Page 86 of The Image of You

“Am I?”

“Yes.” I kissed her damp cheek. “A fight doesn’t change that, Nightingale.”

“Adam!” I looked around to see Chris heading toward us. “You ready to go, man? I’ve been waiting!”

I stifled a curse, knowing I had to leave her. I wanted to make sure she knew we were going to be fine. But more than that, I needed to know she was going to be fine.

She leaned up, brushing my cheek with her lips. “I’ll pick up my ring, but I’m waiting until you come home to wear it. I want you to put it on my finger.”

I slid my hand up her neck and pulled her to me, crashing my mouth to hers. I kissed her with everything I had. Hard, deep, and filled with words we didn’t have time to exchange. I moved back, breathing hard, my chest tight. “Once I put it on, you can’t ever take it off again.”

“Come home safe to me.”

I nodded. “Always.”

She stepped away. I grabbed my bags, backing from her slowly. It took everything in me to turn and walk away from her. It still felt as though things were unresolved, even with her sweet words of farewell. I turned back to say something to her, surprised to see she was already moving toward me. I dropped my bags and caught her in my arms.

“This is the last time I leave you. I promise.”

She nodded and released the grip she had on my neck. I lowered her to her feet, cupping her cheek.

“Come on, Adam!” Chris yelled.

I picked up my bags again, never breaking eye contact with her.

“I’ll be here,” she vowed shakily.

I held on to those words as I boarded a plane to Africa, once again leaving her behind.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Weeks later, I let my head fall back against the ripped material of the headrest while my body jarred and shifted as the Jeep hurtled down the torn-up road toward the small airstrip in the center of Africa. I ached all over, my body thin and weak. My tattered clothes were covered in stains of dirt, blood, and all manner of fluids. I was beyond exhausted, and after what I’d witnessed and been through the last while, it felt as though every nerve in my body was sitting on the top of my skin, burning and humming with anxiety. I repeatedly traced over the cracked screen of my iPhone with my thumb, the battery long since dead. There had been no point in plugging it in. The generator was needed for other things, and we had no cellular reception.

Two more hours.

Two more hours and I’d be in a small plane that would take me back to something resembling civilization. A few hours after that, I could plug in my phone and let it charge.

But most important, I would use the landline at the hotel and call my Nightingale.

I hadn’t heard her voice in what felt like forever, despite that it was only a few weeks.

I shut my eyes as my chest swelled with longing to hear her voice.

Even if she was still upset with me, I needed to hear her voice.

She would calm me, help me find my center, and regain enough strength to get home.

To her.

Because where she was, that was home. Then I would never leave her again. I never should have left her this time.

I glanced down at my phone again and wondered if, when it came to life, it would be filled with her sweet messages of love.

Or, if she was upset enough, it would be empty.

I prayed it was the former.

A deep shuddering exhale of air escaped my lungs.