Page 49 of Lethal Weakness

“I’m sure.” His hand squeezes gently before falling from mine, but I swear it was with reluctance. “Go get some rest.”

“Okay… Goodnight.” I start to back away, and he turns his attention to the rain outside the storm door.

But I can’t make myself go to bed, not yet.

My bare feet cross the space between us, and my hand cups his jaw, tipping his head back to me.

“Thank you, again, for everything,” I whisper just before capturing his lips softly in mine.

I don’t mean to linger, but his lips are smooth, and the rest of his body is so hard, I have trouble pulling away.

Then his warm palm slides up the back of my bare thigh, and I melt further into him. It would be so easy to keep going. Being inside this haze with him feels more effortless than fighting it.

But I have a daughter in the other room to think about, and I don’t have the luxury of falling for the handsome but mysterious man next door.

His eyes are still closed as I pull back, but so terribly serious that I rest my forehead on his just to ease his furrow.

“Goodnight,” I murmur breathlessly, leaving him to his night watch as I go to bed, thinking of him, even when I tell myself I shouldn’t.

Chapter Seventeen

O’Connor

There comes a moment in a man’s life when he knows what path he’s meant to lead. When my parents died, I knew the military was meant for me. It would be an outlet for the damage in my heart.

When I applied to be a SEAL, I was looking for a greater purpose. As soon as I realized how good I was at killing, I knew there wouldn’t be anywhere else I could go.

There was never life after the SEAL teams. I assumed I’d operate until I died of old age or was killed.

Being forced out and then recruited for Project Obsidian seemed like the end of the road. There was nothing else for me. So why not walk through the fires that others are too afraid to?

Now I know there is something more than a life of solitude and despair, but it’s just out of reach.

My only goal now is to destroy everyone and everything that might hurt Linden, and I’ll go down in a spray of bullets if I have to.

Every hour, I stand up and take a two-minute break. Each time, I’ve walked down the hallway just to watch her and Avery sleep.

How can two people become so important to you without your say?

A photo album on the dresser catches my eye, and I take it with me back to my watch chair. The front is baby pink, and there are a few random rhinestones stuck to it like Avery got a hold of it.

The first page is a picture of Avery as a newborn, wrapped in her hospital swaddle. Grief washes over me, saddened that I didn’t get to know her then.

Or maybe because she isn’t mine.

I flip to the next page, and I stare at it for a long time. One side of the book has two photos from Linden and Turner’s courthouse wedding. Her round belly is obvious under her dress, and her hair is stick straight, but she looks much the same. Incredibly beautiful, but her eyes are terrified. I can tell even through these 4x6 photos that she’s white-knuckling the rose stem in her hand.

The other side has pictures from the hospital when Avery was born. There is one photo of Linden holding Avery in the bed, and it makes me smile. She’s putting on a brave face, but I can already see how much she loved her baby.

The last photo is a group shot. Turner is standing, holding Avery in her swaddle, with his parents on either side of him. Linden isn’t in it, as if they made her take the picture.

That doesn’t sit right with me, but Linden is a better person than I am to include it in the album anyway.

The rest of the pages are Avery’s three and a half years of life. Chubby cheeked, gummy smiles, and lots of candid photos of her playing. My fingers hover over the pictures of her and Linden together, all selfies, because no one was around to take a picture of them.

I spend the next hour memorizing all the stages of life documented in the book, and reluctantly put it back on the dresser when I take my two-minute stretch.

It’s nearly morning now, and when I go to exit the room, Avery rolls over, blinking up at me.