Page 125 of The Bodyguard Situation

Happy tears stream out of me. He kisses me, pours everything that he is into me, into us, into the beautiful future that we both imagine so clearly. I take his hand, guiding him to the couch. He doesn’t resist. He follows me, unsteady in a way that breaks my heart all over again. He says he’s fine, but I can tell he’s not. He’s hurting.

Brody sinks into the couch and opens his arms, and I crawl into them without hesitation. This right here is the light at the end of my tunnel, and having him home safe is proof that we made it to the other side together.

The tension in his shoulders hasn’t fully released, but he’s trying. I can tell by his steady breaths that he’s trying to soften the edges of whatever he’s still carrying.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, looking up at him.

He shakes his head. Silence takes over.

Brody doesn’t just let me sit beside him, but he pulls me closer, his arm sliding behind my back, fingertips resting just above my hip, like he needs to keep touching me or risk unraveling completely. The penthouse is quiet, except for the low hum of the city beyond the windows. It’s a faraway sound that makes me feel even more separated from the world.

I rest my head against his shoulder, letting the weight of the last few hours drip out of my eyes, piece by piece. My fingers lift his shirt. Every breath he takes feels like proof of something I still can’t fathom—I didn’t lose him. No matter how much Micah tried to ruin my life, I was allowed to keep Brody.

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for days.

“I didn’t know how deranged Micah was,” he finally says, his voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it. “Until I saw Mia. When I looked at her, I saw you. And I realized if I didn’t walk out of there, if something happened to me, that it would destroy you.”

A sharp ache cuts through my chest. I lift my head, turning so I can really look at him. His eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, the bruise along his jaw already darkening. But beneath it all, there’s that familiar vulnerability that gives me a glimpse of when we were in Sugar Pine Springs.

“I thought I’d lost you, and I had a horrible panic attack. I felt like I was dying,” I whisper, reaching up to touch his face. My thumb brushes beneath the shadow of the bruise. “I broke. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”

I wonder if that’s how Eden’s death affected him, but I don’t ask. I can’t.

Our eyes meet, and he doesn’t speak for a second, just presses his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between us.

“I never want you to experience that again.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice trembling. “The way I feel about you isn’t something I can undo. I can’t live without you. I don’t want to. And I feel selfish, saying that, but twice in the past few days, I’ve been faced with the reality of losing you, and I understand what you told me back at the cabin about not being able to survive that either.”

Something flickers in his expression as he holds me, kisses me, and runs his fingers through my hair. “You won’t ever have to live in a world without me, if I can help it,” he says. It’s a promise, and it does something to me.

My throat tightens, my body tenses, and before I can stop myself, I lean in and return my lips to his without hesitation. His mouth moves against mine with the same urgency he had when he pulled me into his arms, like we’re both searching for something we thought we’d lost today. It’s not desperate. It’s not even about lust. It’s about survival. It’s about still being here and needing to feel something real after the chaos.

My hands slide up to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens. He shifts beneath me, adjusting until I’m straddling his lap, my knees on either side of him. Brody’s hands stay planted on my hips, holding me steady, grounding me. I break the kiss, only to rest my forehead against his again, our noses brushing as we breathe each other in.

“I just need to feel you,” I whisper. “I need to know you’re really here.”

“I understand,” he confesses, as if he hasn’t fully recovered his ability to speak. “I need you always.”

My heart clenches, and I nod because I can’t find words for the way that makes me feel. My hands slide down his chest, over the ridges of muscle, and I memorize every inch like it might vanish again.

When I tug at the hem of his shirt, he lifts his arms, letting me pull it over his head. I toss it aside and press my hands to his skin, my palms flat against the warmth of his chest. His heartbeat thrums under my fingers. It’s fast but steady, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding all night.

Brody reaches for me then, his touch careful but sure as he slips his hands beneath the hem of my sweatshirt and lifts. The moment it clears my head, his eyes meet mine, and something in the charged air changes.

His fingers trace a path along my ribs with a featherlight touch, as if he’s memorizing something sacred. My body responds instinctively, leaning into him, aching to be close in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do withbelonging.

He kisses me again until the tears finally stop burning behind my eyes, until the fear vanishes, until there’s nothing left between us but skin and breath and love. His hands move with purpose, but not urgency—like he’s rediscovering every inch of me, not to take, but to remember. His fingers trail along the curve of my waist, up my spine, down my arms. Each touch is intentional, like he’s asking me a silent question and waiting for my body to answer.

I kiss him deeper, my mouth parting against his as the last thread of fear snaps. All that’s left is this—his warmth, his scent, the rasp of stubble against my skin, the steady beat of his heart. My thighs tighten around him as I straddle him, and his breath hitches as I roll my hips once, just enough to let him know I need more. He exhales my name like a prayer, his lips dragging along my jaw, down my throat.

Brody lifts me, guiding me backward until my spine meets the cushions, his body lowering to cover mine. We move like we’re rediscovering how to exist in the same space again, like the closeness has to be relearned and rebuilt in this new freedom we have. Every kiss, every brush of skin stitches us back together until we’re whole again, like we were at his cabin.

His hands skim beneath the waistband of my leggings, dragging them down inch by inch, his gaze never leaving mine. There’s nothing rushed about it. No games, no facade. Just this. Just us.

When he finally pushes inside me, I gasp, my arms wrapping around his back as my body arches into his. It’s not the kind of gasp that comes from pain or even surprise. It’s the kind that says,Finally. Like my body’s been holding a space for him, waiting for him to come home.

We move together like the world has narrowed down to this specific moment. We make love, losing ourselves in one another. We are all that matters. Our love keeps me going. Every thrust is deep, steady, grounding—not about taking or rushing, but about cementing what we have, making it permanent. Every stroke says,I’m here. You’re safe. We survived this.

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