Page 13 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

My chest twists painfully as I watch them. His hand brushes hers in what seems like an accident. She threads her fingers into his without hesitation. Their heads tilt toward each other, foreheads almost touching. Their intimacy creates a bubble that doesn’t let theworld intrude.

A pang of longing cuts through the haze in my mind.

Malia talked about Walt endlessly in captivity—the man who was waiting for her, the one who would never stop looking for her, no matter how long the nightmare dragged on. The man who took a bullet trying to rescue her.

But he’s real.

So horribly, painfully, and wonderfully real.

I’m incredibly happy for her, but watching them, something sharp stabs my chest. Jealousy burns, ugly and unexpected, making me feel like the worst person alive. I should be happy for my friend, not this ugly thing.

It isn’t something tangible, but the mess of it claws at me, anyway. I’ve dated—a lot—but nothing I’d call … nothing like that. I tear my gaze away before the weight of watching them together breaks me. Instead, I refocus my attention on the cabin.

“Over here, luv,” Hank speaks softly from beside me, pulling my attention to him.

His voice grounds me, pulling me back from wherever I was drifting, and I let him guide me. My knees buckle before I realize it’s happening, but once again, I don’t hit the ground.

Hank’s arm slips around my back, supporting me, as Gabe steadies me from the front. Being held between them feels natural, as if this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

“Sit,” Gabe says, his tone calm but firm. “You need rest.”

I sink into the seat, the plush fabric cushioning under me. It’s almost enough to pull me under, but the second my eyes flutter shut, flashes of smoke, ash, and the trembling ground stab at the space behind my eyelids. I jerk upright, my hands gripping the armrests tight.

“Breathe.” Hank settles into the aisle seat beside me. His voice is rough but not unkind. It pulls me out of the haze just long enough to focus on his chest’s steady rise and fall.

Hank and Gabe bracket me from both sides, quiet and deliberate—one a constant anchor, the other a steady pulse of support. I don’t know if they mean to, but they feel like a barrier, holding the world back while I try to remember how breathing works.

I recognize these PTSD flashbacks, but I refuse to let them define me. I desire strength and mastery.

But that’s hard.

I swallow, trying to push away the shadows pressing in from all sides. Hank and Gabe’s presence is steadying, but the turmoil inside me churns relentlessly. I glance down at my hands, fingers clenched, knuckles white.

“Hey,” Gabe says softly, his voice cutting through the fog. “Look at me.”

I force myself to meet his eyes. They’re a calm sea, inviting me to anchor myself.

“It’s okay not to be okay right now,” he continues. “You’ve been through a lot. No one expects you to have it all together.”

Hank nods beside me. “We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere. Lean on us if you need to.”

Part of me wants to protest and insist that I’m fine and can handle this alone, but another part—a quieter, more honest part—whispers that maybe it’s time to accept the help offered.

“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

Hank gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Any time, luv.”

Chapter 6

Someone makesan announcement over the intercom—a soft, even voice—but the words warp into static, incomprehensible noise. My ears pick up tone but not meaning, and my brain is too sluggish to process details.

From the subtle shifts around me, it’s important—something directed at the rescued hostages—but my body remains useless, and my mind feels detached.

I’m dissociating, falling into a fugue.

Gabe shifts beside me, straightening just slightly. “They’re going over the showers, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to feel intimate in the cabin’s quiet.

“Showers. On a plane?”

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