Sarah closed her eyes and allowed the sob to break free. Shivers racked her, pain assaulted her, and she wasn’t sure how long she suffered alone—until Gavin returned to the room and sat on the bed next to her. When he gathered her up against his chest to simply hold her, she didn’t have the strength to fight him. The tears continued to flow. Sarah cried herself into a fitful sleep, broken by alternating shudders that threatened to shake her apart, followed by a fiery heat that left her weak, sweaty, and disoriented.

Time passed. She had no idea how much, but then someone was shaking her shoulder, pulling her from her nightmares, demanding she get into the wheelchair. She refused, her heart shattered, her need to grieve overshadowing her will to cooperate.

Strong arms lifted her, settled her into the wheelchair, and wrapped a blanket around her. Her father?

“No,” she cried, “don’t touch me. Go away!” It was petty and childish—and she didn’t care. “Gavin can push me, but you stay away from me.”

She thought she might have seen pain flash in the man’s eyes but refused to acknowledge it.

Gavin stepped behind her, and then she was moving, rolling through the hallways. She kept her eyes on the tile flooring. At some point, Gavin stopped and lifted her from the chair. He carried her into the plane and lowered her onto a gurney. His face hovered above her, his calloused fingers gentle when he wiped the tears from her cheeks. “She’s got a massive fever,” he said to someone. “Maybe we should stay here until she’s stronger.”

“She’ll be fine,” the general said. “We’ve got a nurse on board to monitor everything. I want her out of this godforsaken country before it claims her life too.”

He wanted. It was always what he wanted. What about what she wanted? It was her life.

Gavin hung the IV on the pole and gripped her hand. She was mortified that she so desperately needed his presence, knew she didn’t deserve his support, but was grateful to have it nonetheless. Her eyes refused to stay open, and she dropped into yet another fitful sleep.

Once they were in the air, Gavin’s phone rang and he snatched it to his ear, as though the gentle vibration could possibly wake Sarah. Although, sleeping might be stretching it. She muttered often, and only his hand in hers seemed to keep her from attempting to flee the sheets tucked around her.

“Hi, Dad,” he said, his voice low.

“Son. Well, you answered, I guess that means you’re still alive.”

“I am.”

His father was retired special forces. Gavin kept his mouth shut about a lot of things but, for the most part, was relatively unsuccessful in keeping his dad in the dark. He knew too much because he’d lived it.