Page 129 of Beyond Protection
I closed my eyes. Felt his heartbeat steady against my cheek.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The street was silent except for occasional cars, tires hissing on wet pavement.
I was learning what safe felt like.
Not controlled, managed, or performed.
It felt like Eamon's arms, with his breathing evening out.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"For what?"
"For teaching me."
His arms tightened. "Thank you for letting me."
The last thing I remembered before sleep was thinking:Today, we end this.
For the first time since Thanksgiving, I knew what safe felt like.
And I wasn't letting that go.
Chapter sixteen
Eamon
Mac's breathing changed before I fully surfaced—the rhythm shifting from sleep's deep pull to something lighter, conscious but not yet awake. His weight pressed against my left side, one arm draped across my ribs, with his face buried against my shoulder blade. My arm had gone numb an hour ago, but I didn't move it.
Outside, a garbage truck rumbled past. Hydraulics hissed. Metal clanged against metal. Ma's house settled around us with the creaking that meant morning—the furnace kicking on, water running somewhere down the hall, and the coffee maker starting its automated cycle in the kitchen.
I should've been examining exit routes. Checking angles. Running through the day's timeline in my head—briefing at 0700, equipment check at 1400, departure at 1900.
Instead, I focused on the weight of Mac's hand on my chest. The specific pressure of his knee hooked over mine, and how his hair fell across his forehead when he wasn't awake to push it back into place.
He stirred. His fingers flexed against my chest—not quite conscious yet, checking I was still there.
"Hey," I said quietly.
His breath caught. Then he pressed closer, face pushing into the hollow of my throat. "What time is it?"
"Early. Six, maybe."
"Michael's briefing?"
"Eight."
"We should—"
"Not yet."
He responded, "Okay."
Two syllables. Permission to stay where we were.
I ran my fingers down his spine. Felt him relax into the touch, vertebra by vertebra. His breathing evened out again, but he wasn't sleeping anymore.
I wanted him safe. Wanted to come back to this room. More mornings that felt like this one—quiet, unhurried, his weight against me proof that I hadn't failed yet.
