“I wouldn’t say settled exactly, but for the first time in my life, I want to be. He, uh, was injured in the mission. They’re working on him now.”
“And here I am complaining about my survivable pain and cracking jokes. Will he be okay?”
I hang my head, giving it a little shake as I try to keep tears at bay. “He needs to be. I don’t want to live without him.”
“Tell me about him,” Parsons says.
I try to think of a word that encompasses him—the eccentric way he looks at life, the life of the party, his addiction to adrenaline and action, and the other side of him: the lonely guy who wants someone to love him and come home to. The guy who can be serious when he needs to be, who’s supportive of his friends and family.
But then I realize, there is a perfect word, and I’m the one responsible for giving it to him.
“He’s Iris. His name says it all.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Iris
Okay, these are the good drugs. Whatever I’m on, I want more of it.
I’m warm down my entire right side and feel like I’m floating on air. But then when I move, my left side protests in pain, and the warmth on my right weighs me down.
I crack open an eye to find a body pressed against me.
The time is a mystery, how long I’ve been out is even more undeterminable, but when I turn my head and look at Saint’s sleeping form next to me, I realize it must have been a while.
He looks so uncomfortable because these cots are so small, and he’s trying with all his strength to go nowhere near my injured side. But in the military, you learn to sleep anywhere.
“Geez, my boyfriend is soooo clingy,” I say.
Saint startles so hard, he almost falls off the bed. When he clings onto me to save himself, I let out a loud, painful gasp.
He immediately lets me go and then crashes to the floor.
I laugh. “I was fucking with you. You didn’t hurt me.”
Saint jumps to his feet. “You’re awake.”
“Ooh, my boyfriend is also a genius.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been shot.”
“Do you need anything? Water? Food? More drugs?”
I reach my hand out for him. “I need you. Kiss me.”
When he leans over me and touches his lips to mine, everything else doesn’t matter.
I’m high on pain meds, I have Saint by my side, and I’m alive. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” Saint whispers.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily. It’ll take a whole lot more bullet holes to make me go away.”
Saint huffs. “Please don’t put that out into the universe. Some jackass will take it as a challenge. I want my man in one piece, please.”
“Mm,” I hum. “Your man, huh?”
“You’re the one calling me your boyfriend.”
“You’re the one who said I’m the love of your life.”
“You said I love you first,” Saint argues.
“I didn’t realize we’d be keeping score.”
“Have you met me?”
“Good point.”
Saint turns serious as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Did you mean it?”
“That I love you?”
He nods. “Or was it an I might possibly die so I only think I’m in love with him, but now that I’m going to be okay, he’s actually not that great type thing?”
“As tempting as it is to tell you it didn’t mean anything, I can’t joke about it. Not something as big as this. I love having you at home. I love having you in my ear at work. And when I heard your voice when I thought I was bleeding out, it gave me the strength to push through. I love you with my entire being, and that is never going to change.”
“Promise?”
“Maybe one day I can promise you this in front of all our friends and family, at an altar, and vow to love you until the end of time.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that. Only, we don’t have any family.”
I smile because he still hasn’t learned. “Yes, we do. They’re behind you.”
“Are you two done yet?” Trav asks. “Geez, love this and love, love, love. We get it. You’re a couple.” He’d be more convincing about being annoyed by it if he wasn’t smiling.
Behind him, the others trail in. I must be in a recovery wing or something because there’s only a couple of beds in here.
“They want to keep you a couple of days,” Trav says. “They’re worried about the risk of blood clots.”
“A couple of days? Is it safe for us to be here that long after taking out the leader of the Muharib?” Saint asks.
“It’s not. The base is on full alert as the details of the mission get out.”
“But we’re not representatives of the US or any governing agency,” I argue.
Trav snorts. “Didn’t you hear? SEAL Team Six was responsible for taking out Farouk. It’s all over the news.” He holds out his phone and hits Play on a video.