Kristen Ashley - Breathe

“This Neanderthal act means he’s gonna stop jackin’ around? Yes,” Darius answered. “She keeps pushin’ him away and he keeps puttin’ up with it? No.”

Sounded like there was a story there.

Serenity was so holding out on me. Even more than I thought she was.

“My money’s on Ally,” Brody muttered.

“My money’s on Zano,” Darius muttered back.

Definitely a story there and it had nothing to do with Nathan Fillion.

Interesting.

“You sure you don’t want a beer or something?” I asked and felt Chace’s body tense around me.

“How ‘bout we have a beer tomorrow when you haven’t just been dug out of a wooden box covered in three feet of fresh dirt?” Darius asked back.

“That would probably be a more appropriate time for entertaining,” I muttered.

That was when I felt Chace’s body shaking around me at the same time both Darius and Brody grinned at me.

“Glad it all ended good. Later,” Darius gave his farewell.

“Yeah, later,” Brody gave his.

“Bye,” I called.

Chace gave them a chin lift.

They barely got the door closed before we were up, me in Chace’s arms and Chace heading to the hall, down it and to his room.

He set me in the bed, put a fist in it on either side of me and leaned in so he was all I could see.

“Be back, two seconds,” he whispered.

I nodded.

He left and I knew he was closing down the house for the night. I got proof when the light shining through the window from outside went out. It wasn’t needed anymore anyway. Dawn was coming.

When he came back, I watched him take off his jeans and sweater and climb in bed beside me. Then he turned out his light, rolled over me and turned out mine.

When it was out, he shifted into me and gathered me in his arms.

I was wearing one of his sweatshirts, clean panties and a pair of his socks, all I’d tugged on after my shower.

He was silent.

I remained that way too.

Then I stopped remaining that way.

“Are you okay?”

No answer.

My hands slid up the skin of his back and I called, “Chace?”

“I’m in the red zone,” he whispered.

His words, my words, words, the memory of them, the reason he was saying them making my heart clench.

I closed my eyes and pushed in closer.

“I’m okay,” I whispered.

“You’d run out of air.”

I opened my eyes. “For hardly a minute.”

“You’d run out of air.”

“It’s over, honey.”

His arms tightened around me and his voice was yet again gruff when he asked, “Can you really tell me after that shit happened you’re okay?”

“I only had to wait for you, Chace. You had to look for me. What you went through is worse so, no. I’m not really okay but I’m not freaked about what happened to me. I’m upset about what happened to you.”

“Jesus, baby, I’m okay.”

“You aren’t.”

“You’re here, you’re breathin’, you’re in my bed, you’re wearin’ my ring, I fuckin’ am.” His voice was reassuringly firm as his arms were reassuringly tight.

Still, I pushed, “Promise?”

“Fuck yeah. I’m just worried you aren’t.”

“Well, I am.”

“Could fuck with you.”

“Maybe, but you’ll be here.”

“Could give you bad dreams.”

“Maybe, but you’ll be here.”

“Could be okay then in a year, two, twelve, it’ll sneak up and haunt you.”

Jeez!

Sometimes a protective hero hot guy could be stubborn and annoying.

It was my turn to be firm. “Okay, maybe, Chace, but you’ll be here. ”

He went silent.

Then he whispered. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

Yeah.

He would.

In a year, two, twelve.

Always.

I snuggled closer and whispered back, “Yeah.”

He went silent.

I remained that way too.

Then I again stopped.

“Tired?”

“Fuck no.” Again firm.

“You want to talk?”

“No.”

I snuggled even closer. “Make love?”

Without delay or a word, Chace rolled into me, his mouth hit my throat and his lips slid around and up my neck.

I took that as a yes.

“Fuck?” I whispered an alternate suggestion.

“Make love,” he muttered against my jaw and I grinned into the gathering dawn as Chace’s hands moved under his sweatshirt.

Then I whispered back, “Works for me.”

One year and six weeks later

“It’s now my honor and my pleasure to pronounce you, Chace Keaton and you, Faye Keaton, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

My eyes slid from the reverend to Chace’s.

His eyes were really, really blue.

They looked really, really happy.

Just like me.

I didn’t know it happened until his mouth came to mine, his eyes open, so close, so very close, and his lips moved against mine when he whispered, “Faye, baby, breathe. ”

My breath rushed against his lips.

Then he kissed me.

When he was done, even with the cheering and clapping, he didn’t take his mouth from mine as he whispered, “Bubblemint.”

Against his lips, I smiled.

Ty

One year, five weeks and six days earlier

They should have seen it.

They didn’t see it.

Or maybe they didn’t expect it would happen coming from a man like Keaton.

But they weren’t there like he was, watching Keaton digging her out with his bare hands, jumping into that hole, the agony of relief on his face when he heard her choke, the way he pulled her out, dropped to his ass and curled around her.

Ty was there. Ty had seen it. And Ty had felt that same relief when Lex called him after she’d been kidnapped by Fuller and when he’d seen her at the hospital.

So he knew when they brought the man who kidnapped and buried Faye alive through the Station for whatever fucking reasons they brought him through, Keaton would not keep his seat and just watch.

He didn’t.

Ty had never seen a man move that fast. Not in his life.

But one second Keaton was sitting behind his desk, the next he was across the room, the man against the wall, Keaton in his face, his hand wrapped around the asshole’s throat.

The officers moved but Ty and Sterling were already in motion and they got there first and flanked Keaton.

Keaton was chest to chest, nose to nose with him and the man was choking.

“How’s it feel not to have any air?” he whispered, face and eyes stone cold.

“Stand down, Detective,” Sterling murmured.

“You left her three hours, not four,” Keaton kept whispering as he kept squeezing the breath out of his captive.

“Chace.” Ty inched closer.

“Three hours of air,” Keaton hissed.

“Man, you are not doin’ Faye any favors with this,” Ty told him quietly. “She needs him to pay. Not you. Stand down.”

Keaton held the man’s eyes.

Ty inched closer.

“Stand down, Chace,” Ty whispered.

A muscle jumped in Keaton’s jaw and he pushed off, stepping back one step as the man lifted both his handcuffed hands to wrap around his throat and choked in air.

“Let’s go outside,” Ty muttered and Keaton, eyes still locked to the kidnapper whose face was battered, bruised and swollen, kept still for a long moment before his body jerked around and he prowled to the door.

Ty gave Sterling a look and slid his eyes through the officers before he followed Keaton. He found him standing at his truck, both hands to its hood, weight leaning into his hands, head bent.

Ty stopped close.

Keaton didn’t delay, asking his question to Ty but the words were aimed at his gut. “How do you live with it?”