me to drink from the straw. I draw the water in deeply, only stopping when the water runs out. The burn in my throat subsides somewhat.

She places the cup back on the side table, then plumps the pillows behind my head. When she’s satisfied that I’m comfortable, she sits back. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I’ve been shot?" I chuckle, then wince when my ribs ache.

"Take it easy. You took a bullet to your left flank. It missed your vital organs, but it did fracture two of your lower ribs. There was a lot of bleeding—we had to manage the hemorrhage and drain some blood from around your lung. The good news is, the bullet didn’t hit anything life-threatening.

You’re stable now, but we’ll keep monitoring for any signs of infection or fluid buildup. ”

She doesn’t meet my gaze as she reels off the diagnosis.

"You have been incredibly lucky." She swallows. "A few more millimeters either side, and you’d have been in critical condition. And thankfully, we had an air-ambulance on standby. We airlifted you to a hospital in Germany where they could operate on you."

"Germany?" I look around. "That’s where we are?"

"It was the closest place with all the amenities needed. Once we stabilized you, we made the call to move you."

She keeps her gaze fixed somewhere over my right shoulder. I realize then, this entire experience was even more difficult for her than I imagined.

"Hey, Fever, look at me," I say softly.

She shakes her head.

"Phe, come on. I’ve been dreaming of looking into your eyes and seeing those gorgeous hazel-green eyes of yours when I kiss you."

"You shouldn’t indulge in any such physical activity. Not until you’re completely better." Her voice is stern.

"Oh?" I quirk my head. "Taking advantage of the fact that you’re my doctor, are you?"

"You bet." Her eyes fill, but she blinks away the tears. "You were lucky. Infuriatingly lucky. You’d better focus on your recovery now."

I reach for her hand, half afraid she’ll pull away. To my relief, she doesn’t. "I know you’re upset with me."

She firms her lips.

My chest tightens. I gave her reason to worry—reason enough to fear the worst. I swore I'd never to go into the field again, but this last assignment dragged me into danger and put my life on the line.

I hurt her. Not on purpose, but the damage is done. I swallow around the thickness in my throat. "I’m sorry I couldn’t return to you earlier."

She knits her eyebrows. "You didn’t have a choice but to walk into that rebel camp and trade yourself for the hostages.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of you. But as your wife, it’s my right to be upset that it was you who had to go in there and negotiate their release.

And then, when you didn’t return"—she sets her jaw—"I had every right to be pissed off with you for the danger you put yourself in.

And every right to be angry with you for being such a humanitarian.

Even though it's one of the things I admire most about you.”