Page 22 of One Last Storm
“I’ve learned something these past few years,” Wilder said. “Sometimes the storm isn’t trying to destroy you. Sometimes it’s trying to clear away everything that doesn’t belong so you can see what does.”
Yes. Okay. Maybe this storm—the crisis, the choices, even the grief of walking away from a life they loved—wasn’t destroying anything. Maybe it was just... clearing the way.
Helping them focus.
“Thank you,” Moose said. He turned to Mary. “Are you sure you’re okay with us taking the machines? We can ride two to a machine, leave you two?—”
“Go,” Mary said.
“I’ll make sure they’re gassed up,” said Elton, who’d joined them. He headed toward the door, Moose behind him.
London opened her mouth to agree with the plan, then caught Shep’s eye and his almost imperceptible nod toward the door.
She frowned, but followed him.
“I’ll get you folks some hot coffee for the road,” Mary said as London closed the door behind her and headed back out into the night.
Shep walked her right out across the yard, back to the barn.
Dogs settled in their stalls, content and drowsy. The space embraced them with peaceful warmth after the urgency in the community center. Shep closed the door behind them—sealing out wind and the weight of immediate decision.
Wilder’s words kept echoing in her head. Sometimes the storm isn’t trying to destroy you. Sometimes it’s trying to clear away everything that doesn’t belong so you can see what does.
“You don’t want to leave.” London leaned against a wooden post, studying his face in the dim light. “Are you just going along because I need it?”
Shep turned to her. “No. London, seriously. I’m not having second thoughts.”
“Then—”
“I don’t know how to tell Moose.” The admission came out rough—like it had been lodged in his throat for weeks. “How do you tell someone who’s been like a brother that you’re walking away from everything you’ve built together?”
Right. Of course.
“Oh, Shep.”
“Eight years I’ve been with Air One. Moose gave me a chance when nobody else would, and now I’m repaying him by abandoning ship.” Shep ran a hand through his hair. “What kind of friend does that make me?”
“An honest friend.”
He drew in a breath. Nodded and took her hands. “To be clear, I love this work. I love this team. But I love you more, and I’m not willing to pretend the Black Swans job isn’t important just because it scares me.”
“It scares you?”
“Are you kidding? Yeah, it’s a little…well, you were paying attention in New York, when someone tried to kill us. Again. I thought I’d left that behind when I separated from the Army.”
“Joke’s on you.” But her humor fell flat. She sighed. “I know you…you don’t love the sneaking and the danger?—”
“Not a fan of the bullets, either. Or the idea I have to scrape you off the ground, but—” He stepped close, his hand now on her cheek, warm. “But I’m going to try and make sure that never happens.”
He kissed her then. Gentle at first, then deeper as she melted into him. His lips were warm despite the cold, and he tasted of home and the future and the strength she so terribly needed.
Without ever voicing it.
When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. “I love you for this. For choosing us even when it’s hard.”
“It’s not hard,” Shep said quietly. “Saying goodbye is hard. But choosing you? That’s the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”
He kissed her again—deeper this time, hands tangling in her hair as she pressed closer. The barn around them created a warm cocoon, insulated from the howling outside. Yes. Now, this. Him.
