Page 134 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL
I don't let her finish. Can't bear to hear whatever she might say next.
Instead, I close the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine.
The kiss is different from our others—not desperate or heated, but something deeper.
Something that tastes like promises and possibilities. Like finally coming home after being lost too long.
Her arms wind around my neck as she presses closer, careful of my injuries but unwilling to let go. I wrap her in my embrace, ignoring the protest from my ribs. Physical pain means nothing compared to the thought of not holding her right now.
When we finally break apart, she rests her forehead against mine. Our breath mingles in the small space between us.
"Stay," I whisper. Not an order. A request.
She smiles—small but real. "I will."
I kiss her again because I can't not. Because she's alive and here and mine. Because sometimes actions say what words can't.
She melts into me like she belongs there. Maybe she does. Maybe we both do.
The ghosts will still be there tomorrow. The wounds will still need time to heal. But right now, in this quiet room with its humming lights and antiseptic smell, none of that matters.
What matters is her heartbeat against my chest. Her breath against my skin. The way she fits in my arms like she was meant to be there all along.
What matters is that we chose this—chose each other—despite everything trying to tear us apart.
Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, gentle over the bruises. "We should probably get some rest," she murmurs.
I nod, but don't release her. Not yet.
"In a minute," I say.
She understands. Settles closer, head tucked under my chin.
We stay like that, holding each other in the quiet, until the painkillers Eli left start to kick in.
Until the adrenaline finally fades.
Until the world narrows down to just this—her warmth, my breath, our hearts beating in sync.
Tomorrow we'll deal with the aftermath. Tomorrow we'll face whatever comes next.
But today?
Today we rest. We heal. We remember what we fought for.
And when sleep finally claims us, we'll do that together too.
Because that's what home means now.
Not just a place.
Not just safety.
But this—us—together.
Finally where we belong.
EPILOGUE
