Page 91 of Beyond Protection
He kissed me.
Not careful this time. Desperate and authentic—tasting like rain and fear and the edge of something we were both too scared to name. His hands were in my hair, my jacket, pulling me closer like he could keep me safe through proximity alone.
When we broke apart, breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine. Rain ran between us. His beard was soaked. My hands were shaking.
"Six days," he said against my mouth.
"We end this before she does." My voice didn't sound like mine.
"Mac—"
"I'm not losing you to her. Or to my own fear. Or to your guilt." I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "We end this. Together. And then we figure out what comes after."
Something in his expression cracked. "What comes after?"
"Yeah." I traced the line of his jaw with my thumb. "After you're not my bodyguard anymore. After I'm not your job. After we're just—"
"Us," he finished.
The word hung between us. Possibility. Promise. Terror.
"Us," I agreed.
The rain kept falling. Behind us, light spilled from Ma's living room window—warm, yellow, proof that safety still existed.
Across the street, a car door closed. Soft. Deliberate.
We both heard it.
Eamon's hand moved to my elbow. "Inside. Now."
We took the porch steps fast. Michael had left the door unlocked.
Inside, the house smelled like wet wool and Ma's tea—Earl Grey, steeped strong. The family had gathered in the kitchen.
Ma handed me a towel. "Dry your hair before you catch pneumonia."
I took it. Pressed it to my face. It smelled like fabric softener and home.
Eamon headed to the living room. Drew the curtain back. Watched the street.
"She's gone," he announced as he returned to the kitchen.
Ma pushed a mug into Eamon's hands. "Drink. You look half-drowned."
He took it. Didn't drink. Just held it.
Six days. Until Vanessa's timeline ended.
She'd been watching for eighteen months. Documenting. Planning. Building toward this moment.
Tonight she'd rehearsed and tested her approach. Demonstrated she could get close anytime she wanted.
The lights on Puget Sound had looked like safety from far away.
But up close, they were only reflections—beautiful, trembling, easy to break.
Six days to figure out how to survive this. Six days to prove that the person I was becoming—the one who could kiss Eamon in public and mean it, who could let himself be seen without performing—was worth fighting for.
