Page 98 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Me.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, every movement deliberate. No dominance, no demand—just trust and the silent promise that whatever storm lives inside him, he’ll hold it back for me. He’s offering not just desire but love… honesty…himself.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, breath warm and uneven, the moment thick with everything we don’t say—but feel.

Hank’s exam doesn’t take long. When he returns, he rolls his shoulders and stretches like a man who’s just endured something mildly annoying rather than invasive.

“Everything still in working order?” Gabe asks, smirking.

Hank claps a hand over Gabe’s shoulder as he passes. “Better than ever. Doc Summers even gave me a gold star.”

I snort, shaking my head as Gabe mutters something about medals of honor for endurance.

Rather than grabbing a golf cart, we walk to The Guardian Grind. The sun is warm on my face, the breeze carryingthe distant sound of Guardians going through drills and seagulls crying as they soar out to sea.

I’m sandwiched between them again—Hank’s arm draped around my waist, solid and steady, while Gabe threads his fingers through mine, his grip firm and grounding. Their touch chases away the last tendrils of unease, wrapping me in a cocoon of quiet protection.

“You were right about Skye,” I tell them. “She’s thorough.”

“The best,” Hank agrees, but I don’t miss how his gaze sweeps our surroundings, his instincts never quite at rest. “You’ve earned yourself a coffee,” Hank says, steering me toward the entrance of Guardian Grind. “Whatever you want. On me.”

I smirk up at him. “That an apology for making me a medical emergency?”

He winks. “It’s a bribe to keep me in your good graces.”

“You know you don’t have to bribe her, man,” Gabe says. “We’ve already got her hooked.”

And damn if he isn’t right.

The Guardian Grind occupies a central location in the compound—strategically placed, according to Gabe, to ensure maximum caffeine distribution to all departments. From the outside, it looks surprisingly normal, with large windows and a wooden sign sporting a stylized “G” that cleverly forms both the outline of a coffee mug and what could be a tactical shield.

The parking area is busy, with several carts and even a few regular vehicles occupying spaces. This is a popular spot.

“Told you, social hub,” Gabe says.

The moment we step inside, the rich aroma of coffee envelops us. The space is packed—at least thirty people crammed into what should comfortably hold twenty—and the noise level matches the density. Conversations overlap, punctuated by the mechanical hiss and whir of espresso machines, the clatter of cups, and occasional bursts of laughter.

I take it all in, fascinated by this slice of Guardian life. The clientele is diverse, yet patterns emerge: the heavily muscled operatives with their alert eyes and tactical postures occupy several tables,while slimmer, more nervous-energy types cluster around outlets with tablets and devices.

These latter remind me of my physics colleagues—beta energy rather than alpha, but no less intense in their focus.

“Busier than usual,” Hank notes, his body instinctively positioning to shield me from the worst of the human traffic.

A line of customers stretches nearly to the door. At a broken espresso machine, someone in gray coveralls has the front panel open, his arms deep in its mechanical innards. A patch on his coveralls declares his name as Mike.

A lanky man with disheveled hair rushes past us, coffee sloshing dangerously in his mug. “Number two espresso machine is down again,” he explains without stopping.

And then I see Malia behind the counter, expertly pulling espresso shots at a second machine. A streak of flour dusts her cheek, her hair pinned back in a messy bun, and she’s laughing at something a customer said.

She looks… happy. Settled. Like she’s made this place her own.

Malia turns—and freezes—eyes widening before her entire face lights up with a smile so bright it could power the entire block.

“Ally!” She abandons the counter without hesitation, ducking under the pass-through, her apron still on. The next thing I know, she’s barreling toward me, arms flung wide.

Chapter 29

I barely bracebefore Malia crashes into me, squeezing so tight I almost lose my breath.

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