40. Ike

40

IKE

She was alive and in my arms.

I swallowed back the fear and pulled her closer, sliding my hand up and down her back as she cried in my arms. I knew the feeling all too well. The relief mixed with a sense of doom that it might not really be over—that this might all be a dream neither of us would wake up from.

But I could touch her, feel her heart beating under my fingertips. She was real and she was here. I pressed my lips to her head again, unable to stop myself. In my whole life, I’d never cared for anyone until Jane, and that seemed an impossibility as I realized how much danger I put her in. That and the fact that she was in love with IRIS.

And then I saw her. The fight in her eyes in that alley, the way her body didn’t tense around me, as if she knew I was dangerous but wasn’t afraid. It was something in those green eyes that captured me, almost like holding dynamite and knowing it would go off any second. It was dangerous as hell, but you needed to see what would happen if you held on. Maybe that was foolish, but I couldn’t help myself.

I followed her and watched her, unable to walk away. Even when I found out she was with Kavanaugh, I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. Not a second time. A dark, hollow part of me dared to hope that I could have her when I voiced the truth to her after her interview in New York. Kavanaugh was fucking things up, and maybe I should feel bad about taking such joy in that, but his mistakes could be the very thing that gave me exactly what I wanted.

“I don’t understand why we’re alive,” she whispered, her sobs finally quieting. “What happened?”

I didn’t have a fucking clue. “I can’t answer that. The last I remember, I was slamming that fucking piece of wood into the door.”

“Maybe someone heard you.”

I doubted it, but it was a possibility. “I’m just glad I can feel my toes again.”

She chuckled against my chest, her fingers finally releasing my gown from their death grip. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at a tree skirt again as anything other than a blanket.”

“The next one should be thicker.”

“Agreed.” She sighed, her warm breath fanning over my chest, allowing me to settle back comfortably in the bed. “What happened to your hands?”

I looked at them, examining the bandages. “I would guess it’s from the wood. I don’t remember much.”

Those last few moments of consciousness were filled with hate for myself that I had failed Isla, but telling her that wouldn’t help matters now.

I laid there in silence with her for hours, both of us just staring around the room, touching each other from time to time to remind ourselves that we were alive and had survived. I shifted a little, pulling her down in the bed with me as I lowered the head of the bed so we both could get some sleep. The nurse came in at some point and offered us another blanket, which both of us gratefully took. I wasn’t sure I would ever feel warm again after what happened.

“What do we do now?” Her voice was just a whisper in the dark.

So many things were on the tip of my tongue. Stay with me. Don’t go back to Kavanaugh. Fucking kiss me. I wanted all of her, for her to stay with me and choose me. But I knew it was too soon to ask her for any of that. We’d just survived when we thought we would die. Her emotions were running high, and right now, she’d probably say yes to staying with me just because life and death situations tended to make people act out.

But I didn’t want her to choose me because we’d almost died together. I wanted her to come to me on her own when she was thinking clearly and knew I was the one she wanted.

I squeezed her tight, sighing as I said the words. “We take it one day at a time.”

She shifted until she was resting on her elbow. “That’s it?” she croaked out.

“What do you want me to say?”

“What about all those things you said to me?”

God, those eyes. They were so fucking gorgeous. It was hell to not be able to look at them clearly for the past four days. But now…I could get lost in them. “I meant every fucking word.”

“Then—”

My lips twitched as an almost angry expression graced her face. “Have I told you how much I love to see that bite of anger you send my way?”

“No,” she snapped.

“Well, I do. And I still want all those things I said to you in the container. But just like I wouldn’t kiss you because we were about to die, I won’t make you any promises until you come to me—clear-headed and thinking about what you really want.”

“We’re not dead,” she whispered.

We weren’t, and as much as I didn’t want to let her go, she had been through one thing after another. I needed to know she was choosing me because she wanted me, not because of the circumstances we found ourselves in.

“Then when you’re ready, you’ll come to me.” I slid my hand along her jaw, feeling the curve of her neck as I traced every inch I could. Finally, my thumb settled over her lips, memorizing the feel of what I prayed to God I would one day feel.

The door swung open, breaking the spell.

“Isla,” Kavanaugh breathed out, rushing over to her side of the bed.

She was torn from my grasp in the next second. Kavanaugh pulled her in for a hug, but her eyes locked on mine.

Soon. She would come to me one day, and then she would truly be mine.