"Shit," Deb muttered once more, as if for good measure.

"I asked you a goddamn question." Both women cowered back from Griffin's murderous glower, his brows furrowed in anger and his eyes shining with light that read, I will rearrange your face if you so much as look at me wrong, so don't.

In other words, he looked terrifying—or, at least, terrifying to anyone who didn't know how much of an awkward softie he normally was.

But Beverly knew all about Griffin's gentler side, and she sobbed even harder at the sight of him, though they were tears of joy this time. There, finally, was her intimidating mountain of a man, standing in the doorway and looking furious. "Griff-in," she sobbed, raising her arms up as though asking for a hug, uncaring that she was behaving like a whiny child. Griffin's hazel eyes melted instantly at the sight, until all she could see was care, worry, and relief for her swirling in his gaze.

He managed to shoot one last glare at the two other women in the room before he rushed to Beverly's side, sliding onto the bed next to her and pulling her into a gentle embrace, being careful of her stomach. Beverly tucked her head in the crook of his neck, hiccupping lightly as her tears began to slow, her fingers tangled in his messy hair.

"There you are now, Peach," he soothed, his chest rumbling with the words as he pressed a firm kiss against her hairline. "I'm right here. You're alright, Beverly; everything's alright, now."

"Missed you," she murmured into his neck, soaking in his presence. God, but she had been so sad without him, as cliché or lame as that thought sounded. Since the letter incident, she'd had Alicia and—more recently—Deb, but it hadn't been the same, and the interaction she and Griffin had shared before Dennis and Red kidnapped her hadn't been nearly enough.

Griffin sighed, his entire body relaxing as he stroked a gentle, loving hand over the back of her head; the tenderness of the action would have made her cry even harder, had she not been so thrilled to finally have him with her. "I missed you too, Beverly," he murmured, "So, so much." There was a beat of silence, and she felt his head swivel to the side before he bit out, "You two can get out now, if you're done making her cry."

"Hey, now!" Alicia protested, while Deb muttered a quick, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, asshole." The door closed in the next second, and Beverly knew that she and Griffin were alone. The knowledge that they were finally reunited after so much confusion, misunderstanding, terror, and drama, was another relief in of itself, and she clung to him tightly as the tears finally won out, the emotions she'd been holding in since he had sent her that goodbye text being released through her loud, gasping sobs.

Griffin rubbed a hand over her back in soothing circles, rocking her back and forth carefully. "Shhh," he cooed, his fingers tripping through her hair as he stroked the tangle blonde locks . "It's okay, Beverly, I promise. You're going to be just fine."

"I wa-was so scared," she choked, practically plastering herself against his skin.

"I know, I know, Peach," his voice was just as affected as hers, and his grip against her scalp tightened until it was almost painful. "I was too. But you're alright. You're here, I'm here, and everything's fine now."

You're here, I'm here . . . did anything else matter after that? Probably not. She felt her heartbeat begin to slow as he continued to mutter gentle, soothing words in her ear until she had calmed before he asked softly, "Good?"

She smiled into his skin, sniffling only slightly. "Good."

He blew out a heavy breath, his hand on her head releasing its hold only to starting brushing through her hair once more. Was his hand trembling, though? It was hard to tell, but she could have sworn that maybe . . .? "Thank God. You scared the living shit out of me, Beverly. You can't . . . Jesus, you can't do that to me. Not again. Not ever."

Beverly's lips tilted downwards at how shaky his tone was, as though it would break with the slightest pressure, and she realized that his hand was quivering. She understood then, just how terrified he had been for her. "M'sorry, Griff. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. Are you okay, now?"

He pulled away slightly, and she slanted her head back so she could meet his eyes. Eyes that showed the slightest hint of water collecting in their corners, indicating that he was just as moved by their reunion as she was. He smiled then, but it was half-hearted and strained at best. "Getting there, if nothing else. Are . . . " he swallowed audibly, shifting the hand from her hair to trace along her bottom lip. "How are you, though? Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything?"

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, her worried eyes never straying from his harried features. Oh, he was a sight for sore eyes, even though he looked just as bad as she felt. "I'm alright. Stomach hurts, though. What happened?"

Pulling his hand back once more, he ran it through his own hair this time, causing the already-rumpled strands to look even worse. "Can I tell you later? I don't . . ." he pulled in air through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep control. "I don't want to talk about it right now; I can't. I just need to hold you. I'll tell you later, though?"

Beverly nodded, settling down into her pillows and pulling him with her, snuggling into his side carefully so as to avoid hurting herself further. "Later, then. We can sleep now?" Surrounded by his warmth and comfort was the best kind of drug, and Beverly forgot all about her injury as she burrowed deeper into his embrace, until their legs were tangled together and she wasn't sure where she ended and he began.

"I . . . yeah. Yeah," he cleared his throat, his voice gentle and clogged with so much emotion she felt tears prickle at her eyes again. How lucky she was, to have such a wonderful man care for her so deeply. "We can sleep now, Beverly. Everything's alright."

Alicia had said much of the same thing earlier, but now . . . now, she knew it was true, because Griffin was the one telling her.

She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

***

The next time she woke up, the blinds of the singular window were pulled open, revealing the dying afternoon sunlight streaking into the room and casting shadows on the floor. Griffin was still wrapped around her, acting as her safety blanket; she snuggled further into his side, only wincing once when her stomach protested.

It was worth it, though.

Griffin mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, looking relaxed and carefree for once. Beverly frowned at the worry lines on his face and the dark bags under his eyes. Had he been sleeping at all?

"No," she whipped her head around at the voice, grimacing when pain flared up from her stomach. Cynthia was settled in a chair, a book lying in her lap as she regarded Beverly with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. You spoke out loud though, so I figured I would answer your question."

Darting her gaze back to Griffin, she pulled one hand up to trace his nose and lips. "Has he been here every day?"

"Of course," Cynthia chuckled, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. "He's hardly left your side since he found you."

Pushing aside the memory of what she'd heard Cynthia discussing with Griffin the first time she had woken, Beverly turned back to the older woman and asked, "What happened? He said he wasn't ready to tell me. I get that, but I'm curious."

Of course, her curiosity had gotten her into ridiculous amounts of trouble recently, so perhaps she shouldn't act on it again . . .

But Cynthia was already nodding, and she closed her book and set it on the floor by her feet before leaning forward to give Beverly her full attention. "Griffin and Deborah went to the police. Francis," the name was a whoosh of air, as though Cynthia wasn't used to saying it without venom, "had already contacted them about Joseph Harris, and a team was sent to bring him in for questioning, as well as search his office for evidence.

"Meanwhile, Griffin left Deborah at the department, while he went back with a different group of officers to get you and search for the men who were threatening you."

"Dennis and Red," Beverly supplied, and Cynthia hummed in acknowledgement.

"Right—Dennis and Red. Well, when they got there, you were already gone with those two, and . . ." she paused, eyeing Griffin's slumbering form warily. "Griffin didn't take too kindly to that, of course. The officers promised they'd do everything to find you, but he took off without them to do some research of his own."

"He didn't get into any trouble, did he?" Beverly asked immediately, knowing full well how hard Griffin had worked to get away from his past lifestyle.

A small smile tugged at Cynthia's lips. "Don't worry, Miss Bev, he didn't do anything too stupid. I don't think so, anyway; I'm not sure how, but he was already on his way to your location before the cops told us a woman matching your description had escaped from two men at a gas station.

"Griffin got there about ten minutes after you passed out, I believe." Well, that must have sucked, considering what a sight she was sure she'd been.

"And Francis?"

Cynthia swallowed heavily, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. "A huge help, as luck would have it. He convinced Joseph to call the police and get in contact with Dennis, in agreement for a lesser sentence."

Beverly twisted her gaze to look at the ceiling, blowing out a long breath. "Damn. So Dennis, Red, and Harris are all in jail, then?" she turned back to Cynthia, confused as to why the woman suddenly looked away.

"Well, Red and Harris are in jail."

"What?" Beverly's brows rose. "Dennis got away?" She couldn't help the slight fluttering of panic rising from her ribs and into her throat—what if Dennis tried to find her and finish the job?

"Uh, no." Was all Cynthia said, and they stared at one another for several moments.

"Cynthia," Beverly's voice grew stern. "Where is Dennis?"

Scratching at her hair, Cynthia had never looked so out of place and awkward since Beverly had met her. "He's in the intensive care unit."

"What?!" Beverly squawked, her eyes darting to Griffin when he shifted at the noise. She lowered her voice and hissed, "What do you mean? How did that happen? He was fine when I saw him last."

"Ah," Cynthia gestured vaguely at their surroundings. "These things happen, you know."

"Cynthia."

"Beverly, I really—"

"I beat the god-pissing shit outta' him." Came Griffin's sleep-laden grumble from next to her, and Beverly whipped her head back to look at him, one hand flying to her stomach when it protested the sudden movement.

"Ow," she moaned, swatting away Griffin's hand when he tried to help. Sucking in slow breaths helped, and she was able to form a glare through the lingering pain to settle it on him. "You beat him up?" she repeated incredulously. "Why on earth would you do that?" It wasn't like Dennis didn't deserve it, but Beverly wasn't exactly supportive of acts of violence, and the last thing she wanted was for Griffin to get in trouble for something like that, especially considering his past.

A distant part of Beverly's mind noted Cynthia standing and leaving the room, but the rest of her was too invested in Griffin's derisive scoff to notice. "Of course I beat him up," he grunted, shifting an elbow underneath himself so he was propped on his side. "He kidnapped you, Beverly, and he's the reason you're in the hospital with a gunshot wound, ruptured intestines, concussion, and who the hell knows what else!"

So a gunshot wound and ruptured intestines are why my stomach hurts so much. Makes sense, I guess; there were bullets flying all over the place.

"When I got there and saw you on the ground, covered in your own blood . . ." he looked away, his lips drawn into a fierce scowl. "I didn't mean to, but I snapped. I'm not sorry I did it, but I am sorry that you had to find out about it."

Beverly eyed him carefully for several moments. She knew perfectly well that he wasn't as unaffected as he was letting on; he'd always been afraid of turning back into that "something ugly," like his father—the fact that he'd sacrificed that because he'd been so worried about her was almost touching.

Pulling one hand up, she snatched his chin and tugged on it until he was looking at her, his hazel eyes tinged with a mix of concern for her, anger at the situation, and shame at his actions. "It's alright, Griffin," she told him soothingly, her fingers dancing across his lips. "I guess I understand; I'd be pretty upset if someone had kidnapped you."

His lips managed a half-hearted smile. "I doubt you'd be so obvious about getting revenge, though. You're too smart to get caught." It was a joke, but it was weak.

Beverly chuckled nonetheless, though the noise faded quickly when Griffin's expression grew somber. "You're not allowed to do that ever again, you know?"

She tilted her head and nodded. "I know. Are you okay?"

He pressed a kiss against the fingers that were still by his mouth, his eyes expressing so many different emotions she wasn't even sure where to start. "I'm getting better. You?"

Beverly grinned widely. "Same." She let her eyes drift over the room, her brows furrowing as her heart dropped into her stomach; whirling to face him, she could practically feel the color fade from her face.

"What?" Griffin was as equally alarmed, if not more so. "What is it? Are you in pain? What's wrong? Beverly?"

"Oh my God," she muttered, staring at him blankly. "Griffin, do my parents know? Holy crap, I'm surprised my mother isn't down here breathing down my neck and yelling at me to get home—"

"Beverly," Griffin's voice was calm now, and he drew his hands up and down her arms soothingly, "everything's fine, remember? The hospital contacted your family once you were declared stable." There was something off about the way he said "stable," as though Beverly's struggle to become so was far more difficult than anyone had revealed. She didn't have time to worry about that, though, as Griffin continued:

"They talked to your mom and, from what I was told, the only reason they're not out here is because they're still out at sea and can't fly back until they reach their next stop." Beverly felt like an idiot—how had she forgotten about their Christmas cruise? Moreover, it was crazy to think that she'd been so caught up with Deb that she hadn't even realized what day it was; New Year's had already come and gone while she was still unconscious.

"I think Francis talked to them too," Griffin added, the name "Francis" coming out like some kind of poison. "He reassured them you were good hands. Of course," a twinkle lit Griffin's eyes, "you're still in a lot of trouble," Beverly winced at that, "and are supposed to call her as soon as you're able."

He moved again, this time (unfortunately) sliding off the bed and digging through what must've been a bag settled nearby. "Here," he announced, straightening up with an object—Beverly's cellphone, she realized—in his hand. "I think your mom left you a voicemail."

Accepting the phone as though it were a ticking time bomb, Beverly grimaced at the screen when she turned it on. Fifteen missed calls and just as many voicemails, all from her mother; Beverly loved the woman to pieces, but she didn't look forward to getting interrogated.

Instead of listening to the voicemails, Beverly hit the call button and shot Griffin the mouthed words, Pray for me. He snorted, taking a seat on the side of the bed and bending over to press a quick kiss to her forehead. Beverly passed him a gentle, adoring smile, only for it to be washed away when her mother answered the phone with the words:

"Beverly Jane, this had better be you on the phone but whether it is or not I swear to all things holy that if you so much as ever try to pull something like this again then I will throttle you myself!"

Beverly shared a wide-eyed glance with Griffin, who apparently hadn't realized just how her mom was going to act either. Yikes.

"Hi, Mom," she greeted the woman lamely, wincing when something between a sob and a thrilled squeal escaped her mom's mouth.

"Oh, Beverly," her normally jubilant mother's voice trembled, and Beverly had to bite down on her lip to keep her own tears from forming.

God, what if I had never made it back from this? She didn't even want to think about what that would have done to her family.

"How are you, baby? God, we've been so worried about you; why didn't you tell us what was going on?"

Beverly winced, taking comfort in Griffin's reassuring grip as he slid his hand into her own. This was why she was afraid of calling her mom. She adored her family, truly, so how was she supposed to tell them that contacting them for help hadn't even crossed her mind?

She liked to think it was solely because everything with Deb had happened so fast, but that excuse wasn't exactly plausible. True, the actual Oh, I was kidnapped, sorry for not calling you incident had occurred quickly, but the clues leading up to it—Deb's secrecy and suspicious antics, the event of finding drugs in the bathroom, heck, even running into Dennis with the duffle bag—were obvious now, and Beverly felt guilty. If she had just told someone, especially if that someone had been her parents, there was a chance this whole mess could've been avoided.

"I'm sorry," Beverly croaked. "I don't know why I didn't tell you. I guess I just thought I could figure it out, you know? A stupid idea, I realize, but . . . I'm sorry." And she really was. She could only imagine how terrifying it was to be thousands of miles away on a boat in the middle of the ocean, and receive a call that Hey, you know your college-age daughter who should be perfectly capable of living on her own by now? Yeah, she's in the hospital with a gunshot wound after a being kidnapped by drug dealers. How's the weather out there?

Oh, my poor parents.

She didn't even notice she was crying until Griffin pulled his hand from hers and began to frantically wipe the tears from her cheeks, as though he could somehow keep them from falling if he worked fast enough. "I didn't mean to scare you, and I'm so sorry I disturbed you while you were on vacation—"

"You stop that right now, Beverly Jane!" Even though Mom's words were stern, Beverly didn't miss the noise of the woman's own tears. "Now, you listen to me: We spoke with the police, and we know this isn't your fault, and I don't want you to feel like it is. But, regardless of how involved you are with something, or where your dad and I are, you will always call us if you need something, do you hear me, young lady? I don't care if we're vacationing on Mars with Ina Garten and eating the finest foods in all the land—you will call, do you understand?"

Beverly released a wet, strangled laugh. "Yes, Mom, I understand. I really am sorry for worrying you; this wasn't supposed to happen."