Page 54 of Embrace Me Forever

I unlock it quickly. “Are you okay?” I tremble, suppressing the fear and relief swirling inside me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Peering out into the hallway, I see the intruder sprawled limply across the floor. “Is he dead?” I whisper, my heart still racing.

“No. He needs to deliver a message to Abner Bertram,” Blake replies, his tone cold with resolve.

The need to cling to him and release all the pent-up tension wells up inside me. But there’s no time for that. I hastily gather Coco’s things, my movements frantic.

“Just grab the essentials,” Blake instructs firmly. “We’ll get you clothes and everything else once we’re in L.A.”

I finish packing in a flash. As soon as I’m done, Blake is there to take the burden from me. Almost effortlessly, the bag is hung on his massive shoulder. He doesn’t stop there. “Let me take Coco,” he offers without hesitation.

I don’t pause to consider, trusting him implicitly. Coco settles into his arms with a serene calmness that only Blake can command. His accommodating demeanor, coupled with the affection he shows Coco—treating her as preciously as if she were his own child—only deepens the burgeoning feelings I harbor for him. He deftly shields her from the chaos, ensuring she sees nothing of the disorder as we pass the hallway.

I observe the unconscious intruder as I pass him by. It’s not the hooded man. He’s way too bulky to be him. Then again, I recognize him. He was the one holding me under the ice bath at that L.A. motel!

“Stay close to me!” Blake’s tone brooks no argument. Despite his arms being full, he manages to position himself to also protect me. I cling to his muscular arm, drawing comfort and courage from his unyielding strength. His presence is a fortress in motion, his side pressed against mine, ensuring I am as shielded as our little one until we’re back inside the car.

Blake continues his vigilance, looking left and right, front and back, through the mirror. “One got away. He didn’t even dare meet me. He just fled.”

“The hooded man?”

“No. He was way taller.”

Then we’re speeding toward Denver airport, so fast that I only realize we’ve bypassed the main terminal when it’s too late. We finally stop at another building, following a discreet, almost secretive path that leads to a private hangar. After a while, as we sip cold drinks and nibble on fresh fruit, a sleek, posh-looking plane bearing the ‘Hartley Marine’ insignia glides into view.

“It’s good to know people in high places,” Blake quips, a wry smile playing on his lips as we prepare to step into a world far removed from ordinary concerns.

Just like that,we leave Denver behind, the cityscape shrinking until it’s nothing more than a memory. I can hardly believe this is real. The interior of the plane is a blend of opulence and modern tech, with plush leather seats that recline into fully flat beds, polished wood panels, and ambient lighting that casts a soothing glow. It’s more akin to a floating luxury hotel than any aircraft I’ve ever seen.

Wyatt, the affable pilot and Rob’s former military comrade, smoothly announces that we can unfasten our seatbelts. His presence at the airport was striking. Dressed sharply in his Hartley Marine uniform, Wyatt exudes confidence and discipline. Likely in his sixties, his posture brings to mind those elite pilots chosen for airline commercials.

Blake gets up and unfolds a crib next to our seats. “Why don’t you settle Coco here?” he suggests.

“There’s a crib, too?” I marvel, my voice tinged with astonishment.

“Well, between Rob and Clay, they have five children. Apart from Clay’s adopted son, who’s now twelve, the others have been on the move since they were a week old,” Blake explains.

Turning to Coco, I ask, “Are you hungry, sweetie?” She nods, her eyes bright. “Good girl. You need to eat before taking your meds, right?” I can tell she’s starting to feel uncomfortable, perhaps as the effects of the painkiller begin to wane.

The flight attendant, ever friendly and observant, comes over with a smile. “May I recommend these?” She holds up two colorful containers. “Mrs. Hartley specifically arranged this special catering for Coco. She mentioned these are perfect for young toddlers, especially those recovering from surgery.”

I give Blake a quizzical look.

“It’s from Isabelle, Clay’s wife. She’s a pediatrician and a kids’ nutrition expert. She started her own line of baby and toddler foods last year,” Blake clarifies.

I take the containers, which are decorated with cartoon fruits and vegetables that seem to dance around the labels.

“Mooom!” Coco chimes in, stretching her arms out, eager to see them.

“That sounds perfect,” I reply, grateful for the thoughtfulness. “Look, Coco, a special treat just for you.”

Coco dives into the food with gusto, clearly enjoying the flavors tailored for young palates. She finishes every bite, a rare feat these days, then takes her medication without fuss. But soon after, she starts to whimper, the discomfort perhaps creeping back.

“You’re tired, I know,” I say, holding her close.

“Mom…” she sobs, gesturing toward her bag.

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