Page 108 of The SEAL's Duchess
Ivy buried her face against Ryder’s neck and held on while they rose through sleet and smoke and the Vega’s death throes.
The helicopter bay door was open, hands reaching for them. Someone hauled them inside and the door slammed shut, cutting off the worst of the wind. But Ivy couldn’t hear anything except the roar and rush of blood in her ears.
Jack was strapped to the opposite bench with an oxygen mask, while a flight medic checked her vitals. She pulled a double thumbs up, her eyes crinkling behind the mask.
Ryder pulled Ivy close.
“You came for me.”
His forehead dropped to hers. “Always will.”
Through the window behind him, the rig folded into the dark sea. The flares went out one by one.
The helicopter banked hard, turning for home, and Ivy closed her eyes and let herself breathe.
He’d found her in the dark. Seen her when no one else had.
39
The morphine had wornoff hours ago.
Ryder lay in the hospital bed, shoulder throbbing in time with his pulse, eyes fixed on the door. The surgeon had been blunt—torn rotator cuff, damaged labrum, possible nerve involvement. Six months minimum before he’d be cleared for active duty. Maybe longer.
Worth it.
Every torn muscle, every minute on the Vega. Because Ivy was alive.
Her footsteps echoed in the corridor before she appeared. Light and purposeful. She paused in his open doorway, wearing borrowed clothes. Dark jeans a little too long. A navy Coast Guard hoodie that dwarfed her frame. Her hair was clean but uncombed, falling loose around her face.
She looked exhausted. Bruised. And somehow, still luminous.
“Hey,” she said.
His breath caught. “Hey.”
She crossed to the chair beside his bed and sat, folding her bandaged hands in her lap like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under her eyes.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Like I lost a fight with a truck.” He tried for a smile. “You?”
“Same.” Her gaze flicked to his shoulder—immobilized in a sling with an IV line snaking out. “What did they say?”
“Surgery went well. Full recovery expected, just slow.” He shifted, grimaced. “Could’ve been worse.”
“Could’ve been dead.” Her voice was soft, eyes now on her fingertips peeking from the bandages.
Silence pooled between them, thick and awkward.
He wanted to reach for her hand, but his good arm was on the wrong side and moving hurt like hell.
“Jack’s doing okay.” She looked up. “I saw her this morning. Broken ribs, concussion, but she’s stable. They’re keeping her another day for observation.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“She asked about you. Apparently, you’re buying the first round when she gets out.”
Ryder huffed a laugh. “Sounds like Jack.”
