Hope Survives Even After Maps Are Burned by Niro Mason 84

Chapter 84 

-Hailey- 

The air between us felt brittle. Like it might crack if either of us moved too fast. 

Logan cleared his throat, already taking a step toward the door. “I need a shower.” 

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He’d kickboxed the fury out of himself, leaving a hollowed–out shell. He moved ahead of me, his gait surprisingly steady on his injured leg. 

He didn’t look back at me, but I felt the pull of his attention anyway, a constant vigilance that seemed to radiate from him and fill the space between us. 

I followed. What else was I going to do? My two shadows fell into step behind me. 

The staircase loomed. Each step was painful for him, but he tried to hide it. I stayed a few steps behind, close enough to try to catch him if he stumbled, but far enough to avoid the frustrated energy rolling off him. 

The prospects stopped at the bottom of the stairs, shifting nervously. They seemed unsure whether to follow any further, and I couldn’t have cared less at this point. 

“You’re gonna tear your stitches,” I said, my voice too loud in the stairwell. 

He didn’t break rhythm. “They’re fine.” 

“You’re starting to limp again.” 

“It’s stiff.” The answers were clipped, automatic. His mind was elsewhere. Triangulating threats, running 

scenarios. 

I was an echo in the room he was busy securing. 

“Logan,” I tried again, softer, reaching the top of the stairs behind him. “Can we just… talk? About… anything else?” 

He paused. His shoulders were tense. He half–turned, and his green eyes scanned my face, then flicked past me down the empty hallway. “Talk about what, Ace?” 

“I don’t know. The weather. What you want for lunch. Why you thought ‘Hades‘ was a good code name.” I attempted a smile. It felt like clown makeup. 

He didn’t smile back. His expression was grim. “Not hungry. And the name fits.” He turned and continued down the hall toward the apartment door. “This whole place feels like the goddamn underworld right now.” 

I hated the resignation in his voice. My victory from last night curdled in my 

stomach. 

As we approached the apartment door, I heard the soft scuff of boots on the carpet behind me. I glanced back. 

Leo and the other kid had followed us up after all, positioning themselves a respectful ten feet away. 

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Their presence was the final straw. The argument I’d been trying to avoid bubbled up, hot and ready, fueled by a day of fear and this new, unbearable loneliness. 

“This is ridiculous,” I hissed, my voice low so the prospects wouldn’t hear, but sharp enough to make Logan’s shoulders go stiff as he pushed the door open. 

I saw the sigh move through him before I heard it, a deep, weary exhale. He still hadn’t turned around. 

“What is?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. 

“Them!” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “Are you going to post one outside the shower?” 

That did it. He turned slowly, the movement stiff with more than just physical pain. His eyes finally landed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch. 

Then his gaze shifted past me to the prospects. He seemed to really see them for the first time since we’d left the garage, as if he had been so deep in his own head he’d forgotten about them. 

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Leo,” he barked. 

The kid snapped to attention. “Yeah, boss?” 

“You and… you.” He gestured vaguely at the other one. “Take a hike. Go get a coffee. I’ll call you if I need you.” 

The relief on their faces was almost comical. They couldn’t get away fast enough, jogging back down the hall. 

The silence they left behind was heavier, more intimate, and infinitely more dangerous. 

Logan walked into the apartment. He didn’t hold the door for me. He just walked inside, leaving me standing on the threshold. The message was pretty clear. 

I stepped in and closed the door behind me. The click of the latch was final. The apartment was dim with all the shades drawn. It should have felt like a sanctuary. 

Instead, it felt like the eye of the storm. 

When he turned to face me, the full force of his exhaustion was written on his face. 

“Happy?” he asked. It felt like a challenge. 

“No,” I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not happy. I feel like a prisoner in a goddamn gilded cage. Your cage.” 

A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. “My cage? You think I like this? You think I enjoy having to post babysitters on my own goddamn door? This ain’t for my benefit, Ace.” 

“I stood my ground last night because I wanted to be your partner, Logan. Not your prisoner.” 

“Partner?” he exploded, taking a step toward me. “Partners don’t get protected! Partners get dead! That’s how 

this works!” 

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I took a step toward him, too. “I’m not demanding a spot on the front line. I’m refusing to be shoved into a panic room a thousand miles away. There’s a difference” 

“Is there?” he roared, his voice cracking. “Because from where I’m standin‘, it looks the same! You’re here! In the line of fire! Every second I’m not looking at you, I’m thinkin‘ about who is! I can’t fucking breathe, Hailey! I can’t lose the only person I ever…” 

He trailed off. Looked down at the floor. The raw admission hung in the air between us, bare and fragile. His chest was heaving. 

The fight went out of me all at once, “The only person you ever what?” I whispered. 

He shook his head, running a hand over his face like it could wipe away the fatigue and the fear. 

“I can’t do this right now,” he muttered, “I can’t… argue with you about why I need to keep you alive. I need a shower. I need five fucking minutes where I don’t have to think about Anatoly or dead old men or…” 

He didn’t finish. He just turned and limped into the bathroom. 

He didn’t slam the door. He closed it with a soft, definitive click that was somehow worse than any slam could have been. It was the sound of surrender. 

I stood alone in the living room with the echoes of our shouting ringing in my cars. The apartment felt enormous and empty. 

I could hear the shower kick on, a steady hiss behind the closed door. It taunted me. 

I stood there, rooted to the spot, listening to it beat against the tile. Steam began to seep from under the bathroom door, carrying the smell of his soap. 

I knew what waited for me on the other side… more walls, more silence, more of that terrifying distance. 

I couldn’t win the argument with words. Not when his were forged in violence and loss. But I knew another language. A simpler one. 

I kicked my sneakers off, and my fingers went to the hem of my sweater. I pulled it over my head and let it drop to the floor. Logan’s sweatpants followed. The air in the apartment was cool on my bare skin. 

I didn’t let myself think. If I thought, I’d hesitate. If I hesitated, the canyon between us would erode further. 

I turned the knob slowly. It was unlocked. 

The bathroom was thick with steam, and I could barely see his silhouette through glass shower door. I pulled it open just far enough to slip inside. 

The water was scalding, and it stole my breath for a second. He flinched violently, spinning around. Water streamed down his face, plastering his dark curls to his forehead. 

His eyes were wide, startled, then immediately narrowed with a fresh wave of frustration. 

“Hailey, what the hell are you-” 

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I didn’t let him finish. I stepped forward into the spray, into the space he occupied, and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his wet, soapy chest. His skin was hot, and his heart hammered against my ear. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, muffled against his skin. The water poured over us, washing away any chance of tears. “I’m sorry for stressing you out. For putting that look in your eyes.” 

I tilted my head back to look up at him. Water dripped from my nose, my chin. “But I’m not sorry for my choice to stay. I’m not sorry for choosing you.” 

His jaw worked. He was fighting the pull. His hands came up, not to hold me, but to grip my upper arms. Like he was going to push me away. But he didn’t push. His thumbs stroked over my wet skin. 

“You don’t get it,” he rasped, his voice raw. “Every time I close my eyes, I see it. You. Dying. Because of me.” 

“Then don’t close your eyes,” I whispered, going up on my toes, my body sliding against his. “Look at me. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A low groan broke out of him, a sound of pure agony. His grip on my arms loosened, and his hands slid down my back, pulling me flush against him. 

The anger, the fear, it all went down the drain as his mouth landed on mine. Nothing was gentle about it, for either of us. His hands were everywhere, just like mine were. Sliding over my back, cupping my ass, pulling me closer. 

He pressed me back against the wall. The contrast of the cold tile on my back and the heat of his body on my front made me gasp. He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist, anchoring myself to him. The water cascaded over our faces, our joined mouths. 

There were no more words. There was only the slick friction of our bodies, the ragged sound of our breathing echoing off the bathroom walls. The desperate, silent promises we were making with every touch. 

He was trying to fuse us together. To erase the space where a bullet could possibly find me. And I was letting him, because it was the only truth that mattered. We were either going to drown in fear, or we were going to drown in each other. 

And I knew which one I wanted. 

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