Page 14 of Rescuing Aria
“Have you talked to Dr. Reynolds about it?”
I nod, watching embers spiral upward from the fire. “She says it’s normal. That trauma doesn’t follow a straight line to healing. There are setbacks, loops, spirals.”
“She’s right.” His voice softens, vibrating through his chest against my ear. “What happened to you—what Wolfe did—it leaves marks. Some visible, some not.”
The thin scar on my collarbone tingles at the mention, a souvenir from my time in captivity. Jon doesn’t treat it like something ugly or broken. When we kiss, his lips sometimes brush against it with deliberate tenderness, transforming it from a mark of pain to something almost sacred.
“Do you ever wonder about him?” The question barely rises above the crackle of flames. “About Wolfe? If he survived?”
Jon shifts, his body angling toward mine. “According to the reports, the upper floors of the warehouse were compromised during the extraction. Wolfe was last seen on the roof before the helicopter took off without him. Ember stabbed him with a letter opener.”
“But no body was recovered,” I press, needing to hear the truth.
“No.” Jon’s jaw tightens. “The building was structurally unsound after the operation. Too dangerous for a thorough search.”
“Do you believe he’s dead?”
“I believe in being prepared for all possibilities.” The careful phrasing tells me everything.
A shiver runs through me despite the fire’s warmth. Wolfe was obsessed with his revenge against my father, using me as a means to an end. When Ember tried to save me, she’d been taken too, not trafficked like the other children Wolfe targeted, but held as leverage over me. The thought that he might still be out there, watching, waiting…
“Hey.” Jon’s hand cups my face, turning it toward him. His eyes burn with intensity in the firelight. “If he’s alive, if he ever comes back, we’ll be ready. All of us. You’re not alone, Aria. We’re here and we’ll protect you.”
The conviction in his voice steadies me. I lean into his touch, the warmth of his palm anchoring me to the present. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s perfect.”
“You’re welcome.” His thumb traces my cheekbone, a featherlight caress that leaves a trail of heat in its wake.
We sit in silence, watching the flames dance and listening to the ocean’s eternal conversation with the shore. The vast darkness stretches before us, broken only by our small fire and the distant lights of passing ships. Under the blanket, Jon’s fingers find mine, intertwining them in a casual intimacy that still takes me by surprise.
“Can I ask you something?” Courage finally gathers in my chest for the question that’s been circling my mind for weeks.
“Anything.” His focus shifts entirely to me, making me the center of his universe in that moment.
I take a deep breath. “You, Brett, and Charlie… Was it always the three of you? Or did you join them later?” The question remains incomplete, but Jon understands what I’m asking.
“Does it matter?” His voice holds no judgment, only genuine curiosity.
“I—I don’t know.” Heat floods my cheeks, which has nothing to do with the fire. “I guess I’m trying to understand how it worked. How you all fit together.”
“Charlie and Brett were together first.” Jon shifts to face me more directly, his knee pressing against my thigh. “I met them on an operation in Budapest six years ago. We became friends, then more. It evolved naturally.”
“And you all were—together?” I bite my lip, dancing around what I really want to know.
“We were together, yes.” A smile plays at the corner of Jon’s mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. “We did a lot of things together. A lot of—exploring.”
The deliberate vagueness in his tone makes my cheeks burn hotter. He knows exactly what I’m trying to ask, but he’s not going to make it easy for me.
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” I mutter, fiddling with the edge of the blanket.
“If you want specific details,” Jon’s laugh is low and rich, “you’re going to have to askspecificquestions.”
The challenge in his eyes both embarrasses and thrills me. I’m not quite brave enough to ask outright—not yet—but the knowledge that this conversation isn’t over, that stories are waiting to be told when I find the courage to ask for them, sends a strange thrill through me.
“Fine. For now, let’s just say… Was it complicated? Logistically?” I hedge, still circling what I really want to know.
“The same way any relationship works.” Jon’s shoulder lifts in a half-shrug, though his eyes still hold that knowing glint. “Communication. Respect. Love. Just with one more person in the equation.”
“Weren’t you jealous? Or afraid of being left out?” The question reveals more of my insecurities than I’d intended.
