“He said you saved his life and a few others,” I continued. “He’s recommended you for a commendation.”


“I get a nice pat on the back whenever I do my job.” He squeezed my hand and ran his finger along my forearm with a touch that was uniquely his.


“Why did you go out?” I asked. “There are field surgeons who could have gone.”


“You asked me this, Greyson.” 


“And you deflected, which I let you do because I was post-op.”
Four fingertips went back down my forearm with a tenderness that could only be described as worshipful.

“You don’t let stuff go, do you?”


“Nope.”


“I want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?”


“Yes. More than anything.”


“And if we are a couple, this is what I can expect? You to lock onto things?”
I didn’t want to turn him off, but I wouldn’t lie to him either.

“Yep. But I’m also patient. I won’t forget, but I’ll let you tell me things in your own time.”
He stared at the way his thumb stroked the scars on my wrist.

“I went out to prove that I could.”


That wasn’t news. I could have told him that. But having him say it so plainly was unexpected and earth-shattering and a chest-spreader, exposing my heart to his attention.


“You didn’t need to do that.”


“I did. Not for you. For me. And maybe you a little. I knew you’d say it didn’t matter, but I didn’t want to look in your eyes in ten years and wonder if you ever thought you could do better.”