Again.
Again.
“You keep that up, and you’re going to pace a hole through the floor.” Gunnar’s voice cuts through the silence.
I stop long enough to look at the stretch of marble beneath me and realize I actually have been walking the exact same route repeatedly. My entire body feels wired too tight, alive with nervous energy that has nowhere to go.
“I can’t help it,” I exhale.
His tone softens slightly. “I know.”
I glance at him. He sits leaning back against the couch cushions, one ankle crossed over his knee, broad arms folded loosely across his chest. Unlike Damon’s intensity or Hawk’s sharp edge, Gunnar carries a strange kind of steadiness about him. He’s solid and grounded, like nothing rattles him.
“They’re good at this,” he shares after a moment. “Scary good at this. It’s why we do it.”
There’s absolute confidence in his voice.
While it could be conveyed as arrogance, it’s not: it’s certainty.
Coming from someone like Gunnar—someone who has seen Damon in situations like this for years—grants me the permission my body needs to relax a little.
My eyes drift toward the dark windows overlooking the compound grounds. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry.”
“No,” he agrees calmly. “It doesn’t.”
Silence stretches for another few seconds before he adds, “Just know, I don’t envy any man who tries to keep Damon from coming back to you.”
The words bloom warm in my chest, because I know exactly what Damon looked like when he thought he’d lost me. I’ve seen the violence in him, firsthand. It was a primal level of terrifying devotion. I know in my heart that, if it came to it, Damon would crawl back to me with his last breath. Somehow, that thought both comforts and devastates me.
Suddenly, Gunnar’s phone rings, buzzing across the table. The sound slices through the room so sharply, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, already rushing toward him before he even checks the screen.
Gunnar grabs the phone quickly, and his entire posture sharpens before a momentary relief flashes across his face. “It’s them.”
My heart slams violently against my ribs as he answers and puts the call on speaker.
Static crackles first.
Then Damon’s voice.
“We’ve got him.”
“Oh my God.” The breath leaves my lungs in a sharp rush, relief crashing through my chest so violently, it almost hurts as I squeeze Gunnar’s arm in excitement. “Dad?”
“Mackenzi.” His voice sounds rough and weak.
Tears burn instantly behind my eyes.
“How soon until you get home?” I ask quickly.
My question is answered with silence. While it doesn’t stretch on for minutes, it’s long enough that dread begins crawling back up my spine.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart…” he apologizes shakily.
“Dad…” My voice cracks. “You don’t need to do this for my forgiveness.”
Opposite me, Gunnar’s expression tightens slightly, like he understands where this conversation is going.
