. . . waiting for more . . . Tanner’s fingers moved. I sat up, and stared at his face. Tanner’s eyebrows pulled down, his tongue traced his lips . . . finally, his eyes cracked open.
I couldn’t help it. A sob left my throat as he blinked, revealing to me the bright blue eyes I adored so much. They were dazed at first. The confusion he felt was obvious by his lost expression. I kissed his cheek, his nose, then his lips. “Tanner,” I whispered, happy tears trickling down my cheeks. It took Tanner only a moment to kiss me back. His hand came up to the back of my head. I heard him hitch a breath and realized the movement must have caused him pain.
I tried to pull back, but he kept me in place. “No . . .” he whispered against my lips. “Stay.”
My heart melted.
I kissed him softly, trying to pour everything I was feeling into the touch—love, gratitude, pride, and adoration. All of it, every emotion that had ever coursed through my soul in my years with him. In our fight to be together.
I tried to communicate it all.
I reared back and looked at his face. There was no confusion, anymore. “We’re . . . alive . . .” he rasped. My heart cracked when, with shining eyes, he smiled. “We’re alive . . .” He said the words with such relief, such awe—a whispered benediction from his lips.
“Yes,” I cried, laughing, letting caged joy break through. “We’re alive.” I kissed him again. I kissed him through fallen salty tears, labored breathing, and painful injuries. But it didn’t deter us. We were here. Saved.
Saved for the sake of the other.
Breaking away, I passed Tanner the water from the nightstand. I brought it to his lips, wincing at the movement.
“You’re hurt,” he said quietly. Then his eyes widened. “Diego . . . he shot you.” Tanner’s eyes dropped to my side. He tried to reach for me. But I stopped him by placing my hand on his chest.
“I’m fine.” I ran my hands near his wounds. “You were hurt worse.” I met his eyes. “You killed Diego.”
Tanner relaxed on the bed, and I could see the relief in his eyes. I settled back down on his chest. Tanner put his arm around my shoulders. I heard him hold his breath as he moved. I sank into his side.
The room was silent. I basked in the moment. The silence was the perfect soundtrack to match my thoughts. At peace. Happy . . . liberated.
In love.
“Baby . . .” Tanner murmured. I smiled as the gravel of his deep voice vibrated against my ear.
“Mmm?”
“There’s something I have to tell you.” His wary tone made me tense.
“Okay.”
I looked up to his face. Tanner’s eyes fell to meet mine. There was apprehension in his gaze. But there was sadness too. I braced myself for whatever it was. “Alfonso . . .” Tanner paused like he didn’t want to say whatever came next. “He wasn’t your father.”
My heart sank. “I know.” Tanner’s face wore a mask of shock. “I found out just before Diego killed him.” I swallowed back the sickness of what I’d discovered. “Tanner . . . they said I was trafficked. That my father got me in some kind of a trade?” My hands shook. “My mother—Quintana’s wife—found out . . . and he killed her.” I took a moment to keep my composure. “He killed her, Tanner.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I have no idea whose daughter I am. But I know my mother, whoever she is, didn’t want to give me up.” My stomach tightened, and I fought back the urge to cry for woman I didn’t know. “They ripped me from her, Tanner . . . I was stolen and given to my father.”
Tanner held me to his chest. He said, so quietly I almost missed it, “I know who she was.”
I froze. Every muscle in my body stilled. My breathing increased in pace, and I slowly lifted my head. Then a single word Tanner said hit a crescendo in my mind.
Was.
I know who she was.
I couldn’t speak. The swelling of my throat and the fear of hearing more kept me paralyzed at Tanner’s side. Tanner’s finger ran down my cheek. “She was from Texas.” My breath shook on an exhale. “Your father was too.” I hung on every word Tanner said. Every single word. “Sanchez, your father, was Mexican. Your mother . .