Avery turned onto her back, careful not to wake Jackson. The sheets slipped down her chest, the cool air brushing against skin still marked by him.
For a moment, she just breathed. Then, as always, Evan’s face surfaced, his crooked grin, his voice when he’d tell her to slow down, breathe, live a little.
She waited for the guilt to come. It didn’t.
The ache was still there, a quiet pulse deep inside her, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. She would always love Evan. That part of her life had shaped everything that came after. But lying here, with Jackson’s warmth beside her and his scent still clinging to her skin, she realized maybe love wasn’t meant to stay frozen in grief. Maybe it could change, grow, shift into something new.
It startled her to admit it, even silently.
Maybe it was time to move on.
But that kind of peace was a luxury she didn’t have yet. Not while two hostages were still missing. Not while someone out there wanted her dead.
She exhaled, her hand brushing Jackson’s arm as he murmured something in his sleep. They couldn’t move forward until it was safe. And heaven knew when that would be.
So she let herself have this moment, just one heartbeat of stillness, before the storm came again.
Jackson stirred beside her, his arm tightening around her waist. A low sound rumbled in his chest as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
“I can hear you thinking,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Avery smiled faintly. “That loud, huh?”
He shifted closer, his breath warm against her neck. “Loud enough. You got regrets about this?”
She turned her head until their eyes met in the dim light. There was nothing hesitant in his gaze, no trace of the guarded man he’d been before.
“No,” she said. Her voice came out quiet but steady. “Not a single one.”
He kissed her then, slow at first, then deeper. The heat that had pulled them under earlier was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. She felt it in the slide of his mouth, the way his hand skimmed her hip, pulling her closer.
The sharp buzz of his phone shattered the moment.
Jackson exhaled, forehead resting against hers for a beat before he reached for the phone on the nightstand. “Crossfire Ops, Ward.”
A pause. His jaw went tight. “Put it through.”
Avery sat up, heart sinking at the sound of Mick’s voice on the other end. It was raw, breaking.
“Jacks…” Mick’s breath hitched. “I just found out about my mom. She’s gone. She’s dead.”
The silence that followed cut straight through the room. Avery’s stomach turned cold. Jackson’s hand went still, the phone pressed against his ear as the weight of Mick’s words settled like stone between them.
Avery leaned closer to the phone. “Mick,” she said softly. “You always said you hated your mother.”
There was a shaky breath on the other end. “Yeah. I did.” His voice cracked, anger and grief tangled together. “But I didn’t want herdead, Avery. I just—” Another breath, rough and wet. “I didn’t want her in my life. That’s different.”
Jackson stayed silent, giving him space, but Avery could hear the sound of Mick pacing, his footsteps sharp against tile.
“She didn’t just die,” Mick went on. “They said she was murdered. This is them. Darian or Warren. One of them did this to get to me.”
Maybe.
Avery met Jackson’s eyes over the phone, something uneasy curling low in her stomach. Mick hadn’t mentioned Charlotte was an informant. Not once. If he didn’t know, then he’d have another shock coming when he found out. If hedidknow, that was worse.
Her pulse kicked harder as she listened to him swear revenge, voice shaking. She couldn’t tell yet if she was hearing a son mourning or a man hiding something.
Either way, one truth threaded through her mind like ice: if Mick didn’t kill her mother, he might still know who did.