Chapter 11
Liv
When Jett scampered off to take a phone call, I took that as my opportunity to head back home. But taking Alex’s advice, I kept a look out for anything “out of the ordinary,” a concept I’m still not exactly narrowed down on when it comes to the neighborhood.
But before long, I’d grown antsy again and when he’d inevitably texted me if I had any news on the neighborhood, I couldn’t help myself… and invited him over.
I probably shouldn’t have… no, I definitely shouldn’t have. Not after Pip sniped our moment the last time he was here.
If it even was a moment anyway. Maybe I was imagining it.
But as I unlock my door to let him in, my first thought is again, that I shouldn’t have done this.
Until I see him standing there with that crisp button-up tugging over his annoyingly muscly arms and realize that I’m glad that I did. And those slacks hugging a little too tightly on his thighs? Ugh. And then there’s… where the fuck is his badge?
“You took off your badge?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He pats his pants pocket. I finally notice the, now very obvious, bulge. “Figured I shouldn’t be showing it off coming in and out of your building. Don’t want anyone getting any ideas about you.”
There’s that protectiveness again that makes my insides spiral. And hopefully enough to deflate my lingering concern about that since Jett pushed it earlier.
Before I can protest it or tell him that I’d been thinking about the same thing, he pulls it out and clips it back on his belt.
Much. Fucking. Better.
“You’re quiet,” Alex says as he walks in, pushing the door closed behind him.
But I just spoke? “Long day,” I reply automatically. Not entirely a lie. Just not the whole truth. It was a long day because I kept thinking about him.
Pip greets him like he’s been completely alone for weeks, even though I’ve been home for hours. He weaves between Alex’s legs as I cross my arms and glare at him.
“I thought I was your favorite human, Pip?”
Alex lets out a little chuckle as I break away from the sight and head to the couch, sinking into it. I didn’t turn on the main light as the evening descended, just the small lamp by the couch. It’s softer, dimmer, and feels safer because it emits less light in here that anyone outside might see.
Alex doesn’t sit down right away. He watches, taking in the space, even though he’s seen it twice now. His eyes glide from the windows to the door… to me.
“You always do that?” I ask as Pip joins me on the couch, curling up on the armrest.
“Do what?”
“Case the room like you’re expecting trouble.”
A moment goes by. “Yes.”
At least he’s honest.
“Must be exhausting.”
His gaze lingers on me. “You get used to it.”
I think I get it; I do the same thing when I arrive on scene. But all the time?
There’s a pause, a heavy one. But he breaks it. “I need to tell you something.”
My stomach drops. Because that tone? Never good.
I straighten slightly. “Okay…”
He sits down on the couch, keeping just enough space between us that we’re not touching. Something I’m sure is done on purpose. Still close enough that I can feel the heat of him.
“I shouldn’t have come here the other night,” he admits.
That… wasn’t what I expected. I don’t know what I expected but it sure as hell wasn’t something that feels like a break-up before we’ve even gotten together.
“Because of the investigation?” I ask carefully.
He exhales slowly. “No.”
My chest tightens. “Then why?”
His jaw shifts slightly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I told myself I was here for information,” he admits.
I look away, staring down at the coffee table in front of me. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I figured.” I guess Scott, Alice, and Jett were right earlier.
“That wasn’t the real reason.”
My head snaps back toward him. “What?”
His eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching. “I needed a reason to be around you,” he concedes.
Everything in me stills.
“And if it was about the case,” he continues, quieter now, “then it wasn’t… personal.”
Oh.
Oh.
“That’s a pretty shitty excuse,” I manage.
“It worked,” he says.
I let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. “Did it?” Because he’s here. Again.
His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before lifting again. “No.”
My pulse stutters. “That’s not fair,” I say softly.
“What isn’t?”
“You deciding how close to get based on what makes it easier for you.”
His expression tightens. “You think this is easy?”
“No,” I admit. “I think it’s controlled.”
Silence stretches for uncomfortably long. Then, he sighs, “it was supposed to be.”
My chest aches in a way I simultaneously dislike and adore. “And now?”
He leans in just slightly. Not enough to touch but enough to shift the air. “Now I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of that.”
My breath catches. This is… the moment. The one I don’t think I’ll come back from.
I don’t move. But he does. He settles his left hand on my right knee. Gentle, like he’s testing the waters.
When I don’t pull away, I feel his grip slightly harden, a final warning before he moves in. He leans down, breath fanning across my lips.
No turning back, no turning-
My phone rings on the coffee table beside me.
Are you kidding? Are you-
That’s Scott’s ring tone. He never calls me outside of work. He texts; that’s his thing. He loathes talking on the phone. He says it makes him think of talking on the rig radio and makes his heart rate speed up.
Why the hell would he call me now?!
Alex pulls back, something dark and irritated crossing his eyes. It’s gone in a blink. “Is it important?”
Is it? I think he’s only called me once before and it was when that stomach bug ran through the station and too many people were out sick.
The sound is still cutting through the room like a knife as I blink down at my phone.
“Probably,” I mutter, fumbling for it off the wooden surface. I answer immediately. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Liv, we need you.” His voice is wrong, all business and tension. It makes my stomach drop.
“I’m off today,” I say automatically, even though it normally takes very little to talk me into taking another shift.
“Unit 8 was hit.”
Everything inside me stops. Unit 8. Alice and Jett. My grip tightens on my phone. “…What?” It comes out barely louder than a whisper.
“Highway collision,” Scott says quickly. “Suspected drunk driver plowed into the rig during transport. We’re short and they need all hands.”
My heart is pounding so hard that I can hear it. “Are they-” I can’t even get the words out.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Just get onto 78. Now. Dispatch said to use the ramp by the museum. PD has it blocked off. Tell them who you are and they’ll let you up. I’m already on my way there.”
The line goes dead. I’m already moving. I fling myself up from the couch, startling Pip awake. I’m spastically pulling my shoes on a moment later when I hear, “Liv-”
“They were hit,” I say, grabbing my jacket, keys… phone, phone, phone. Where the hell is it?
In my fucking hand- Shit!
“Alice and Jett, U-Unit 8… they were on shift-”
He pushes to his feet instantly. “I’ll give you a ride.”
I don’t argue. I can’t. All I can think is, “please let them be okay.”
He takes my phone and keys from my hand. Looking back at the couch, he tells Pip, “Hold down the fort, Big Man.” Then he shuttles me out the door, locks it behind him, and sticks my phone and keys into my jacket chest pocket and zips it shut.
We’re running down the stairs while I tell him the directions Scott had given me on where to go and how to get onto that section of the highway.
We hit the sidewalk in the front of my building still at a run when it hits me.
Motorcycle.
He takes his bike helmet that I hadn’t even processed him carrying down from my apartment, sticks it over my head with a fabricy “shooch” sound.
“As a paramedic, I have an innate problem with motorcycles-”
“I know,” he cuts me off. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“And what will you wear?”
He flings his leg over the bike, turning to pat the seat behind him. “Shh.”
“Excuse you?” I snip, climbing onto the back of the bike anyway.
“We’ll worry about it later.”
I don’t get another word in before he revs the engine, throws back the kickstand, and puts us in gear.
The bike kicks forward suddenly and all I can do is grab his jacket, and then his torso desperately, as he pulls out into traffic and starts weaving through the streets, making his way towards the museum.
The highway is a nightmare. Flashing lights brighten the darkened evening sky over the police cruisers scattered around. Firetrucks are still working on what I’m guessing is the drunk driver’s vehicle considering the state of the mangled, flaming metal lump of a car.
If anyone got out of that vehicle alive, I’ll be amazed.
The entire stretch of the highway is blocked off by PD redirecting traffic. And at the middle of the scattered broken glass and crumpled pieces of undistinguishable metal… sits the rig.
Or what’s left of it.
My stomach drops so hard I think I might get sick. The back end is crushed inwards, metal twisting like it’s been folded in on itself. Glass is everywhere with more debris scattered across lanes.
“Liv-”
I’ve already pulled off the helmet and shoved it into his waiting arms.
And I’m running.
“Unit 12!” someone shouts. “Over here!”
I don’t even register who it is. All I see is the Reeves stretcher.
Covered.
No.
No, no, no-
“Liv!” Scott screams, suddenly appearing beside me and grabbing my arms to pull me away before I can get closer.
“Don’t,” he says with enough force that I actually listen to him despite myself.
My chest is heaving. “Where are they?” I demand. “Where’s Alice? Where’s Jett?”
Scott hesitates and it breaks something more in me.
“Scott, it’s their rig,” I say, my voice rising. “They were on shift. Stop-”
“Jett left early.”
The words hit like a collision, again.
“What?”
“Family emergency,” Scott says quickly. “Alice got reassigned for the night. A different partner.”