Page 152 of The SEAL's Rebel
About ordinary things.
Her meeting at the bank that morning. The short-term lease she’d arranged for her San Diego apartment while she spent more time in Aurora Cove. Max, apparently, had grown a beard—which Jen found endlessly funny. Caro’s latest email about her new research post tagging whales.
She pulled out her phone and showed him a picture.
Caro stood in a bright pink t-shirt on the deck of a small boat, wind in her hair, grinning as she leaned into a tall, sun-weathered man beside her who looked at her like she’d hung the moon. Sunlight flashed on the water behind them.
She looked healthy.
Whole.
Something in Wyatt’s chest loosened a little more.
“She looks good.”
“She does.” Jen slipped the phone back into her pocket. “FBI wrapped up their interviews, by the way. Sarah told me this morning.”
He nodded. “She told me too.”
Jen studied him across the table. “So. It’s actually over.”
Wyatt looked at her.
The faint shadow of the bruise beneath her eye and the faint line on her cheek. The steadiness in her gaze that he’d first seen on the rig and had never once wavered since.
“Yes. It’s over.” And for the first time in his life, Wyatt believed it.
She reached across the table and laced her fingers through his. His splint was gone now, but the hand was still stiff. The bones ached when the weather shifted, and his grip wasn’t what it used to be yet.
Her thumb traced the ridge of healing bone gently.
She lifted her gaze to his. “Then take me home.”
