Page 92 of Rogue Hope
Zara sighed deeply, voicing the fear that had haunted her thoughts. “What if he disappears anyway?”
Izzy placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Then you have a good cry and I set you up with that stud at Hope Landing Crossfit. I see that as a win-win.”
She wanted to laugh, but the thought of Finn walking out of her life again hurt too much.
Izzy stared down at Finn’s sleeping face. “One thing I know about life—people surprise you, especially the ones who care. But you’ve got to give him the chance to surprise you,entiendes?”
The words settled into Zara’s heart with unexpected weight. She looked again at Finn, his features softened by sleep but still strong and resolute, even in repose. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like if he stayed—not just temporarily, but permanently.
50
Two WeeksLater
The setting sun cast long golden rays through the open hangar bay, painting everything in warm amber light. Finn stood at the threshold between the celebration inside and the quiet evening beyond, nursing a sparkling water he’d barely touched. From this vantage point, he could observe the entire gathering while maintaining a comfortable distance—close enough to participate if engaged, far enough to slip away unnoticed if necessary.
An exit strategy. Always have one.
He winced slightly as he shifted his weight, the movement pulling at the bandages beneath his button-down shirt. Two weeks since taking a bullet to the chest during what should have been a routine protection detail. Two weeks since waking up in the hospital with Zara asleep in the chair beside his bed, her hand somehow finding his even in slumber. The doctors had called his survival miraculous—the bullet missing his heart by centimeters., though it had collapsed his left lung and shattered two ribs on its destructive path.
His gaze inevitably found Zara across the room, her head thrown back in genuine laughter at something Izzy had said.
That’s when he truly realized it.
He loved her. Zara Khoury.
The very woman he’d betrayed.
And he had no idea what to do about it.
Three steps. That’s all it would take to slip through the hangar door and disappear into the evening. A clean break, no messy goodbyes, no lingering looks that would only make things harder for both of them. He could be halfway to anywhere by morning.
It would be easier that way. For everyone.
Yet he remained, adjusting his position to ease the persistent pain in his chest, telling himself he should at least wait for the buffet to open, knowing it was an excuse to absorb a few more precious minutes of this—of belonging, however temporarily, to something larger than himself. Of being in her orbit, even at a distance.
“Planning your escape route?” came a quiet voice from beside him.
Finn turned—carefully, to avoid pulling at his still-healing wound—to find Griffin, the team’s most reserved member, regarding him with an unreadable expression.
“Just appreciating the view,” Finn replied neutrally, automatically straightening despite the protest from his chest.
Griffin snorted, his gaze following Finn’s previous line of sight directly to Zara. “Sure you are.” His eyes dropped briefly to Finn’s chest. “Doctor clear you for this? Last I heard, you weren’t supposed to be out of the hospital for another week.”
Finn shrugged, immediately regretting the movement. “I signed myself out. This welcome-back party was too important to miss.”
“The party’s for you, genius,” Griffin said dryly. “Hard to have a welcome-back celebration without the guest of honor.”
Finn didn’t bother responding. “She’s happy here,” he said instead, his eyes finding Zara again.
“We all are,” Griffin said simply, taking a swig of his sparkling water. “It’s home.”
The statement, delivered without emphasis, nonetheless struck Finn with unexpected force. Home. The one thing he’d never quite managed to find anywhere—not in his childhood house with parents who viewed him as a disappointment, not in the military where he’d excelled but remained apart, not even in his faith community where he’d found purpose but never truly connection.
Before he could formulate a response, the music cut out, replaced by feedback squeal of a microphone. All heads turned toward the small stage where Ethan Rodriguez, who had appointed himself DJ for the evening, was reluctantly surrendering control to Ronan.
“Killing the vibe here, people,” Ronan announced, his typically confident demeanor showing unusual signs of nervousness. “Promise to make it quick so Ethan can get back to his elevator music collection.”
“Hey!” Ethan protested. “That’s premium playlist curation!”
