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His splint came off today. His bruises are gone. The first thing we did was head to the basketball court, where Sheridan and his smile were waiting for us. Brennan practiced free throws and layups until his hand cramped, and then I massaged his fingers while we watched Sheridan make jump ball after jump ball.
“It’s been six weeks.” Brennan runs his fingers through my hair and kisses the top of my head.
I nod. Six weeks of tiptoeing around. Six weeks of waiting. Six weeks of wondering.
Six weeks of wrestling with myself. Can I continue as Brennan’s detail lead?
Before, I feared I wouldn’t be objective or able to function if Brennan were injured—or worse—but in the space of a few hours, I learned what I was truly capable of when Brennan was taken from me. How I will saw the sky from the earth, drain the oceans, haul down the stars. How I will melt my soul to molten steel and form bullets out of my broken heart.
I will never stop until Brennan is safe.
I’m not proud of every moment. There are things I wish I could take back. More than that, I wish I’d never been tested, never discovered the to-the-quick truth of what I would do if there was a gun to Brennan’s head.
But I also learned I wasn’t alone.
And that Brennan and I are not alone.
I’ve made my decision. I’m staying right where I am: at Brennan’s side. In his life and on the detail.
I prop my chin on his chest. “Are you saying I’ve overstayed my welcome?”
His eyes flash.
“Are you hinting I need to head out, Mr. President?”
He can’t fight his smile. I see his lips twitch.
“I’ll start packing my things—”
“Don’t you dare.” He pulls me into his arms until we’re as close as we can possibly get. I roll with him until he’s beneath me and I’ve trapped him in the protection of my arms against the bed. We’ve already made love, but he’s hardening again. He holds my face in his hand. I kiss the inside of his wrist, nuzzle his forearm and palm.
“You belong here,” he says.
I capture his lips in mine. “I do, mon cher. I belong with you.”
