Page 39 of Rescue

The conversation ebbs and flows from there, reserved but warm, the kind of exchange that comes not from friendship but from shared understanding. The bond between us isn’t easy, or light, but it’s real. We sit in that space for a while, letting the echoes of the past settle among us as we begin to shape what might come next.

Epilogues

Will

The Uber pulls upto the curb outside my house, the familiar sight of its red brick and white-framed windows greeting me. I exhale deeply, leaning back for a moment before opening the door. My crutches are awkward as I step out, the driver offering a polite nod as I grab my bag and shut the car door behind me.

I fumble with my keys as I approach the door, balancing my crutches awkwardly. When I finally manage to push it open, I’m hit by a wave of warmth and the unmistakable smell of roast chicken wafting from the kitchen. For a moment, I freeze, my mind racing. I hadn’t left anything cooking.

“Hello?” I call out cautiously, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind me.

Her voice answers, soft but clear. “In here.”

Katie.

The bag slips from my shoulder, landing with a muted thud on the floor as I move toward the kitchen. She’s standing by the counter, wearing one of those casual, oversized sweaters that make her look impossibly cosy. A teatowel is slung over her shoulder, and her cheeks are flushed, either from the heat of the oven or... something else.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice quiet, disbelief colouring my tone.

She sets down the plate she’s holding and wipes her hands nervously on the tea towel. “I let myself in,” she says, almost apologetically. “I thought... well, I wasn’t sure how the meeting would go, and I didn’t want you to come back to an empty house.”

I stare at her, the words catching in my throat. “Katie, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she interrupts, stepping closer. Her eyes search mine, and I see the flicker of worry there. “How was it? The meeting?”

I lower myself onto one of the kitchen chairs, my crutches leaning awkwardly against the table. “They said there was nothing we could have done differently. That it wasn’t anyone’s fault.” The words feel hollow as they leave my mouth, the weight of the truth still settling in.

Her expression softens, and she sits down across from me, her hand reaching out to rest lightly on mine. “And you? How are you feeling?”

I let her question hang in the air, my gaze drifting to where our hands meet. Her touch is warm, grounding, and yet my chest feels heavy with the lingering weight of everything. “It’ll take me a while,” I admit quietly, my voice low. “To get to grips with... all of it.”

She nods, her thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. There’s no rush in her, no urgency, just an openness that pulls at something deep inside me. “Well,” she says softly, “I’m here. To help, to listen. If you still want that.”

Her words carry more than just support—they’re probing, tentative, as if she’s bracing herself for an answer she’s afraid to hear. It’s her way of asking if I’ve changed my mind, if I’ve decided to push her away.

I tighten my hold on her hand, shaking my head. “Katie, I meant what I said. I want this. I want us.” I look her in the eyes, hoping she can see the conviction there. “If anything, I’m more sure now than ever.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she’s trying to hold back tears. But then she gives me the smallest, wobbliest smile. “You’re really sure?”

I nod. “I’ve spent so much time running, Katie. From one place to another, from one mission to the next. But I don’t want to run anymore. I want to be here. With you and Phoebe. No more missions, no more excuses. Just... here.”

Her smile grows, bright and unguarded, and she lets out a shaky laugh. “You have no idea how good it is to hear that.”

I reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I do, actually. Because it’s good to finally say it.”

She laughs again, the sound soft and full of relief, and she squeezes my hand before standing. “Well, Mr Determined, you better eat something. I made roast chicken, and I won’t let it go to waste.”

As she moves toward the kitchen, I can’t help but watch her, taking in the ease of her movements, the familiarity that feels like home, and the warmth that’s uniquely Katie. A wave of gratitude hits me hard, unbidden and undeniable.

“Katie,” I call softly.

She pauses mid-step and turns to face me, her brow lifting in question. “Yes?”

“I love you,” I say, the words deliberate and steady. “I never stopped, and I don’t want to keep pretending I can move forward without you.”

Her breath hitches, her eyes widening. For a moment, she just stares at me, and I can see the flicker of emotions crossing her face—surprise, relief, and something deeper. “You mean that?” she whispers.

I nod, my chest tight. “I do. I’ve been scared and stubborn, but I don’t want to be without you. Not again.”

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