Page 95 of Dozer

Something warm unfurls beneath my ribs. "Down the hall?"

"Hopefully."

"I was planning on claiming an entire wing."

"Of course you were."

"And painting it."

His eyes close briefly. "No."

"Bright colors."

"Kenzi."

"Possibly a mural."

He opens his eyes. "Wait until you see our actual headquarters."

“I was told it’s bright lights and sanitized walls.”

“It’s expensive.”

“Expensive? Definitely going to need some color.”

“Absolutely not.”

I grin. There he is. Alive. Annoyed. And mine.

I lean down carefully, mindful of every tube and every place I know hurts. His free hand comes up slowly and touches my cheek. I turn into his palm. Then I kiss him slowly. I’m not afraid of alarms going off or bullets flying by our heads this time. Just his mouth against mine and his hand warm against my face. The promise we made before the operation settling into us.

When I pull back, I keep my forehead against his. "There's an after," I whisper.

His mouth curves. "Told you."

"You're going to be insufferable about being right."

"Probably."

I smile.

"I don't say things I don't mean," he murmurs.

I close my eyes. For once, I don't need to catalog the moment. I just let myself have it.

Maybe that's what healing actually looks like. Not forgetting the hurt. Not pretending it didn't change you. Just finally making enough room beside the grief for something good to grow alongside it.

And for the first time since Ryan’s death, I know exactly what I want to do with the after.

Live it. With him.