Page 159 of Swept for Forever
“I was just about to write your eulogy, Powell. Hope you don’t mind, I made you taller.”
Dom groaned. “Taller’s fine. Just don’t say I was nice.”
More deputies followed, one of them handing each of us a space blanket.
“Paramedics are on their way,” Boone said. “We’re close to the road. You’ll be okay.”
Boone moved to brief his men, sending them to sweep the area. Granger stayed nearby with a radio pressed to his ear, relaying directions.
Dom and I sat back on the flat rock, wrapped around each other. I glanced at my soaked clothes beside me before reaching for the zipped pocket on my pants.
It was still there.
I pulled it out, turned to him, and held out my hand. “I believe this belongs to you,” I said, dropping his silver coin into his palm.
Dom stared at it. “I thought it was gone for good. Where did you find it?”
“Spears used it to lure me in. He was betting it meant something. He smeared tomato sauce all over it, took a photo of it, and said they had you.”
His jaw clenched. “Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, well…” I folded my arms, my chin high. “I took it back.”
That got me the look I lived for—one part pride, one part disbelief, all Dom. He turned the coin over in his hand like it was suddenly worth more than silver.
“You really are my Otter.”
“Damn right I am.”
“By the way, how the hell did you know about the scour pool?” he asked.
“Oh, is that what you call it?”
Dom raised a brow, waiting.
“I just knew it as the deep bend.” I pressed a hand to his cheek. “All part of the recon, baby.”
His face twisted. “What recon?”
“I tried to escape before.”
“Shit, Otter.”
I leaned my forehead against his. “You were ready to die for me,” I whispered. “You pushed me up to that branch without a second thought.”
Dom didn’t answer. He just pressed his face into my neck and held on. His hands stayed locked around my waist, firm but trembling, and it told me everything he wasn’t saying.
“I love you, Dominic Powell.”
He kissed the hollow of my collarbone, then found my lips. “Yeah, Otter. I love you too.”
After surviving a hostage situation, river rapids, and clinging to him as if I’d sprouted suction cups, just to keep us both alive, I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed to be found in his arms.
The numbness was fading now, and I could feel the bruises on both our mouths and the sting of split skin.
Slaps and fists had tried to tear us down, but we were still here. Still standing. Still choosing each other.
So what if we looked like two teenagers in love?
