Page 95 of Rogue Hope
Taking a deep breath—wincing slightly at the pull on his stitches—he stepped away from the hangar door and back into the celebration. No more exit strategies. Not tonight.
Tonight, he would stay. Tomorrow was up to Zara.
51
The team’soffer rang in Finn’s ears like the aftershock of an explosion, drowning out the thumping dance music from Ethan’s huge speakers.
Knight Tactical. A permanent position. A home.
If Zara approved.
It was a possibility so unexpected, so perfectly aligned with the deepest wishes he’d barely allowed himself to acknowledge that his mind struggled to process it. The chance to belong somewhere. The opportunity to use his skills for something meaningful. The possibility of building a life with?—
His gaze drifted across the hangar to where Zara stood surrounded by a small crowd, all focused on Izzy’s daughter, Chantal. The six-year-old was in the middle of what appeared to be an elaborate story, complete with dramatic gestures and impersonations that had her audience captivated. As Chantal reached what was clearly the punchline, Zara threw her head back in genuine laughter, the sound carrying across the space and landing directly in Finn’s chest.
She was radiant. There was no other word for it. Not beautiful in the conventional sense that got tossed around carelessly, but luminous with life and intelligence and quietstrength. The sight of her, so comfortable and cherished among these people who had become her family, tightened something in his chest to an almost painful degree.
He shifted his weight, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the healing wound in his chest. The wound was still tender, a constant reminder of how close he’d come to losing everything. How close he’d come to losing her.
He wanted this. Wanted to be part of this vibrant, messy, loyal group that had carved out a place for themselves in a dangerous world. Wanted to be part of her world, in whatever capacity she would allow.
“You look like a man facing a firing squad rather than a woman,” came Admiral Knight’s voice as he materialized beside Finn, this time accompanied by Jack, Ronan and Deke.
“With all due respect, sir,” Finn replied without taking his eyes off Zara, “the difference isn’t as significant as you might think.”
The men chuckled, and Finn felt a firm hand clap his shoulder, causing him to stifle another wince as the movement jostled his injury.
“Trust me,” Jack said with the easy confidence of a happily married man, “we’ve all been there.”
Finn turned to face them, surprised by the genuine encouragement he saw in their expressions. These men—hardened operatives who had faced down terrorists and international threats—were looking at him with something between amusement and solidarity.
“The team’s offer is genuine,” Admiral Knight said, his tone serious despite the slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your skills would be an asset to Knight Tactical.”
“But we both know that’s not what’s keeping you rooted to this spot,” Ronan added wryly.
Finn exhaled slowly, the deep breath sending a twinge through his side. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to anyone with functioning eyesight,” Deke replied, his normally stern expression softening.
“What my romantically-challenged colleagues are trying to say,” Ronan interjected with exaggerated patience, “is that you’ll never know unless you ask.”
Finn looked between the men, momentarily overwhelmed by their support. These weren’t just Zara’s colleagues; they were her family. And they were encouraging him—practically pushing him—toward her.
“We’ll be watching, of course,” Jack added with a grin. “Ready to offer either congratulations or consolation, depending on how it goes.”
Despite his nerves, Finn found himself laughing, then grabbing his side as the sudden movement pulled at his stitches. “Thanks ... I think.”
“Go on,” Admiral Knight said, his voice gentle but firm. “That’s an order, if you need it to be.”
Drawing a deep breath—carefully, mindful of his injury—Finn nodded and turned toward Zara, his heart hammering against his ribs with such force he was certain everyone in the hangar could hear it. His palms were sweating, his mouth dry—physical reactions he’d never experienced in actual combat situations, yet here they were, triggered by the prospect of a conversation with a woman who already knew him at his worst.
“Lord, give me the words,” he whispered, the prayer automatic and sincere. “Or at least keep me from saying something monumentally stupid.”
He approached slowly, giving himself time to gather his thoughts and Zara time to notice his approach. She was still smiling from Chantal’s story, but as she caught sight of him, her expression shifted—not closing off exactly, but becoming moremeasured, more careful. The wariness in her amber eyes sent a pang through his chest.
He had put that caution there. Now he had to earn back her trust.
“Hey,” he said, stopping a respectful distance away. “Got a minute?”
