“I get that,” Sydney said. “I’m pretty attached to my firearms, especially my SIG. It’s probably not healthy?—”
“Don’t go down that path,” Tank said. “You’re attached for a reason.”
She sure as hell was.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the Black Site. Slash’s husband, Carrera, was waiting out back.
Sydney hated that Slash had been shot, but she loved how happy she and Carrera were to see each other. Slash’s face lit up, he got a little emotional. It was sweet, and she loved watching them interact.
Soulmates.
After they brought Slash to the medical wing, nurse Baker Deen took over. Sydney and Tank left her in good hands, but Carrera stayed.
In the hallway, Sydney removed her wig, regarded Tank. “I’m gonna need a few.” She took off toward the residential wing. Seconds later, he was by her side. He didn’t say anything. He just placed his hand on her shoulder, gave her a tender squeeze, then removed it.
In truth, shedidn’twant to be alone. But she’d learned how to manage through these setbacks on her own. She opened the door to her suite, stepped inside. When she turned, he was standing in the doorway. A pillar of strength, the same compassion spilling from his gaze.
“Don’t shut me out,” was all he said.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she pushed back.
“Like what?”
She peered up at him, wondering how honest she should be.
“Vulnerable?” he prodded. “Sweaty? Are you still experiencing anxiety or feeling bad?”
Tell him. He’ll either lean in or he’ll bolt.
“All of the above,” she replied.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “Do you want me to wait in your room while you shower? Do you need me to hold you?” He held out his hand.
She studied it. Large fingers with trimmed nails and beautiful skin. When she jumped her gaze to his face, she knew what she wanted to do.
As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “It takes a lot of courage to go it alone. It also takes courage to let someone help you through it. I want to be that person for you, Sydney.”
She melted, flat-out melted.
Do it. You gotta do it.
She wrapped her hand around his, pulled him into the room. He held her close, kissed the top of her head. “I got you.”
She hugged him hard, then she relaxed against him. To her surprise, the anxiety subsided, the fear began to retreat. When she broke away, he dropped a soft kiss on her lips.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m never okay,” he replied, “but I’m relieved Slash wasn’t killed, that we all weren’t gunned down by that monster.”
“How can you bounce back from this so quickly?”
“Who says I do?” Pausing, he stroked her hand with his thumb. Soft, gentle caresses while kind eyes peered into hers. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you, Sydney. If you’d followed Tucker’s rules, and youdidn’thave your weapon, we’d all be dead. Thank you for saving us.”
She offered him a nod of acknowledgment.
“I think that’s what triggered my PTSD,” she said. “I would have been on that rooftop watching him take all of you out.” The realization had her hugging herself to self-soothe.
