Page 158 of The Fallen One

“I’d love more than just a few minutes.” I don’t want you to go. I didn’t let those words escape, though, knowing if I asked him to stay with me, he’d probably do that. I couldn’t be selfish. The country needed him.

When he kept quiet and didn’t say more, I turned my attention to the window and back to thoughts of last night.

After getting hit by one shocking revelation after another, I’d spent the remainder of the evening working with the President’s team Stateside. President Bennett had chosen and vetted a select group of people he personally vouched for to work with me.

Although, even if someone did betray his trust and leak the fact we had a countermeasure in place, I supposed it wouldn’t really matter. Worst case, the bad guys didn’t attack knowing they’d fail.

With the formula and cyber aspect of the plan complete, all that’d been left to do was to talk the President’s staff through how to reconfigure their existing defense systems to block the electromagnetic pulse and divert it to space.

While I’d been on that call, Carter and his teammates had created multiple contingency plans for when they arrived in Zurich, which was the closest airport to this “bad guy” hotel.

The President was rerouting all of his off-the-books operatives, including Bravo Team, to Switzerland to assist Carter. But as a key part of the plan in not letting the Novaks believe we were onto them, the President made sure to get word leaked that JSOC was putting together a target package for an aerial strike in Syria to take out “those responsible” for the Amsterdam and Montana lab hits. The hope was the Novaks and their group would lower their guard if they believed POTUS was taking real action toward the false lead they’d planted.

“We’ve got this. One problem at a time,” Carter had said when he’d noticed me spiraling last night. I wasn’t just worried about the what-ifs when it came to his dangerous mission. What if I was wrong about the formula?

What if it was four degrees not three? I’d gone back over the math a hundred times last night, and the President’s brightest in D.C. who were given access to the mission had as well. Ninety-seven percent chance of success, and three percent chance I was full of shit. I wished I liked my odds, but I was more of a “sure thing” kind of girl.

Carter slowed the Defender and I looked out the front window at a helicopter in front of us. If only we were there because he was taking me up for a romantic joy ride, surprising me with his ability to fly among his many other skills. I mean, at this point, the fact he couldn’t leap tall buildings in a single bound was almost shocking.

Carter quietly proceeded to get out and open my door. Taking my hand, he helped me step down, then he grabbed a pile of blankets he must’ve stashed in the backseat before waking me. Maybe this was going to be a romantic something after all?

Could I silence the noise of this last week, and the fears of what was to come, for a few minutes? God, I hoped so. I needed it. I needed every second with him before we parted ways. Before he made himself bait for some psycho group of billionaires.

Setting the blankets on the hood, he zipped up my jacket, bundling me up. “Warm enough?”

“I’ll be okay,” I promised, and he tucked the blankets under his arm and escorted me over to the helicopter.

Setting one blanket down, he urged me to sit, then draped the second thick brown blanket over my shoulders. I’d expected him to join me, but instead, he went over to the bird and smoothed a hand along its dark blue frame. “My father’s dream was to get his license and fly one of these.” He turned toward me, setting his back to the helicopter, resting a hand on his leg as he studied me.

The sun was starting to make its debut, and nature continued to unfurl around us, coming to life.

Tightening the hold of the blanket, I patiently waited for him to go on, realizing he had something he needed to share.

A gentle breeze caught some of the strands of his hair as he continued to peer at me. Unlike my jacket, his leather one was open with the collar popped, revealing a white shirt partially tucked into the front, and a glimpse of his belt.

It felt like forever ago since he’d used that belt to stop me from fighting him when I’d been unsure if he was my hero or my enemy. Was that only a week ago? That memory led to thoughts of Bahar. And maybe William was a shitty boyfriend, but he didn’t deserve death. Neither did Bonnie.

Worried I was about to lose myself to tears, I pulled my attention back to his face, searching for comfort. For strength to keep it together in the few precious moments we still had.

“I realized something while we’ve been here this week,” he began, lifting his eyes from the ground, his espresso-brown irises locking on me, “and I feel like it’s important I say it out loud. Share it with you, so I can move forward.”

This felt like a big-deal moment, and my panic intensified. Was he sharing this because he was worried he may not make it home alive? With my words lodged in my throat, I only managed a nod.

“This isn’t easy for me to tell you.” He peered off to the side as if he could find answers or strength in the woods. “The day I got the tattoo on my back was also the same day I confronted the man I’d become. I’d spun out of control, and needed to find answers where I could, including my encounters with women. Sex stopped being about connections. It became about power, dominance, and release.”

His words coaxed more chills, and neither the blanket nor his jacket could keep me warm at his admission.

“I realized I had to be in control going forward. To feel in power because”—he closed his eyes—“I’d given over almost all of the control in my marriage to Rebecca. So much so I’d wound up losing most of myself. I resented her while we were married. Blamed her for pushing me to make decisions I didn’t agree with and for becoming someone I couldn’t look at in the mirror. Seconds before she died, I told her over the phone I hated her.” He’d sped through the rest, and I let the blanket fall, prepared to go to him.

Sensing my reaction, he opened his eyes and held up his palm, a request to wait and hear him out before I came to him. “I didn’t realize until this week, until being with you, what it was like to be someone’s equal. And Christ, it feels so fucking good.”

Holy shit. My heart. I couldn’t not go to him now. I nearly tripped trying to get to him, too, but he caught me as I launched myself forward, hurling myself against him. I buried my face against his chest, and he held on to me.

After a few minutes of just coexisting, he continued, “I finally figured out this week why I married a woman like Rebecca, a woman who was all wrong for me. I had issues with my mother, ones I never recognized before.” His heartbeat pounded into my ear, and I knew this was probably one of the hardest conversions he’d ever had. “Growing up, my mother dictated everything that ever happened in our family, right down to not letting us have a dog. Dad would’ve named him Dallas.” He paused for a moment, emotion choking him up. “The man was so in love with her, though, he let her walk all over him. He took up smoking, most likely to cope with the side effects that came with loving a woman like her, and lung cancer eventually stole him from the both of us.”

I lifted my chin to peer up at him, and his eyes were once again squeezed closed. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, a few of his tears hitting my face.

“My father had always been obsessed with time, worried he wouldn’t have enough to do everything he’d hoped to do in life,” he continued, his voice still strained, and if I could possibly squeeze him any tighter, I would’ve.

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