Page 96 of Rogue Hope
Zara glanced at Izzy, who immediately grabbed Chantal’s hand. “C’mon, squirt, let’s go see if there’s any cake left.”
“But I wasn’t finished with my story!” Chantal protested.
“Save it for round two,” Izzy replied cheerfully, shooting Zara a meaningful look before pulling her daughter away.
Left alone—or as alone as anyone could be in a hangar full of highly trained operatives pretending not to watch them—Finn found his carefully prepared words evaporating.
“Admiral Knight offered me a position,” he blurted out, then winced at his lack of finesse. “With Knight Tactical.”
Zara’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s ... unexpected.”
“For me too,” Finn admitted. “Apparently taking a bullet counts as a job qualification around here.” He unconsciously touched his side where the bullet had torn through his flesh.
A small smile tugged at her lips. “It demonstrates problem-solving skills.”
Encouraged by the hint of humor, Finn pressed on. “There’s a condition, though. Your approval.” He took a deep breath, ignoring the twinge in his side. “It would be your team I’d be joining.”
Zara’s expression grew more guarded. “I see.”
“I don’t expect anything,” Finn rushed to clarify, the words tumbling out faster than he could regulate them. “I mean, professionally, yes, I’d expect standard team methodologies and operational parameters, but personally?—”
He stopped, horrified at his own rambling. This was going terribly.
“What I’m trying to say,” he started again, his voice quieter, “is that I want to stay. Here. With Knight Tactical.” He met her eyes directly. “With you, if you’ll have me. In whatever capacity you’re comfortable with.”
Zara studied him, her expression thoughtful but still impossible to read. “And if I’m not comfortable with any capacity?”
The question hit like a physical blow, but Finn had prepared himself for it. “Then I’ll respect that. Walk away. Find something else.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve spent most of my life running, Zara. From connections, from permanence, from anything that might tie me down. But these past weeks with you—with this team—have shown me what I’ve been missing.”
Her gaze remained steady on his face, searching for something he desperately hoped she would find.
“I’m terrified,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not of the job. Of you saying no. Of losing any chance to be part of your life. But I’d rather face that fear than spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been.”
The seconds stretched between them, each one an eternity as Finn waited, his heart exposed and vulnerable in a way it had never been before. Across the room, he was distantly aware of the others watching, but all that truly mattered was the woman before him and whatever she would say next.
Zara’s expression softened almost imperceptibly, a slight easing around her eyes that kindled the first fragile spark of hope in Finn’s chest.
“I think,” she said finally, her voice measured but gentle, “that we should continue this conversation somewhere more private. Don’t you?”
It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either.
For now, that was enough.
52
Something flickeredacross Finn’s face—relief, perhaps, that she hadn’t immediately rejected him. Without waiting for his response, she turned and led the way toward the small office adjacent to the hangar, slowing her pace to accommodate his still-recovering stride, acutely aware of his presence behind her and the not-so-subtle glances from her teammates.
The office was mercifully empty, its darkness a welcome respite from the brightness and noise of the celebration. Zara flipped on a small desk lamp, casting the room in soft, golden light before turning to face Finn, who stood just inside the doorway as if uncertain whether he was truly welcomed.
Zara had expected a lot of things when she’d arrived at the Knight Tactical hangar that evening for their much-delayed mission celebration—awkward moments with Finn, team camaraderie, maybe even a sugar high from too much sparkling cider. What she hadn’t expected was for Finn to lay his heart bare before her, his eyes reflecting equal measures of hope and fear as he waited for her response to his statement.
Finn. Here. Permanently.
Her gaze drifted to his chest, where beneath his button-down shirt lay fresh bandages. The bullet had missed his heartby centimeters. Three surgeries and sixteen days in the hospital later, he moved better than she would have expected, though his breathing sometimes caught when he turned too quickly. The fact that he was standing at all seemed miraculous.
She gestured toward the chair. “You should sit.”
“I’m fine standing.”
