Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
The girl in the rehab gym was maybe fifteen. Long-legged, all knees and cautious steps, her foot braced as the therapist guided her across the soft floor. She had pale skin, dark hair pulled in a loose braid, and wide eyes that reminded Reid of someone. Not someone here.
Sadie Dupart.
The memory hit like a match strike. She was fourteen, attending her first real event. He met the sassy girl the day before the gala.
He saw her again in his mind, standing on the edge of the gala stage in Ann Arbor, beside her father, Julian, clinging to a glass of ginger ale and pretending it was champagne. A silk ribbon in her hair. He remembered thinking, she’s growing up fast. Then he saw Claire.
An image of Claire from that night filled his mind, clearer than the fluorescent lights above.
She was walking across the ballroom, dressed in black sequins that shimmered with every step.
Her hair swept up, tendrils loose at her temples.
She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t there to impress.
She was scanning. Her eyes locked with his across the crowd.
Reid stiffened. The grips in his hand fell loose. Tuck called to him, but Reid didn’t hear him. He was back there. He’d been working security that night. Tuxedo tight across his shoulders, earpiece in, hands loose but ready.
She came toward him with absolute purpose. Even then, before a word, she knew something wasn’t right.
He remembered the turn of her head. The way her gaze cut to the trio near the back corridor. Three intruders—too-perfect tuxedos, imperfect shoes. Red cufflinks. Gray Tie. He’d already clocked them.
Claire confirmed it. This isn’t your lane. They moved in sync. She reached the floor’s edge. Flex cuffs. A climb to the roof. A man in custody.
Afterward… her mother left her behind, and Reid was ordered to take her home. A third-floor walk-up that smelled like old brick and vanilla shampoo. She had one lamp on.
She didn’t pretend it was nothing. She didn’t pretend she wasn’t scared or that she didn’t want him. He was her first.
It was everything else—trust, tension, something huge neither of them could name yet. That was the night. The night they created the child she now carried.
Reid’s voice cracked out loud, barely audible. “Claire…”
When Claire stood, eyes already brimming, he looked straight at her. “You were wearing black,” he said hoarsely. “Sequins. Your hair was up.”
She blinked fast and stepped closer.
“You saw them first,” he whispered. “I took you home.”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“You had that little lamp in the corner,” he said. “You kissed me like you were already mine.”
Claire couldn’t speak. Her shoulders shook.
“That was the night, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Our first night.”
She nodded, tears spilling now.
He stared up at her, remembering everything. “And you were mine,” he said. “From the second you walked toward me.”
Tuck didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, his frame rigid, jaw tight, watching Reid with something too complicated for a single name. Not pride. Not relief. Something deeper: love.
Claire turned to Tuck, blinking through tears. But he held up one hand. “Don’t,” he said gently, rough with emotion. “Just let him talk.”
Reid looked up at the man who’d been more father than uncle. “You always knew, didn’t you?” he asked. “About her. About us.”
Tuck swallowed hard. “I knew what mattered.”
There was a long silence between them. Tuck gave a nod and cleared his throat. “Well, hell, it’s ‘bout time something came back besides muscle pain and attitude.”
Reid gave the ghost of a smile.
Tuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll give y’all a minute.” And he left them, quiet and steady, the way he always had.
Claire sat on the bed beside him, one hand resting over the small curve of her stomach. Her hair was down now, exactly the way it was that night.
Reid lay on his side, propped up slightly, eyes fixed on her. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your first time when we talked about it the other day?”
She knew she had. She wouldn’t remind him. “Would it have changed anything?”
“No,” he said. “But I would’ve remembered sooner. I would’ve held on to that.”
She reached for his hand. “You did,” she whispered. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
His fingers closed around hers gently. “I remember how you looked at me that night.”
She smiled. “Like I wasn’t afraid?”
“No,” Reid said. “Like you already knew we’d break something wide open.”
She leaned down, pressing her forehead to his, and for the first time in weeks, he felt fully awake. Not just conscious, but present.
He rested his hand against her stomach. “I’m going to remember it all. I swear to God.”
The only sound was the soft rustle of sheets as Claire shifted beside him, half asleep, but instinctively drawn to his body the moment he moved. Her thigh slipped over his, her breath catching as it brushed his shoulder.
Reid’s body ached in that quiet, lingering way that came after struggle. Dull pain settled in his muscles like shadows clinging to bone. But beneath that ache burned something else. Something deeper. He wanted her. Not out of desperation or dominance or pride. He wanted her like air.
He wanted the silk of her skin under his palms, her mouth pressing against his neck like a vow, and the heat of her folding into him like they’d never spent a second apart.
He shifted with a grimace, a tight stretch through his abdomen. The pain grounded him.
Claire stirred, her voice a breath against his chest. “What is it?”
He shook his head slowly, brushing back a lock of her hair that clung to her cheek. “I just… need you close.”
She leaned in, her lips soft against his cheek. “I’m right here.”
He caught her wrist, drawing it to his chest. He placed her palm over the thud of a heart that hadn’t felt whole until now. His fingers drifted up the inside of her arm, grazing the sensitive skin near the crook of her elbow. “No,” he murmured. “Closer.”
Her breath hitched, subtle but unmistakable. She sat up, silhouetted by the dim spill of hallway light. Her eyes, wide and alert, searched his face. “Are you sure?”
He nodded, guiding her palm down his chest, letting it rest just above the bandaged edge of his wound. “You make me feel like I’m still here, like I’m still me.”
Her expression softened, her hand spreading over his shoulder. She bent to kiss him, slow, lingering, a silent unraveling of every inch of distance between them. She moved gently, helping him sit up with care, one arm bracing his back, the other adjusting herself between his thighs.
The hospital bed groaned beneath their combined weight. Her nightshirt slipped off her shoulder, the slope of her collarbone catching the faint light, casting delicate shadows across her skin.
Her palm trailed down his side, avoiding the healing flesh with reverence. His breath caught, not from pain, but from the sharp, electric pull of her touch. It ran straight through him, from scar to spine, to the heat pooling low in his abdomen.
His hands slid up her back, slowly rediscovering the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, and the soft, warm rise of her ass. He took his time, mapping her again like she was the only geography that mattered.
Claire climbed onto his lap, careful of his injured thigh. Her belly brushed against his skin. It was warm and full, the shape of their future pressed between them. He laid his trembling hand there, fingers splayed across the taut skin.
“You feel different,” he whispered, voice rough.
“I am,” she replied. “So are you.”
He pulled her nightshirt up, exposing her breasts. They were fuller now, heavy, her nipples taut and flushed. He cupped a breast, thumb brushing lightly over her nipple, watching her mouth part with a soft gasp. Her hips pressed down involuntarily, grinding against the stiffness already growing.
She leaned forward, her hair falling around their faces, breath hot against his neck as she kissed down his throat. She placed them, slow and deliberate, letting her teeth scrape just enough to make him groan.
His hand slipped beneath her, fingertips tracing between her legs. She was wet, warm, slick, and ready. He stroked her gently, watching the way her eyes fluttered closed, her body rocking subtly into his touch.
When she lowered herself onto him, it was with a slow, aching slide that made both of them gasp. She cradled his face in her hands, resting their foreheads together, breath mingling in quiet moans.
Every motion was careful. Reverent but not shy. Her hips rolled, slow and steady, grounding him in the rhythm of her body. He held her waist, guiding her without force, just presence. His cock pressed deep, filling her core. There was no pain now.
Her hands explored him freely. Her fingertips danced along the edge of healing scars, the curve of his shoulders, the lines of his throat. He tilted his head back when her lips brushed his collarbone, whispering his name between kisses.
Their rhythm deepened. Her breath caught with each of his thrusts. His groans were low, ragged, spilling between gritted teeth as he struggled to stay gentle, to hold on.
She moved above him, eyes locked to his, her body slick with sweat and need. Her thighs trembled with the effort, and he reached up to touch her face, to keep her from slipping away.
When they came, it wasn’t a cry or a shout. It was a shuddering collapse. Her body clenched around him, his breath vanishing in a silent gasp, their limbs tightening together as if they could fuse. Their mouths found each other in the silence.
Afterward, she curled into him, her hand resting over his heart. He held her like she was the only real thing left in the world, and maybe she was.
MEDICAL WING – SONO SUITE A – 0830 HOURS