Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

“Um… I’m sorry, I’m just…” He was afraid that anything he said would give her the impression he was holding her back. But he couldn’t let this go unsaid. “Yes, I know them. I’ve done several interviews with people working for the organization.”

“Really?”

The excitement in her voice intensified his need to protect her. “Emma, do you understand what they do?”

“They respond to urgent situations and care for critically injured.”

“Those critically injured come from places with active conflict.”

“Hence, the need for urgent care,” she pointed out in a way that said she shouldn’t have had to point it out.

“Don’t get me wrong, they do amazing work. But they’re in the eye of the storm, constantly in danger.”

“I’m a doctor of emergency medicine. I’m always in the eye of the storm.”

“But in America, you’re not constantly in danger.”

The spark of argument flared in her eyes.

He put up a hand. “Okay, let me tell you…” Fuck he didn’t want to do this. “I need to tell you what happened right before I came home.”

She waited. Cooper was dozing in the crook of his arm. Dylan used his skills in television to ground himself and find focus. He’d need it to keep himself together.

“Overseas, most correspondents have someone called a fixer. A fixer is essentially a liaison between a foreign correspondent and their own culture. Many are also journalists in their own right. They often act as translators. Mine was a Syrian named Amir.” Dylan closed his eyes. “He was phenomenal.”

“Was?” she asked softly.

Dylan blew out a breath. “He’d picked up information about an attack Assad had planned to take out the Syrian Defense Volunteers, people much like the IFR, who respond to incidents to get the injured to help. Amir and I were on our way to one of the safehouses where the volunteers had relocated when fighter jets came through the area.”

She lifted her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyes were big and bright and scared. And that made him feel guilty. She shouldn’t be scared of living her dream. And he shouldn’t be the one discouraging her. But he also knew the reality.

“To make a horrible story short, in the process of aiming at the safehouse, one of the bombs missed the target and exploded near Amir. He…died. Bled out in my arms.”

“Oh, Jesus. Dylan…” She pressed a hand to her forehead.

Dylan didn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t. It was the only way to keep himself together to finish. “The reason I’m telling you this is because after the Syrian Defense Volunteers were killed, the organization I called for help was the IFR. The only other living, breathing humans not in a bunker at the time were members of the IFR.”

He took a second, then continued. “Don’t get me wrong, they do good work. Important work. But to be honest, they’re overzealous, and coming from me, that’s saying something.” He reached out and curled his hand around hers. “Amir’s safety was my responsibility. I should have made him go to ground with our cameraman. I knew his loyalty would make him fight, but I should have fought harder. I failed him. And I’m not going to do the same thing with you. You’re a big girl. If you want to make that decision knowing what you know, that’s your choice. But I’ve been there, I’ve lived it, and I can’t stay quiet.”

Emma rolled to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. And in her arms, he found a measure of peace. He was home, with his family and the woman he loved. This was exactly what Amir wanted. That much, Dylan had done right.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, holding him tight. “I can’t even imagine.”

He pulled back and cupped her face with his free hand. “Please consider Vanderbilt. It would be a great place to start. In two years, when you have the experience DWB requires, then reassess your options.” He kissed her and pressed his forehead to hers. “Two years will fly by.”

“And where will you be in two years?”

The fact that she cared enough to ask warmed his heart.

“I’ll be right where you are, baby.” He kissed her temple. “Right where you are.”

16

Emma tapped her stylus against the screen of her pad. Her shift in the ER was almost over, but her mind was very far away. It had been two days since she’d seen Dylan. Her schedule had given her only enough time to sleep and get back to the hospital. And time to think. Probably too much time to think.

In her pocket, her phone dinged wi

th a message. She pulled it out and smiled at another text from Dylan. They’d been texting constantly, mostly about the house, but Dylan managed to slip in sweet, sexy comments all over the place.