Page 55 of Her Remarkable Protector

Huxley and I arrive at the sealed door of the oxygen suite.

I glance at him. “You go back outside. Guide the fire crew to where we are. I’ll handle this.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t argue—chain of command is ingrained in both of us. Military training. There’s no time for back-and-forth. Even though he was once my senior partner, here he respects my lead. He knows what’s at stake. He knows I need to do this.

I grip the door handle and pull it open, just enough to slip through, keeping the gas out as much as possible.

“Honor?”

Every second stretches into an eternity.

And then I see them.

“Chase!” Honor’s voice cracks as she throws herself into my arms. She clings to me, shaking so hard I can feel it in my bones.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I murmur, my hands moving instinctively to check her over, patting her shoulders, her arms, her back. “Are you hurt?”

She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, bloodshot and watery from the gas. Her skin is flushed and damp, with traces of irritation around her nose and cheeks. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay,” she insists, her voice hoarse but steady.

“Is Laramie?” My voice falters as I glance over to the daybed in the corner—the little girl is lying still.

Honor shifts, trudging back to her daughter. She holds the baby up toward me. “I think so. I think she’s okay.”

The weight on my chest loosens as I take in the sight of Laramie. She’s pale but breathing, her tiny body curling against Honor’s chest like she knows she’s safe there.

But we’re not out of the woods yet. The tanks are running low. I was supposed to replace them soon—the timing couldn’t have been worse. The oxygen won’t hold out much longer.

“The fire crew will be here soon,” I assure her, keeping my voice steady. “We just need to hang on a little longer.”

Honor nods, but she doesn’t let go of me. Her arms stay wrapped around my waist, her grip almost crushing. I don’t mind. I pull her closer, anchoring her to me as my own body trembles with the aftershock of it all.

I glance around the room, my mind flashing to all the ways this could have gone wrong. The smoke. The gas. The oxygen. If there’d been a single spark, the whole house could’ve gone up in flames, taking them with it. My stomach twists at the thought, and I tighten my hold on Honor, as if that alone could protect her.

I hear them before I see them. The muffled thud of boots, the clatter of equipment, and urgent voices cutting through the suffocating silence. The fire crew has arrived. Relief rushes through me, still, every second feels like borrowed time.

The door creaks open, and a firefighter steps inside. “We’re here. Let’s get you out.”

Another firefighter follows, holding a small oxygen mask—the size for an infant. He carefully fits the mask over Laramie’s tiny face. It settles perfectly, and I watch, breath held, as her breathing steadies beneath it. Then he reaches out. “Pass the baby to me,” he says.

Honor freezes, her body taut with fear, her gaze darting to me. “No… no! Chase, you take her. You hold her,” she says, her voice trembling but firm.

Her words hit me with a force that’s almost physical. She’s trusting me—not just with her daughter but with her entire world. There’s no hesitation in her eyes, only raw, unshakable belief that I’ll do the right thing.

“I’ve got her,” I nod to the firefighter, gently lifting Laramie from Honor’s arms. Her grip loosens, and I pull the baby close.

I pull off my own mask and pass it to Honor. “Here. Take this.”

“What about you?” she whispers, her voice cracking. Her hands tremble as she reaches for the mask.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, reaching for a smaller mask the firefighter hands to me. “Put it on. Please.”

She hesitates, then finally nods and as I help her slip it over her face.

The fire crew leads the way, guiding us through the smoke-choked air. The tear gas has dissipated somewhat, but the acrid sting still clings to the air, caught in low-lying areas and enclosed pockets. It’s thinner now, easier to push through, but the burning edge still lingers.

Honor takes in the scene as we move, her eyes lingering on the jagged hole in the roof—the section Hux and I hacked through to get in. Around us, debris and traces of the firefighters’ efforts are strewn about. Her shoulders sag, and she lets out a broken sigh.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. “I ruined everything.”

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