CHAPTER FIFTY

Ambrose pushed through the crowd outside, head swiveling as he scanned the people around him, his breath releasing in a rush of relief when his gaze fell on the singular face he’d been desperately seeking. Lennon spotted him a heartbeat later, her face mirroring the emotion he knew must be on his own. “Ambrose.” He saw her mouth move as she said his name but couldn’t hear it over the cacophony of sirens and shouted commands. The police had control of the situation, and he’d watched as Franco Girone was captured and handcuffed and dragged from the building, still yelling incoherently. But the injured—and the dead—were just now being wheeled out, and he’d lost Lennon in the chaos.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past someone, the myriad red strobes from the dozens of police cruisers blocking the street giving the evening an otherworldly, pulsing glow. For a moment he could believe that he had awoken in the middle of a treatment session and none of what he’d witnessed had really happened. None of his surroundings were real.

But then he reached her, pulling her body against his own, and she was warm and solid. And she gripped him back, repeating his name again and again, saying it like a prayer.

“You did good, Lennon. You saved so many of those people.” He knew there were ones who had not been saved, and they’d grieve those poor souls later. But now, he needed to let her know how proud of her he was. How in awe.

“You did, too, Ambrose. We did everything we could. I think it was all we could do.”

He nodded, running his hands over her hair, bringing his lips to her temple.

“I have to find my lieutenant,” she said after a moment. “I have to get to work.”

“I know,” he said. He felt her tremble. “Hey, everything is going to be okay.” He didn’t know how or when, but he knew it would be, knew they’d both land on their feet, and believed that something good—somehow, someway—would result from this terrible day, where innocents had lost their lives and he’d watched the doctor he loved and revered sacrifice himself. But right now, he couldn’t even begin to articulate the complexities of that, and so he hoped she heard it in his voice and felt it in his embrace.

She looked up at him, her eyes so trusting, and he vowed right then and there that he would do everything in his power—for the rest of his life—to prove himself worthy of that expression.

She pulled him close again as though she needed the contact for another moment more, and he felt her heart beating against his, thud, thud, thud , a breath of calm descending even amid the noise and disbelief and heartache. My anchor. My soft place to land. My peacemaker.

After a moment, she let go, kissing him quickly on his lips before she turned away and headed toward the bevy of unmarked cars arriving at the scene. Ambrose turned, too, his gaze falling on the quiet city beyond, far away from the bedlam surrounding him, ignorant of the horror that had occurred so close to home. The moon shone against the dark sky, and stars blinked to life, and everything looked so peaceful out there. He remembered how he and Lennon had once talked about all the small pockets of darkness. Those existed; he knew that well. But even now— especially now—he would never forget that small pockets of light existed, too, and they were worth searching for.