Chapter 40
FORTY
CHASE DENVER – CLAIRE BOWMAN’S OFFICE – FOUR WEEKS LATER
The morning light cut sharp lines across the executive floor’s glass walls.
Claire stood behind a secure desk, one carved out just for her.
Technically, her title was Director of Special Systems Operations.
In practice, it meant rebuilding what Vos had tried to destroy and proving it could never be used that way again.
Ian offered her the position before Reid even opened his eyes. Because they needed her. Because the system couldn’t run without someone who understood its backbone and its moral limits. Because he wanted to give her a purpose in case Reid didn’t come back.
Kieran had flown in personally two weeks ago.
Not just to liaise, but to stay. He’d taken a private suite on the east side of the tower for his wife and family.
His family’s safety was the only reason he agreed to come at all.
He didn’t say it, but she could see it in his face: he wanted to protect what was left of their broken machine and to protect her.
The faint hum of encrypted data feeds rolled across the glass panel in front of her. Claire placed a hand on her belly, an unconscious habit now. Sixteen weeks had given her a small, undeniable curve. The baby had started kicking at night. She hadn’t told anyone yet. Reid didn’t know.
Not because she was keeping it from him. Because he didn’t remember. His mind was still sorting itself out. The memories were fragmented, faces without names, places without order. He remembered her. He knew her name, her face, their life, but not all of it.
The stabbing and beating, Tuck’s extraordinary effort, the story of the antidote, Ann Arbor, even fragments of his time before Ann Arbor were gone or blurry.
He never asked why he hurt or what happened.
But she could feel it in him, the pressure to catch up, to keep up—he was working like hell to do it.
PT thrice a day. Speech therapy daily. Cognitive work mid-mornings and late afternoons.
Sometimes he lost words. Sometimes his body trembled with frustration when he couldn’t get a leg to respond.
But he didn’t stop. And that, more than anything, terrified her.
That he might push too hard, too fast, just to be the man he thought she needed.
A soft knock pulled her out of the spiral. Kieran stepped into the frame, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, holding his secure tablet. “You watching the gym feed again?”
She raised a brow. “He asked for me?”
Kieran nodded. “Parallel bars today. He's already pissed about the new leg braces.”
Claire closed the file. “I’ll head down.”
Kieran didn’t move. “He knows who you are, Claire.”
She looked away.
“He may not remember everything yet,” Kieran continued gently, “but the way he looks at you hasn’t changed.”
She gave a single nod, swallowing down the knot in her throat. Then she slipped past him toward the elevator.
MONTENEGRO – UNKNOWN LOCATION – VOS’ VILLA – SAME TIME
Eight weeks into the transformation, Vos sat on the villa’s balcony in Montenegro, the sea below black and glassy, cliffs jagged against the fading sky. His face was settled now—no more bruising, no swelling—just the new geometry of him, cut sharper, colder, a man reborn.
Heather watched him without flinching. She didn’t see a stranger; she saw a weapon.
He touched his new jawline, testing its strength, then smiled faintly. “You’ll have to get used to this, Heather. If you can’t, no one else will.”
He looked at the man in the room with them. “What do you think, Scour?”
Scour didn’t answer.
She leaned forward, eyes narrowing with hunger, not fear. “I’ll get used to it,” she said. “The faster I do, the faster we end Ian. Tell me, when is it my turn, Lucien? Because I don’t intend to wait.”
REHAB WING – PHYSICAL THERAPY AREA – 0830 HOURS
The room was too quiet when Claire wasn’t in it. Not silent—machines hummed, wheels squeaked, the clock ticked like it had a grudge, but it was the wrong quiet. Reid shifted his weight against the parallel bars.
Pain flared, a dull, angry heat in his right hip, with a cold pull through his chest that still didn’t trust itself. He hissed through his teeth, fighting the wobble in his stance. “Focus,” he muttered to himself. “Reset. Again.”
The therapist nearby didn’t speak. He hovered, not intervening yet, not unless he fell. He’d done that too many times to count.
He didn’t remember the words she whispered while he was gone. But the look on her face when he woke up, he’d carry that forever. It haunted him and anchored him at the same time.
She was coming soon. He could feel it like a wire in his chest went taut whenever she got close. And every time she walked into the room, he told himself: Remember faster. Heal faster. Be enough.
His arms shook as he took another step. He didn’t stop. She was almost here.
The doors whispered open, and Claire stepped into the rehab room. And there he was. Reid stood between the parallel bars, drenched in effort. His hospital-issue t-shirt clung to his back. His legs shook in the braces. Sweat matted the hair at his temples. But he was standing.
Not strapped into a lift. Not assisted by belts or slings. He was standing on his own legs.
He didn’t see her yet. His head was down, brow furrowed in concentration. His right hand clenched the bar like it owed him something.
The therapist beside him gave her a small nod and stepped back, enough to give them space. Claire didn’t speak. She walked forward quietly until her reflection appeared in the mirror across from him.
Reid looked up. The second their eyes met, his entire posture changed. He was still trembling, but something in his face shifted, like his bones remembered her before his memory did.
Claire stepped to the edge of the bars. “Hey.”
Reid’s jaw clenched tightly and unevenly, but his mouth twitched like he meant to smile. “Hey,” he rasped. His voice was hoarse again, worn from effort. But it was his.
Claire placed her hands lightly over his on the bars. “You’re upright.”
Reid didn’t look away. “Yeah.”
“How’s it feel?”
“Like hell.”
She laughed under her breath. “Sounds about right.”
He leaned forward, forehead brushing against hers, shaky but deliberate. “Didn’t want you to see me down.”
“I’ve seen worse,” she said gently.
“I haven’t.”
Her throat caught. She reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw. “You’re here, Reid. You’re here and alive, and you’re fighting.”
Reid was silent, then, in a voice so low it almost broke, he said, “I remember more when you talk.”
Claire blinked. “You do?”
Reid nodded once. “Pieces fit. The way you sound and the way you look at me, it’s like… light hitting through fog.”
She stepped closer, one arm around his back, her other hand still gripping his. “Then I’ll keep talking.
He breathed her in, and for one long second, the shaking in his limbs stilled.
ROOM 218 – 2230 HOURS
Claire sat at the edge of his bed, one leg tucked beneath her, her tablet abandoned. Her fingers played with the edge of the blanket, quiet and distracted.
Reid watched her. The way her shoulders moved when she breathed. The way her brow tightened when she thought too long. Something in his chest hurt, but not from the wound. “Did we get much time?”
Claire looked over, surprised at the softness in his voice.
He continued, “Before everything went to hell.”
She hesitated. “Not enough, but it was real.”
“I had a place,” he said slowly, “in the penthouse, one of the Chase buildings.”
“Unit 9A.” Claire’s lips curled slightly.
“I remember flashes. It smelled like concrete and gun oil. Yours smelled like…”
“Vanilla and coffee.” Her voice lowered, almost shy. “That’s where we spent our first night.”
He blinked. It hit him then, not just the words, but the shape of it. His hand found hers. “You were shot.”
“On campus,” she said softly. “You held me and got me to Chase Med.”
“We were in a suite together after that.”
“In the executive tower. Until you got ambushed trying to protect Chase, me.”
When he looked down, Claire squeezed his hand. “We didn’t get long,” she said. “But we loved each other.”
His hand rose slowly to rest over her belly, his thumb brushing the curve he hadn’t remembered forming. His throat was tight. “And we made a baby on that first night.”
Claire gave a soft, breathy laugh. “Efficient, aren’t we?”
Reid leaned his head gently against hers. “We’ll do it better this time.” He pressed a soft kiss against her lips.
The room dimmed to a gentle amber glow. Reid lay flat now, the angle of the bed lowered for comfort. His body ached in too many places to count, but none of it compared to what it felt like when she wasn’t there.
Claire moved quietly, pulling off her slippers and sliding beneath the covers beside him. The mattress dipped slightly with her weight, just enough to remind him she was real.
No monitors beeped in alarm. No nurse rushed in to protest. The staff knew she belonged there. He knew she belonged there.
Reid turned toward her. His arm moved slowly, clumsily, but found its way around her waist.
Claire curled in gently, careful not to press against the places that hurt him. Her hand rested over his heart. “Okay?”
He nodded against her hair. “Yeah.”
Her breath slowed. Her body softened into him, holding him.
His fingers pressed lightly into the small of her back, grounding himself. Her skin was warm. Her scent, faint vanilla, coiled around him like safety. His body, bruised and healing, didn’t know what it was supposed to feel anymore, but his heart did.
She shifted slightly, brushing her lips along his jaw. “I missed this.”
Reid didn’t answer. He just held her tighter and let himself rest.
He woke to warmth, but not from the blanket or the sunlight cutting across the blinds.
Claire was there, curled against him, one arm tucked beneath his, her forehead resting on the edge of his shoulder.
For a second, he didn’t breathe. He lay still and listened to her slow, even breaths.
He felt the light rhythm of her thumb unconsciously tracing over his ribs.
Reid closed his eyes again and let himself believe it. She was here. She’d never left.
She stirred a few minutes later, yawning softly. “Morning.” She brushed her hand along his jaw.
He turned to look at her. “You stayed.”
Claire smiled. “Of course I did.”
Reid’s voice cracked a little as he answered. “Good.”