Page 33 of Princess

“Olivia,” he murmurs hoarsely.

I smile. “Yeah.”

“You doing all right?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one who got shot.”

“I was trying to… see if I could save anyone. But they were all in… bunker… or dead.”

My throat tightens again. He looks so weak and pale now. I wipe his face with the damp cloth. “You did great. You sounded the alarm. You saved most of them. You did really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Glad you’re okay.” He takes a breath so raspy it terrifies me. It sounds like his lungs are full of fluid.

He’s not going to make it. Maybe not even for another whole minute.

“You were always…” Noah coughs, and I whimper when I see he’s coughing up blood.

I try to wipe it away as best I can. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s going to be okay.” It won’t be. Not for him. I know it for sure now.

His body softens suddenly, but not in a good way. It’s like he goes limp. Can’t move. His eyes are still focused on my face with almost—almost—his sweet smile. “You were always the prettiest girl I’ve ever known.”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I keep wiping at his cheeks and mouth. It doesn’t matter though. His eyes are falling shut.

He doesn’t open them again. He doesn’t move. After another couple of minutes, his chest stops its raspy rise and fall.

He’s gone.

I’ve been sitting on my knees beside him, and I stay there for a long time. So long my feet go to sleep and start to prickle. My shoulders keep hunching, and the lump in my throat keeps growing, and then without warning I buckle, falling forward with sobs that actually hurt as they tear through my throat.

I haven’t been sobbing for very long when I’m faintly conscious of the sound of an engine approaching. Then footsteps behind me.

It’s Grant. I know it is. I try to straighten up and stop crying, but I can’t.

“Shit.” Grant kneels down beside me and lifts up my head and upper body so he can see my face. He gives me a quick scan and then reaches over to feel Noah’s pulse.

He quickly assesses what I already know. Noah is dead.

“I’m sorry.” He’s looking at me again. Still holding me with one hand curved around the nape of my neck. “There was nothing you could do for him.”

“I… know.” I have to choke the words out. I’m still sobbing helplessly, and I don’t like it because I’m not normally like this.

He draws me toward him until I’m burying my face in his shirt and wraps an arm around me tightly.

I haven’t cried like this since my dad died. I’m not sure why I can’t seem to stop now. But it feels better for Grant to hold me like this. His hand is strong and hard at the back of my neck, and his other arm is almost bruising as it’s wrapped around my middle. It’s exactly what I need to feel right now.

After a couple of minutes, the sobs start to fade—from exhaustion more than anything else. I stay pressed against him limply. I don’t want to move, and I’m honestly not sure I’m capable of it.

Grant smells strongly. Like sweat and dirt and the faintly ashy outside air. It’s not a pretty fragrance, but I like it anyway. It feels safe and strong and familiar.

It smells like him.

“Y’okay?” he asks in that gravelly voice that proves he’s feeling something.

“Yeah.” I sigh and make myself straighten up. “I’m okay.”

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