Chapter 10 Sloane #2
Like he'd done it a thousand times before.
He had, I realized. Years ago, this was how we moved through the world. His hand on my back, my body angled toward his, two people who fit together without trying.
The table was already crowded when we arrived. Captain Rodriguez and his wife, Maria, had claimed the corner booth, Martinez and Kowalski were arguing about something sports-related, and Brian was waving us over while Ava saved two seats.
"Sloane! You made it!" Brian pulled out a chair for me.
I slid into the seat, feeling the shift in the room.
I'd been around these people before, at fire scenes, at the station, during the Lang investigation. But that had been professional. Colleague territory.
This was different. This was drinks after hours, easy laughter, the inner circle opening up.
"Sloane, you've met Maria?" Rodriguez gestured to his wife, who had warm eyes and a ready smile.
"I haven't, actually." I reached across to shake her hand. "It's nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine." Maria's handshake was warm and firm. "I've read your work in the Times. The Lang investigation, the Vickers exposé—very impressive. I'm honored to finally meet you in person."
"Thank you. That means a lot."
I caught Garrett's expression from the corner of my eye. He was watching the exchange with something that looked almost like pride—the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly.
"Where's Shane?" he asked, scanning the table.
"Home with Maya," Brian said. "She wasn't feeling well tonight."
"Is she okay?"
"She's fine. Just the pregnancy hitting her hard. Fifth month and all." Brian shrugged. "Shane didn't want to leave her alone. You know how he is."
The word landed like a stone in still water.
Pregnancy.
I kept my face neutral. Smiled. Nodded.
Somewhere in the background, the conversation continued without me.
"The kids are with my mother tonight," Rodriguez was saying, settling back with his beer. "First night out in weeks. I intend to enjoy it."
"Lucia and Marco are with Abuela, and suddenly he remembers he has a social life," Maria teased, patting his arm.
Laughter rippled around the table. Martinez said something about Rodriguez being whipped. Kowalski disagreed. Brian was flagging down a server for another round.
But I wasn't really listening.
I was thinking about another pregnancy. Another future we'd planned.
The nursery Garrett and I had started imagining. The names we'd whispered in the dark. The life we'd been building together before it all fell apart.
Garrett's hand found my shoulder. Warm. Steady. A question disguised as comfort.
Are you okay?
I smiled up at him. Nodded.
His hand lingered for a moment. Then he returned to the conversation, seamlessly jumping into the debate about whether Rodriguez was whipped, drawing the attention away from me.
But the warmth stayed. Pooled on my shoulder. Spread through my chest. Settled somewhere near my heart.
The crew cleared out just after midnight.
Rodriguez and Maria left first to collect the kids from Abuela. Martinez and Kowalski headed out after one last argument about whose fantasy picks were worse.
Brian and Ava waved goodbye from the door, Brian calling out something about the next barbecue that made Garrett shake his head.
Then it was just us, standing on the sidewalk outside the bar, the city humming quietly around us.
"I'll drive you home," Garrett said.
The streets were empty at this hour. Traffic lights cycling through colors for no one. Garrett drove the way he did everything—controlled, deliberate, scanning every variable. His hands steady on the wheel. His eyes scanning the road ahead.
Streetlight, shadow, streetlight. The line of his jaw. The way his shoulders filled out his jacket. A profile I'd memorized a decade ago—older now, harder—but still mine in a way I couldn't explain.
He found parking near my building. Cut the engine.
"I'll walk you up," he said.
"You don't have to—"
He didn't answer. Just got out and came around to my side.
We walked side by side through the lobby, into the elevator, up to my floor. The hallway was empty, the building quiet with the particular stillness of late night.
At my door, I turned to face him.
"Thank you for tonight," I said. "I had a really good time. Your crew is..."
I searched for the right word.
"They're good people. I can see why you love them."
"They loved you, too." He was close enough that I could smell soap and smoke and something underneath that was just him. "You should come next time. Join us again."
Next time. Like this was something we did now. Like we belonged in each other's lives again.
"I'd like that," I said.
Silence settled between us. He was looking at me with those gray-blue eyes, and I was looking back, and the space between us felt impossibly small.
Kiss me. Or I'm going to kiss you.
His gaze dropped to my mouth. The hallway shrank to nothing.
"Good night, Garrett." Barely a whisper.
Something flickered in his expression. Disappointment, maybe. Or relief.
"Good night, Sloane."
He waited until I'd unlocked the door, until I'd stepped inside, until I turned back to look at him one more time. Then he nodded once and walked back toward the elevator.
I closed the door. Leaned against it. Listened to the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall.
Sleep didn't come easy.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the evening in my mind. The bar. The crew. The easy way they'd welcomed me into their circle—Maria's warm handshake. Brian's teasing. Ava's quiet observation that Garrett was different with me.
And Garrett.
His hand on my shoulder when the word pregnancy knocked the air from my lungs. The way he'd noticed without me saying anything. Anchored me without making a scene.
Like he could still read me after all these years.
Twice now. Twice I'd waited for him to close the distance.
Twice he hadn't.
Or maybe twice I hadn't.
Late nights and takeout containers and case files spread across coffee tables. The way we fell into rhythm like we'd never been apart. Maybe we could try again.
Dangerous. Terrifying. Full of possibility.
I turned over. Closed my eyes. But it didn't leave.