Page 80 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

She’d spent fifteen years proving she didn’t need anyone. Tonight, she let him carry her.

He took her down the hall carefully, keeping his steps even, her head supported where it rested near his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek.

She hadn’t meant to rest her head against him. But she’d done it anyway and didn’t move it away. In her bedroom, he lowered her onto the mattress and drew the quilt over her with care.

She shifted, eyes barely opening. “Hudson?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still here?”

Her eyes closed again. Once, a long time ago, he’d left without looking back, and some frightened part of her still expected him to.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still here.”

She believed him.

And for tonight, that was enough.

33

Sarah woke to the sound of running water.

For one disorienting second, she thought a pipe had burst. Memory flooded back.

Hudson.

She stayed where she was for another minute, listening to the shower through the wall, the domestic noise strangely comforting. Her head still ached, though less than yesterday, and the bruising across her ribs complained as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

The house smelled of fresh coffee.

She padded down the hall. The kitchen stopped her in the doorway. Everything was clean and stacked away. The counters were wiped down. The flowers he’d bought sat in the middle of the table, catching the morning light.

It looked lived-in. Hudson had filled it with his presence.

The bathroom door opened behind her. She turned as Hudson stepped into the hallway, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

He’d pulled on jeans, but his chest was bare. Water tracked slowly over the hard planes of his chest before disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Oh.

Good God.

She suddenly understood the nurse at the hospital.

His eyes widened fractionally when he spotted her. “Sorry.” He scrubbed the towel over his hair. “Thought you were still asleep.”

There was a pale scar beneath his collarbone. Another disappeared around the side of his rib cage. Fifteen years had happened to him too.

She cleared her throat, which was suddenly less cooperative than usual.

“It’s fine.” She managed a shrug that tugged unpleasantly at her rib cage. “Least I could do after everything you’ve done is let you use the shower.”

The arm holding the towel dropped from his head to his side. “Thanks.”

The silence that followed felt too aware. Sarah turned back into the kitchen before her brain embarrassed her any further. She opened the cupboard for a mug. The stretch pulled sharply across her side and she hissed a breath of pain.

A hand appeared beside hers. “I’ve got it.”