Feeling such pain for him, Chry touched his face. “Neo, you do—”
He didn’t let her finish. “But I know now that was wrong. I had been living under such a false belief and the truth set me free.”
She smiled through her tears, and whispered, “I’m so glad about that.”
She figured there were things from the past and present that would still have to be worked out. She could understand that. All her own pieces had only just fallen into place over the past few weeks. But with 2-Stroke, it was different. He had spent ten years denying that elemental part of himself, because loving her had left him vulnerable, because he wasn’t totally sure of her, because he harbored doubts. It nearly killed her, knowing that he had kept that hidden from her for so long, that they hadn’t the time to work their way through that. Today, he needed to know that she loved him, no matter what.
His eyes were so stark, she couldn’t stand it anymore. Hanging on to her smile despite the ache in her chest, she caressed his mouth with her thumb. “We were so young and so misguided.”
Not giving him a chance to respond, she exerted a firm pressure on his jaw and drew his head down, then covered his mouth with a gentle, healing kiss, knowing that he needed gentleness.
They snuggled together, and before she knew it, she’d fallen asleep again. The sun was higher in the sky when she woke up. 2-Stroke was still asleep. Feeling almost normal, barring the pain in her side, she eased to the edge of the bed and, holding her side, she put her feet on the floor.
Pushing up, she used the mattress, then the footboard to make progress. Straightening to her full height, she shuffled across the floor to the bathroom. Inside, she did her business and was so proud of herself.
The house was still and warm. The faint tinkle of wind chimes sounded encouraging.
When she left the bathroom, 2-Stroke was still asleep. She went for the door, uninterested in getting back into bed. Stepping out into the hall, she saw Saint was just coming out of his room with Aella in tow. Oh, so they were—um, an item.
She cleared her throat and Saint’s startled gaze jerked to her. “Chry. What are you doing out of bed without assistance?”
“I’m feeling better and I’m completely starving.” At that moment, her stomach rumbled.
Aella came forward. “Then we better get you something to eat.” She smiled and offered her hand. “Do you need help getting down the stairs?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Saint said.
Chry laughed softly. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope. You can’t argue with your doctor.”
“I could, but it would be a losing battle.” She saluted Saint and Aella took her arm. She was actually thankful for the help as she held onto the banister on the way down. She was just so glad to be out of that bed and on the mend.
Entering the kitchen, they paused, then continued as Marta rose from the table.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile. “It’s so good to see you up and about, Chry. Are you all hungry?” Marta went to the counter and filled up the coffeepot with cold water, then poured it into the reservoir on the coffeemaker. She filled the basket with fresh grounds and slid it into place and flipped the switch, her mood calm for someone so young to be handling such a potentially dangerous job as maintaining safe houses. But it seemed courage came in many different packages.
When she turned around, she indicated the table. “Have a seat.”
Aella helped Chry into her chair, then she and Saint took chairs opposite her. Marta took her hands and squeezed them. “Eggs, bacon, and toast sound good?”
“Immensely,” Chry said.
There was a sound from the doorway, and 2-Stroke entered the room. He was pushing up the sleeves of his Henley T. He stopped when he spied her, the stiffness in his shoulders relaxing. Reading his watchful look, she gave him a smile, then turned back to Marta. She was humbled by the compassion in the woman’s eyes.
“Thank you for everything, Marta. I don’t know where we would be right now if it wasn’t for you.”
“It gives me great pleasure to help you after all that your government did for my family.” She gave Chry’s hands a firm squeeze before going to the stove.
2-Stroke considered the two of them for a moment, then went to the counter and reached for a mug. Once he realized the coffee wasn’t finished brewing, he leaned back against the counter, his legs crossed, his arms folded over his chest. The solemn lines around his mouth were less pronounced, and there was a softness in his eyes that tugged at Chry’s heart.
“Good morning,” he said.
She couldn’t help remembering early this morning when he’d confessed everything to her, and she felt closer than ever to him.
Caught up in taking him in, she barely managed to restrain herself from going to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. 2-Stroke looked up, his gaze connecting with hers, and for an instant there was an unspoken communication between them that was so beautiful, so revealing, one that transmitted their commitment to each other, which fueled her need to be alone with him, intimately alone with him.
He picked up on it, and his eyes started to glitter with barely checked need. They promised her—later.
Marta bustled about, the sounds of frying followed with the delicious aroma of food, and her stomach clenched hard. When the coffee was done, 2-Stroke poured mugs for all of them while Marta set creamer and sugar on the table.
They ate like one big happy family, Chry feeling so much a part of the two SEALs after working with them so diligently in Prague. Aella was quite funny, and Marta had a wicked wit as well.
“Do you want to get some fresh air?” 2-Stroke asked. Chry nodded vigorously.
“I would love that.”
They rose and he grabbed their coats and boots. “We’ll just be out back,” 2-Stroke said There was no mistaking the pained look on Saint’s face. His chin came up, a sure indication that he was prepared to debate the issue. “I won’t overtax her.”
He opened the back door, and she squealed, “Snow.”
They all chuckled, and slipping his arm around her, 2-Stroke helped her down the stairs. She gingerly bent over and gathered up some snow. Before 2-Stroke had an inkling of what she was going to do, she threw it and hit him in the chest.
“You—backstabber,” he said and bent down.
She held up her hands. “You wouldn’t hit a recovering gunshot victim, would you?” She gave him her sweetest of smiles.
He laughed and chucked it toward the small trees and shrubs behind her.
The cold air felt so good and she walked around in the snow, enjoying the squeaking sound and the cold against her skin, reviving her.
He walked up to her. “You look great,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Rosy cheeks, pink skin, your hair loose…beautiful.”
Her brows rose. “I feel so much better. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered. “We will have to take everything slowly.”
“For sure. We will have to get the doctor’s permission for everything it seems.”
“Saint knows what he’s doing,” he said. “It’s just until you’re well.” He kissed her, his mouth warm against her chilled lips. “I think that’s enough for now. We should probably get you back into bed.”