Chapter 504

Chapter 503:

She was disheveled — hair falling from its clip, coat smeared with something dark that might have been soot or might have been blood — pressing one hand to her temple, her phone clutched in the other with white-knuckled force.

She looked up. Saw him.

“Gaston p>

He reached her in three strides. His hands found her shoulders, her face, her waist, touching everywhere at once with a desperation that bordered on violence. She was warm. She was solid. She was real.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was unrecognizable. “Where are you hurt p>

“I’m not—” She tried to pull back, to explain, but he was already lifting her, pulling her against his chest with a force that drove the air from her lungs. “Gaston, I can’t breathe p>

He loosened his grip fractionally, but didn’t release her. Couldn’t. His face was buried in her hair, breathing in her shampoo, the faint trace of smoke, the essential reality of her — alive, here, his.

“Sir.” Carter’s voice came from just behind him. “We need to move. The scene isn’t secure. There’s a secondary p>

“I don’t care.” The words were muffled against her neck. “I don’t care about any of it p>

𝗗𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗅𝗼𝖺𝗱a𝗯𝘭𝘦 𝗣𝘋𝖥s о𝗻

“Gaston.” Jocelyn’s hands found his face, pulling him back enough to meet his eyes. Her own were wide and shocked, but clear. Uninjured. “I’m okay. The car was armored. The tanker exploded right ahead of us — too close, but the armor held. I’m not hurt p>

He stared at her. Searched for the lie, for the brave face she might be wearing to spare him. But her pupils were even, her color normal, her movements steady. No blood. No glass in her hair.

The relief hit him like a physical blow. His knees buckled. He caught himself on the car door, pulling her with him, and found himself on the cold asphalt with her in his lap, arms still locked around her waist.

“Sir.” Carter again, more urgent. “We really must p>

“Give us a minute.” Gaston’s voice was barely audible. “Give us one minute p>

Carter retreated. The noise of the emergency scene seemed to recede, replaced by the thunder of Gaston’s own heartbeat and the soft, steady rhythm of Jocelyn’s pulse against his palm where it rested at her throat.

She was touching him back now, her fingers moving gently over the lines of his face with quiet confusion. “How did you get here so fast? I tried to call, but the towers p>

“Helicopter.” He managed the word. “I heard — on the phone — the sound p>

He broke off. His throat had closed again, this time with something worse than fear. The memory of that noise — the explosion, the silence, the endless ringing that followed — he had believed he was listening to her die.

“Hey.” Jocelyn’s voice softened. She shifted in his lap and pressed her forehead to his, her hands cupping his jaw, her thumbs moving across his cheekbones. “I’m here. Right here. Nothing happened. I’m fine p>

Gaston closed his eyes. He felt the wetness on his face and didn’t care. Let her see. Let her know what she did to him, this terrifying vulnerability that was simply the price of loving her.