Chapter 22
Liv
After the transfer and then driving back to the scene to drop Alex off, Scott and I headed back to the station in silence with only twenty minutes left in our shift. And thankfully for my sanity, that twenty minutes went by without any calls coming in.
I caught Alice and Jett in passing. They came to work together, something I’ll pick Alice’s brain about another time.
The streets are quiet in a stuffy way as I make my way home. It’s fully dark out now, something that’s got my hackles up so badly that when my phone buzzes in my pocket, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Pulling it out, the name on the screen brings me relief.
Alex.
I slide to answer and stick my phone to my ear. “Hi.”
“When does your shift end?”
“It already did. I’m on my way home.” I glance up and down the street again to make sure I’m still alone.
“I’m on my way,” his voice is clipped. “Keep your mace spray in your hand.”
The line clicks.
Cool, like that doesn’t make me even more nervous.
I’m already on my block with my building in sight when I hear the rumble of his bike approaching. I shiver at the thought of that thing. I’ve responded to too many crashes and seen what happens. How did I fall for a guy that rides one?
He pulls up next to me as we meet in front of my building. He kills the engine, pulls off his helmet, and I finally get a look at him again. His eyes are fiercer since I saw them last at the hospital.
We trudge up the stairs and down the hall in silence.
Pushing my door open, I find my apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Pip is nowhere in sight.
I zip off further into the space, leaving Alex at the door, and find my sweet little boy sound asleep in the middle of my bed. Too comfortable to have woken to greet me.
Oh well.
Back out in the living room, Alex pushes the door shut with a soft click that feels louder than it should knowing Pip is sound asleep.
For a second, neither of us moves. We just watch each other from opposite sides of the couch, the air thick. I drag my hand through my hair, exhaling slowly, trying to shake it loose. It doesn’t go.
“You don’t have to stay.” The words come out before I decide to say them.
He doesn’t move from the doorway. “Yeah, I do.”
I cross the room, stopping a foot in front of him and looking up at him.
His eyes are locked on me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded right now.
“That’s not a good enough reason,” I say.
He sets his helmet down on the floor beside the door, next to the shoes, like he’s being mindful of where things go in my space.
“It is tonight.” The way he says it so quietly, so certainly, that it lands deep inside me.
Silence stretches, not an empty one but something so full that I step away to lean against the wall for support. And for a moment to breathe. I tug off my shoes with the opposite foot and nudge them into their spot.
“You’re still carrying it,” I nod.
His brow furrows slightly. “So are you.”
“Yeah,” I admit.
A moment of silence stretches between us.
“You were good in there,” he encourages.
I huff a quiet breath. “That’s my job.”
“It’s more than that.”
I look up at him, really looking for a moment. There’s no distance in his expression now. No walls. Just something raw, steady, and focused entirely on me.
“You don’t miss much, do you?” I ask.
“Not when it matters.”
There it is again. He makes sure I know that I matter, not just exist.
“You were watching,” I say.
“Yeah.” Not defensive, or apologetic. Just truth.
“She didn’t want you near her.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I noticed.”
“Yet you stayed anyway.”
“I wasn’t leaving you alone in there.”
My insides shift. “I wasn’t alone,” I point out.
His gaze doesn’t waver as he takes a step closer. “You know what I mean.”
I do.
“Alex,” I start, then stop because I don’t know what this is, not fully. But I know what it feels like. “I don’t do blurred lines,” I affirm finally because I’m tired of his back and forth.
His expression hones in; not defensively but focused. “Okay.”
“If this-” I gesture between us, the space that doesn’t feel like space anymore, “-is something, it doesn’t bleed into the job. You don’t use me for information. You don’t show up on my scenes unless you’re supposed to be there.”
A flicker of something crosses his face, gone almost instantly. “Agreed.”
“And if I say stop,” I add, my voice steady now, “you stop. No hesitation.”
His gaze locks onto mine. “Always.”
“You?” I ask.
A faint exhale leaves him. “Don’t lie to me.”
That’s it, simple but heavy.
“Okay,” I say.
I push off the wall and take one step toward him. He doesn’t move. But I see the shift in his breathing. The way his shoulders tighten, like he’s holding himself still on purpose.
His chest falls with a step forward that’s full of certainty. Now there’s barely any space between us. He looks at me like he’s waiting, not for permission but confirmation.
When I don’t step back, that’s enough. His hand comes up, steady and deliberate, cupping my jaw like he’s done it a hundred times in his head before this moment.
My breath catches but I don’t pull away. His thumb presses just slightly against my cheek, grounding me.
“Liv,” he says, like a warning.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
Something in him gives; not control, he doesn’t lose that. But his restraint? Gone.
The kiss isn’t soft. It’s controlled and intentional, like he’s been holding it back too long to pretend otherwise. His hand shifts to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His fingers spread out and hold tight, just firm enough that I feel it everywhere.
I meet him there, hesitation gone. Because this isn’t new, it just finally isn’t being ignored. My hands slide up his chest, fingers catching in the fabric over his pecs, then still. I feel it, uneven and raised skin beneath the fabric.
A scar.
I pull back just enough to look at him. He’s already watching me, waiting for my reaction. And something else, judgement maybe? Some pain in his eyes makes my heart ache.
I don’t give him any. Instead, I trace my fingers over the scar, careful but not hesitant. It’s long and thin, reminding me of an incision.
“What happened?” I ask.
He’s quiet for a moment before simply saying, “work.”
It isn’t an answer, not really, but I don’t push it. Instead, I let my hand settle there, not pulling away. “I know what damage looks like,” I say quietly.
His breath catches for the briefest moment; his hand tightens on my waist at the same moment. “I know you do.”
He leans close, resting our foreheads together causing our breaths to mingle between us. The scent of him, his soap, some coffee, and something metallic fills my senses, making my head spin.
“You’re incredible at what you do,” he says, his voice lower now.
I can’t help the smile that cracks my lips. “Alex-”
“I mean it,” he cuts in. “You walk into chaos and make it survivable. You don’t flinch. You don’t look away.”
My chest tightens.
“You see people,” he adds. “Even when they’ve been reduced to nothing.”
I swallow hard, noting the way his gaze drops to my throat for a split second.
“You do that too.”
He shakes his head slightly. “Not like you.”
I don’t argue about it, because now isn’t the time. We’re standing here, hands on each other, after everything we just saw. After everything we now know. And instead of pulling away, he pulls me closer. His left hand slides from the back of my neck to my jaw, his thumb brushing along my pulse.
“You sure about this?” he asks.
No hesitation. “Yeah,” I say. No wavering or doubt.
His eyes search mine for half a second longer. Then he nods; his decision made.
When he kisses me again, it’s deeper, less restrained. Still controlled but no longer holding back.
My back meets the wall again and stays there as his grip tightens on the back of my neck. I’m sure my pulse is hammering against his thumb as he strokes the pad of it up and down my neck.
The weight of him is a delicious pressure on top of me, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that answers my own.
My living room, my neutral territory, has become the ground zero for this explosion.
His hands are everywhere, tangling in my hair, gripping my hip, and sliding under my shirt to trace the curve of my spine.
Every touch is a question, and my body is screaming yes.
Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s got my belt open and he’s already unbuttoning my pants.
I move my hands instinctually to help him push them down but freeze when he tells me, “don’t” in a gravellier voice than I could have imagined from him.
It sends a shiver through my whole body that causes the edges of his mouth to crook upwards.
His hand slides down the front of my pants the moment his lips collide with mine again. I feel the pressure of the heel of his hand on my clit rubbing once, twice…
My hands find his shirt and grip tightly. He parts me with two fingers and slips them both in simultaneously at the same moment his tongue breaches my lips.
He swallows my moan as his fingers pump in and out of me just as gently as he rubs my clit. By the time I get the first two buttons undone on his shirt, I can already feel the tightening in my core.
A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face, a predator's smile that holds no threat but only promise.
He shifts, pulling his hand from my pants despite my groan of displeasure then moves down my body until he's kneeling on the floor.
His hands hook into the waistband of my pants, and he drags them down, along with my underwear, in one smooth, deliberate motion.
The air is cool on my overheated skin. He doesn't tease.
He doesn't hesitate. He just lifts one of my legs, hooks it over his shoulder, and leans in and puts his mouth on me.