Page 58 of Wings
"The guilt's gone." The words tumbled out, surprising me with their truth. "I've been carrying it around for months, and now it's just . . . gone. You took it away."
"No, baby girl." He turned my stool so I faced him fully, his hands framing my face. "You gave it away. You trusted me enough to let go."
The pride in his voice undid me. Not disappointment, not lingering anger, but pure pride. Like I'd done something brave instead of just accepting consequence for breaking rules.
"Eat," he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "We need to leave in twenty."
I managed half the yogurt and most of the toast while he moved around the kitchen, checking his weapon, securing his tactical bag. Normal morning routine, except for the way he kept glancing at me, like he was memorizing every detail.
"I have something for you," he said suddenly, reaching into a cabinet.
He pulled out a small insulated lunch bag, navy blue with a butterfly sticker on the front. My breath caught. It was sucha little thing—cheap, probably from the dollar store—but he'd chosen it specifically. The butterfly killed me.
"Your little bag," he said, voice carefully neutral like he wasn't sure how I'd react. "Juice box, crackers, and a fruit cup."
"Gabe. Thank you so much. I just—" I couldn't finish, couldn't find words for what this meant.
"Hey." He set the bag on the counter, pulling me against his chest. "It's just snacks, angel. Nothing to cry about."
He pulled back, studying my face with those too-perceptive eyes. "You ready for this?"
The supply run. Right. Back to reality, back to the risk we were taking. But somehow, with the phantom warmth of his discipline still present and the weight of that little bag in my hands, I felt steadier than I had in months.
"Ready," I said, and meant it.
He smiled, that rare full smile that transformed his whole face. "That's my girl."
I tucked the little bag carefully into my work tote, already imagining how the juice would taste after—sweet and cold and perfect, like being held from a distance.
"Let's go," he said, but caught my hand before I could move. "Kiara?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm proud of you." Simple words, but his voice carried weight. "For last night. For this morning. For trusting me."
The last piece of uncertainty dissolved.
"I love you," I said, because it needed saying.
"Love you too, angel." He squeezed my hand once more. "Now come on. Time to go be my brave girl."
And God help me, that's exactly what I intended to be.
I moved through triage with practiced efficiency, my hands steady as I took vitals from a construction worker who'd put a nail through his palm. Normal Tuesday stuff, nothing that would make anyone look twice at the night shift nurse going about her business.
"Scale of one to ten?" I asked, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his good arm.
"Four," he grunted, which meant probably seven. Construction guys always downplayed pain, like admitting it hurt might revoke their man card.
"I'll get you something for that." I made notes on his chart, already mentally cataloging what supplies I'd need for his treatment. The same mental process I'd been using all night for a different purpose entirely.
Three boxes of gauze squares from the supply closet when I'd restocked after a motorcycle accident. Two bottles of saline from the cart someone left in the hallway. Nothing major, nothing that would be missed. Just overflow, extras, the kind of surplus that got thrown out when it expired anyway.
The guilt that usually gnawed at me during these moments was gone. Gabe's hands had driven it out last night, replaced it with something cleaner. Purpose, maybe. Or just the simple understanding that some rules mattered more than others.
I wasn't stealing. I was reallocating resources to people who needed them but couldn't walk through our doors without legal consequences. The Heavy Kings protected this town in ways the hospital never could.
"Mitchell, you good to cover trauma two?" Dr. Reyes barely waited for my nod before rushing off to another emergency.
