He wasn't going to tell her what to do. He just assumed she would make the right choice for her. For them. She wasn't Sydney, the absentminded dreamer. In Blake's eyes, she was a strong woman.
His words snuffled around inside her mind with reason and sense and healing. So often he'd told her she was his haven, his saving grace. She'd believed him, in fact embraced the role of herself as saving him just like one of her causes, determined not to be the dependent little girl who let her sister fight her battles.
Yet in doing so, she'd denied Blake his equal role, his contribution to the relationship. Finally, all the components of Sydney Hyatt came together within herself. It was okay to be saved, and she would be saving him right back. "I know it's not the same as her walking out. I know."
Now, thanks to Blake, she really believed it, too.
"That's my Sydney." He smiled against her skin, the smile even held for a minute before he turned serious again. "Just so we're clear here, if you change your mind either way, I still want to marry you. And I believe you want to marry me, too."
God, she couldn't lie to herself anymore. "I do. So much."
Relief rocked through him, rebounding into her with reassurance. His tight hold around her eased. "Well, hang on to that thought until we land and can find a preacher. Because I'm not holding off and letting you get some idea about waiting until after the baby's born. I want to be there with you through this. I need to be there with you. For you."
It was okay to save and be saved right back.
"You're not going to get any argument from me on that one." A giggle snuck up and free, her first in four months since she'd walked away from Blake. She laughed some. Cried some. Laughed again. Relaxed a little more against the hard wall of his chest.
His chin fell to rest on her head again. "I guess I need to know you're okay with who I am, too. With what I do."
Her laughter faded, but not the sense of security, an odd-as-hell sensation in the middle of a war zone. But true. As real as his arms around her.
"After what I've seen here, the lack of basic compassion for another human being...God, Blake, it would be so easy to lose our humanity. To rage and throw off civilization in the name of revenge. The fact that all of this sent you to dark places in your mind just means you're human. I should have been more worried if it didn't affect you. Now more than ever I realize how important it is to have people like you making decisions on how these operations unfold. People who won't lose their humanity or compassion when faced with inhumane acts."
"It isn't always this clear-cut-and-dried, Sydney, the rights and wrongs and how things play out for me."
And still he was trying to be fair with her. How could she have ever doubted this man's compassion? "Life often isn't fair, something I didn't understand before, either. So we meet somewhere in the middle?"
"I'm thinking that's the way it's supposed to work, the whole checks-and-balances idea." His broad palms bracketed her face. "I've learned my haven isn't a place with a white picket fence. It's you. Just as you are. I was trying to change the things about you that made you perfect for me all along."
Another explosion rocked outside, flashed light into the room. Illuminated Blake's face streaked with cammo paint. His golden blond hair darkened with sweat and dirt, his stubborn cowlick in place and undaunted by all the grime. She saw the warrior. She saw the man. And loved them both. >Nope. Not going to go there in his mind.
He stepped into the open hatchway, assumed the position. Pitch-black void waited.
Clear-cut. Absolutes. His dependable life. He could already feel the exact timing of what would happen next, a precise replica of times before—
"Go!" The jumpmaster signaled with the traditional slap on the ass.
Jump out the door and count to four...three... two... one.
Whoomp.
The chute deployed. Streaked. Filled. Jerked.
Drew pumped his feet in the air to spin himself and untangle the cords. Even though visibility was next to nil, he watched for others in the air, checked the chute for a line streamed over, creating a Dolly Parton or a Mae West as they used to call it. Hell, the new recruits were probably calling it a Pamela Anderson.
He'd been around a helluva long time.
And in the middle of all the familiarity he was always stunned anew by the silence, the peace after the roar of the airplane. With a sneak attack, it wasn't like being dropped into a hot zone rife with gunfire below.
Just opaque, silent sky. The calm before the storm to come. He could lose himself in that sensation.
Just like he'd lost himself in Yasmine the night before.
Hell. He wanted the sky back. He owned it. And now she was even here. He could almost see her damned daisy scarf calling to him on the horizon.
Thank God, his body worked on instinct. She hadn't stolen everything.
Fifty feet to go. He pulled release straps on his rucksack and grabbed his risers, pulled toward his chest, changed the drift of his parachute. Listened for the reassuring thump of his rucksack hitting the ground, his eyes on the horizon. Pulled in harder. Harder. Arms straining. Drawing risers in until by landing his fists met.