Page 17 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

The last of the shampoo rinses away, spiraling down the drain in soapy rivulets. My eyes flutter closed again, the heat of the water sinking into my skin like an offering, soothing aches I hadn’t even realized were there. My chest hitches sharp, wobbling tremor I try to stifle—but no one says anything.

The silence doesn’t feel awkward or empty. It feels safe, like they’re making space for me to break if I need to.

Gabe’s hands brush over my hair one last time, smoothing—checking that no strands are left untouched. The water sliding down my back is warm, almost comforting, but when my shoulders tremble under the lingering weight of everything, Hank catches me. His hand clamps gently around my arm,steadying me, then slides carefully to my back, guiding me into his arms without hesitation.

It’s been hours, maybe days, since I let myself lean on anything that wasn’t me. Since I allowed anything other than survival to bolster me even an inch. For so long, I believed I couldn’t, that every crutch I reached for would be pulled from me the moment I relied on it.

But Hank doesn’t waver.

Gabe doesn’t hesitate.

My breath hitches again, harsher this time. It shudders through me, dragging tears I try to bury to the surface. The first one spills before I realize it’s happening, hot against my cooler skin. Hank’s arms tug tighter, anchoring me.

I press my forehead against his chest, instinct pulling me closer. His arms tighten, full of tender restraint and unwavering care, holding me upright without crushing me. The sensation of my bare skin pressing against his chest should feel awkward, so wrong, but instead, it feels grounding.

Hank doesn’t say a word. I don’t think I want him to. His body is sure and steady, a kind of immovable calm that feels like it could hold the rest of the world at bay.

And then there’s warmth behind me.

Gabe steps close, his movements so quiet I barely register them until the heat from his chest brushes against my back. It’s not intrusive—he doesn’t pull me away from Hank or press against me—but he doesn’t leave space either. He exists there, an intentional solidity, the closeness of his torso curling around the curve of my shoulders as if forbidding even the possibility of falling.

For a moment, time stops. Nothing exists but their solid presence, one at my front, the other at my back, stitching me together where I didn’t know I was breaking.

Hank’s arm tightens slightly across my back, and Gabe’s hand brushes briefly along one of my shoulders, fleeting, but impossibly grounding.

They don’t speak.

The silence between the three of us stretches, but it feels full.Not with unspoken words or attempts at explanations but with something wordless.

Steady.

Undeniable.

Something breaks loose inside me, tearing free with a sudden, ugly force. The sob hits before I can stop it, ripping through my chest like it’s been waiting for its chance to claw its way out. My body crumples, muscles giving way all at once.

“Shh.” Hank’s voice rumbles against my ear.

Two sets of hands catch me. One grips my shoulders, grounding me. The other slides around my waist, anchoring me upright.

“We’ve got you,” Gabe says softly, almost a whisper.

And somehow, I believe them.

By the time they dry me off and dress me in clean clothes—soft cotton that doesn’t itch and doesn’t constrict—I feel hollowed out in the best and worst way.

Wrung out, like weeks’ worth of survival poured out of me in one sitting. My body should feel lighter, but the exhaustion settles into every fiber of my being.

Hank and Gabe walk me back into the cabin, their movements still perfectly in sync, unspoken communication passing between them in the slightest of glances. They guide me toward the same row of seats, settling me back in place.

I expect them to leave—to let me curl in on myself while they return to their team—but they don’t.

Hank takes the aisle seat beside me, broad shoulders blocking out everything beyond the edge of my vision. Gabe slides into the seat on my other side, quiet as ever, but his hand brushes the edge of mine as he settles. Instinctually, I thread my fingers through his, interlocking our hands.

I let my head fall back against the plush seat, the taut lines of my body slowly unraveling as the weight of their presence settles over me like a shield.

Hank leans slightly in Gabe’s direction, tiltinghis head in some almost imperceptible way that makes Gabe glance between him and me as if confirming something they both already know.

I don’t have the words for it, but the air between us feels charged, as if coalescing into something I can’t explain.

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