Page 26 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Voice of experience?” I ask, grateful for their matter-of-fact approach that doesn’t make me feel broken.

Hank nods. “Unfortunately.”

“We’ve both been there,” Gabe confirms, a shadow crossing his features before he offers a small smile. “But you’re strong. Stronger than most people we’ve seen go through something like this, and if you allow it, you have us as well.”

No pity exists in either of their eyes, just recognition and a steady confidence in me that makes my chest tighten with something other than attraction.

“I do?” I ask, genuine surprise coloring my voice. The offer catches me off guard—these men who barely know me, offering their support so freely. “I wouldn’t want to bother either of you. I can handle it on my own. I’ve been managing fine so far.”

Gabe shakes his head firmly. “That’s the last thing we’re going to allow,” he says, all playfulness gone, replaced by unwavering conviction. “You handling something like this alone.”

“We’re here for you,” Hank adds, his voice low but resolute. “Whether it’s a phone call at 3 a.m. or just someone to sit with. That’s not negotiable.”

The intensity in both their expressions makes my throat tighten. I’m not used to this—people offering help without being asked, without me having to prove I need it first.

“I wake up sometimes,” I confess, relief washing through me at finally voicing what I’ve kept hidden, “for a second, I’m not sure where I am.” It feels good to say it out loud to people who don’t immediately try to fix me.

Gabe leans forward slightly. “Have you tried any grounding techniques for whenthat happens?”

“Like what?” I ask, intrigued.

“Simple sensory things,” Hank explains, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of my hand. “A specific scent by your bed—lavender or something distinctive. A texture to touch. Something that tells your brain ‘you’re home, you’re safe’ before your thoughts even kick in.”

“I keep a small light on,” Gabe adds. “First thing I see when I open my eyes. Reminds me where I am.”

The way they explain it makes me wonder what anchors they use and what ghosts they’ve had to learn to live with. I’m struck by the realization that these two men understand parts of me that even my closest friends and family can’t.

“I’ll try that,” I say, genuinely grateful for the advice.

Hank gives my hand one last squeeze before letting go, the gesture saying everything his words didn’t:We’re here. You’re not alone.

Something has shifted between us—a deeper understanding that parallels the attraction.

We move into easier conversation—how my recovery’s going, how I’m managing the whirlwind of security and medical checkups. Hank and Gabe listen intently, asking questions about any lingering pain and what it’s like being cooped up at home.

There’s something profoundly reassuring about how they focus on me as if every word matters.

It’s surprisingly … normal.

Little by little, the mood shifts from playful banter to genuine concern. I find myself sharing bits and pieces of the past few days, the frustration of fatherly overprotection, and the restlessness of needing something—anything—to do besides dwell on memories.

Oddly enough, it feels therapeutic to talk with them.

Hank leans forward, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Have you thought about returning to your doctorate? Finishing your thesis?”

I pause, the question weighing heavily on me. “I don’t know if my head’s in that right space after everything that’s happened,” I admit. “Whittman wants us to take a couple of months off. I think he needs space after… everything.”

Hank and Gabe exchange a silent look, communicating without words. Then Gabe speaks up, his voice warm with certainty. “If that’s the case, you’re coming home with us.”

Surprised, I look between the two of them. “What do you mean, home with you?”

“It’s easier to sort things out when you’re not in the middle of everything.” Hank shares a look with Gabe. “And I think we can help distract you from your memories.”

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate, but then I glance over my shoulder at Harrison and the others lurking by the window. “But what about them? Dad will never?—”

“Don’t worry about the security detail,” Gabe says, that professional tone sliding back into his voice. “We’ll handle them.”

“Your father trusts us,” Hank adds with a slight smile. “And we’re technically more qualified than his team anyway.”

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