Page 70 of When the Smoke Clears

And I do, wrapped in his arms, safe for the first time in years.

Morning light filters in gently when I wake. I stretch like a starfish, then freeze.

I’m in Luke’s bed. His sheets wrap around my body. But he’s not here.

The memories return: his heartbeat, his voice, his arms wrapped around me as the world fell apart.

It wasn’t a dream.

Deep voices murmur from the kitchen. I slip into the guest room and throw on something other than pajamas before dragging a brush through my hair.

I pad into the room. Gabe leans against the wall, arms crossed. Luke sits at the counter, stirring a mug of coffee.

Without a shirt.

I stop dead.

The Luke I left behind was lean, athletic, smooth-chested. This Luke is broader, stronger, dusted with dark hair, carved with definition that wasn’t there ten years ago.

My gaze drags over him before I can stop myself.

Gabe catches me instantly, a devilish smirk spreading across his face.

“See something you like, Isla?”

I glare daggers at him. “What? No. I was just…looking for coffee.”

“You won’t find it in Luke’s chest hair,” Gabe teases.

“Oh my God, shut up.” My cheeks flame as I push past him and grab a sunflower mug.

“I had to take my shirt off,” Luke says casually, “because someone drooled on it last night.”

My head snaps up. “I did not.”

He shrugs. “Except you did.”

I slap a hand over my face. “You’re ridiculous.”

He hides a smile behind his mug.

“Did you meet your contact?” I ask Gabe.

He sobers. “Yeah. We should hear something by tonight or tomorrow morning.”

Luke leans forward, elbows on the counter, muscles shifting in ways that force me to stare into my coffee instead. “What exactly will they be looking for?”

“They’ll run the usual toxicology reports,” Gabe explains, “but they’ll also check for substances that other labs might overlook.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like medications someone might normally take but in higher doses, especially anything that could slow down the heart.” Gabe’s voice is apologetic.

The weight in my chest grows until I break away and curl onto the couch. Luke joins me, his hand settling over mine, warm and steady.

“We’ll find answers, Isla. I promise.”

“I know you will,” I whisper. Because he always does.