The surgeon nodded. “She’s awake. She’s been asking for you.”
He was moving before she finished the sentence.
He found Jayden in the recovery room, her face pale against the white sheets. IV line in her arm, monitors beeping softly, bandages visible beneath the hospital gown. Her hair was tangled, dark circles under her eyes.
She’d never looked more beautiful.
Her eyes found his the moment he stepped through the door and the texture in them shifted—relief, warmth, something deeper that made his chest ache.
“Hey, Tiff.”
She laughed—weak, pained, but real. “You remembered.”
“I told you, I like it.” He moved to the chair beside her bed, sat down, close enough to touch her but not quite doing it yet. Afraid that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Alive. Here. Together.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For saving me.”
“You saved me first.”
She frowned, confused. “I was the one in the water.”
“Not talking about the water.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed rail. “You made me believe that things might be more than what I see. That maybe faith isn’t just . . . hoping for something. That it’s choosing to trust even when you can’t be certain.”
She was quiet, watching him with those beautiful eyes.
“There was a bomb,” he said. “In the ventilation system. The last one—different from the others. Timer-based, no radio receiver. Nimue’s protocol wouldn’t work.”
“What did you do?”
“Analyzed it. Traced the circuits. Tried to figure out which wire to cut.” He paused. “And then I ran out of time. The timer was counting down and I didn’t know—I couldn’t know—which choice was right.”
“But you made one.”
“I prayed.” The words came out simply, without embarrassment. “And I felt something—not a voice, not a vision. Just . . . knowing. Certainty, from somewhere I couldn’t explain.” He met her eyes. “I did something my training said was suicide. And it worked. Because I trusted something I couldn’t analyze.”
She reached out, her hand finding his. Her fingers were cool, the IV tubing trailing across the sheets, but her grip was strong.
“You taught me that,” he said. “Without even trying. That maybe the things I can’t see are just as real as the things I can.”
“Dakota . . .” She hesitated. “I’m complicated. You know that. My whole life is covers and lies and?—”
“You’re not complicated.” He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through hers. “You’re amazing. And beautiful. And brave.” He paused, his heart pounding harder than it had when the timer hit zero. “And my wife.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not without a real ring.”
“I got you a ring.”
“I’m going to need a diamond.”
He nodded, smiling, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. “I can make that happen.”
A beat. Her eyes searched his, wary, watchful.
And he gave her nothing of the same. Just a solid, sturdy, trust me. Then, “Listen. I don’t know what the future holds,” Dakota said. “But I’m going to have faith that it’s a good one. With you.”
She swallowed. “I want that.” Her voice was soft. “But it’s complicated. I like what I do.”
