Page 40 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

“Then why?” Her voice cracks as she lifts my soot-covered hands to her cheeks. “Why didn’t you wait for help?”

I close my eyes and swallow hard, though it hurts.

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Helpless. Scared. Weak.”

She presses her palm to my cheek.

“I’d never see you as helpless or weak. As for scared…” She presses her lips to my knuckles. “We all get scared sometimes.”

“But want you to be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you. Always. tThat’s love, Gage. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. Not with me.”

My chest caves in. Not from pain. From relief.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit.

She cuddles up next to me, wrapping her arms around me carefully.

Her hands slide into my hair. Her forehead rests against mine.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says.

And then she kisses me.

Slow. Steady. It’s not with the urgency we usually have. But it’s full of passion and healing and… love.

Her kiss pumps air into my lungs, strength into my body. Her arms offer me shelter.

“Come on,” she says, as we both pull back for breath. “We need to get cleaned up.”

“Are you just trying to get me naked in the shower?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Why can’t it be both?”

Later, after we’re both clean and damp from the shower, and cuddling under the covers of my bed, I hold her close.

I don’t plan on saying it. The words come on their own

“I love you,” I murmur against her skin.

She stills.

Then pulls back, just enough to look me in the eyes.

Her voice is a whisper, but it rings clear. “I love you too.”

I exhale, like a breath I’ve been holding for years.

This isn’t just about falling in love.

It’s about finding home and safety in each other.

Later, after we make love again—slowly, and sweetly, I watch from bed as she re-enters around the bedroom—barefoot, wearing one of my flannels, hair a mess, two mugs of tea in hand.

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