Page 66 of Her Redeemed Protector

He flinches, and I feel the seismic shift in our conversation. “A woman,” he admits.

Inhaling, I navigate the tangle of emotions his question stirs within me. Jealousy would be the easy response, but it would be unfair to judge him and turn away without understanding more.

“I’m listening.”

“I was in a secret relationship with one of our informants. She was invaluable to the CIA, and that disastrous operation wasn’t the first that took me to that part of the world. After everything went wrong in the jungle, she was found…” His voice fades, choked by what he leaves unsaid.

A gasp is held captive in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my heart aching for him.

“At the time, I was in the hospital, fighting for my life,” hecontinues. “I didn’t know anything until weeks later, after I’d left the Navy.”

I find his hand, holding it between mine. He seems detached, as though he’s recounting someone else’s story. “You wish you could take her place?”

“No. I wish we had both survived. I promised her safety, a future here in America.” His guilt is heavy and oppressive.

“That’s a heavy burden, Hux.”

“That’s my angry wish, Sav. That I had saved her, and we started a new life. Here, in this peaceful country.”

I sit up straight, sensing his respect for my need for space. I steal a glance at him. His profile contrasts beautifully against the dark, midnight backdrop. My eyes then drift to the sky, noting the subtle shift of the stars.

“How do you deal with your angry wish?” he asks quietly, his gaze following mine to the heavens.

“I let it linger as just a wish. Gradually, I try to strip away the anger,” I explain. “It’s strange. Dad has been both the cause and the cure of that anger. But since the hospital—” I think back to that pivotal moment. “Since he opened up, he’s been more of a remedy.”

He nods, stretching a smile as if giving himself a chance to muse over my words. “When I joined Red Mark, I found a flicker of will that perhaps I could finally move on. Yet here I am, full of need, full of weakness, seeking someone who’ll accept my history.” His eyes lock onto mine. “I want that person to be you, Sav.”

I feel honored. A man whom I admire and respect wants me. “Are you sure? I’m still figuring out my own path,” I respond cautiously.

“What about with this man?” he proposes, lifting my hand to his heart. “Help me transform my wish?”

I touch my chest reflexively. Our shared moments, thebeats of our hearts, our connection—they’ve built a foundation strong enough for us to take on more than just the happy and uplifting. It’s time for the bitter and the hurt to mold us, unite us.

“I will help you,” I promise.

“Even though this involves another woman? Someone that I love?” His question is a litmus test for the nascent trust we’re building.He still loves her.

I have every right to step back, to shield my own heart. But his sincerity strikes a chord with me. He has a vast heart, and it would be a loss to walk away simply because of his past—even though it was a woman.

“I’ll do my best, Hux.”

He turns to me, his arms wrapping around me like he won’t let go. “Tell me I’m not dreaming or losing my mind,” he half-jokes, his eyes searching mine for confirmation.

“Neither. We’re here, and we’re real,” I affirm for him and for myself. I’m not one to back down just because things are going to be hard. I’m not one to shy away from challenges. If anyone deserves my love and effort, it’s him.

Then, his kiss descends, a surge of warmth and passion that sweeps through me, reminiscent of the elixir he whipped up this morning. As our kiss parts, he asks, “Here’s one for you. ‘Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination’—who said it?”

I hazard a guess without much thought. “Charlie Chaplin?”

Hux’s laughter peals, a sound I’m eager to hear more of. “You’re way off! Try again.”

“Dolly Parton?”

The smirk that plays on his lips is both charming and wry. “Mark Twain,” he reveals.

“I didn’t peg you for the philosophical type.” I tap the tip of his cute nose.

The evening winds down. There’s an undercurrent of exhilaration pulsing through me, a touch of that insanity perhaps Twain mused about.

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