Chapter 15
Hallie
People will never forget the way you made them feel.
~ Maya Angelou
I pull into the parking lot at work the next day, unsure what to expect.
Greyson is sitting in his Jeep, staring out the front windshield, an unflappable look on his face.
Last night, after I watched Greyson’s car turn up the bend in our road, I climbed into bed and stared at my ceiling.
I knew Avery was waiting for my call. I promised her I would give her a rundown.
But that was before I knew Greyson was Ace.
I needed time to process the revelation, so I just texted her saying I was exhausted and we could talk later.
She texted back a teasing comment about how hanging out with hot coaches would wear anyone out.
Greyson glances over at me—aware of everything, as always. I see it all now. The Army. Afghanistan. No wonder he’s so quietly observant. A smile blooms on his face and I’m instantly catapulted back to last night—the way it felt to be in his arms again.
I smile back at him. He nods and gets out of his Jeep.
“Morning,” he says, his voice slightly conspiratorial.
We simultaneously glance around the parking lot. Everyone else is inside.
“Good morning,” I say.
We walk together, silently, into the room where both crews are gathered around the table and leaning against the surrounding cabinets, talking casually. I don’t look at Greyson. And somehow I know he’s not looking at me either.
We go through the morning routine, working as usual.
Every so often, I feel his eyes on me. I’ll glance up, and we stare, probably a beat too long.
But so far, nothing feels as weird as I thought it might.
Only—he’s Ace. The realization thrums beneath my skin.
For the briefest moment, I can almost smell cocoa and pastries, feel cobblestones under my feet.
But then I look around and we’re here, surrounded by the smell of hours-old coffee, concrete and steel.
Questions swirl through my head along with an inconvenient tug to spend more time with him—alone.
I push that idea out of my mind.
We’re getting ready to go on a run, stretching our legs in the driveway, when Dustin shouts over to Greyson.
“Hey! Emberleigh said she heard something about you going to dinner at Hallie’s.
” Dustin laughs. His eyes flit toward me and back to Greyson.
“Crazy, huh? I mean, everyone knows you never eat dinner anywhere but at the station or your house.”
Greyson’s eyes lift to meet mine. This may be the first time I’ve ever seen him appear to be caught off guard. In an instant, he’s regained all composure and seriousness.
Wait, what? He never eats at anyone’s house?
But he said yes to Mia and my mom right away. To be fair, they were persuasive—as in an ambush from the Girl Scout moms during cookie season—only more feral and demanding.
Greyson glances at Patrick and then Dustin. He looks down and then his eyes meet mine—unflinching and clear.
His jaw sets and he says, “I did.”
His answer shocks me.
Dustin shouts. “What?! You ate dinner at Hallie’s!”
“Tell the neighborhood, why don’t you?” Patrick says, a light scolding to his voice.
Dustin lowers his voice. “You ate at Hallie’s? How come you didn’t invite all of us? Hallie?”
“We need to get this run in,” Greyson says.
I’m frozen in place. Greyson just admitted to eating dinner at my home. I don’t know what I expected. Deflection, probably. But he just owned it.
And, in typical Greyson style, the conversation’s apparently over, because he takes off at a light jog, looking over his shoulder.
“Are you three coming, or what?”
I don’t dare make eye contact with Dustin, or with Patrick for that matter. I just start running, careful to keep my stride shorter than Greyson’s so we don’t end up side by side. Not that it’s hard to lag behind him. His legs are longer and he’s picking up the pace now that we’re all running.
Dustin pesters Greyson the whole run.
“So, you just go to people’s houses for dinner now?”
He strides ahead of Greyson, turning backward and running without looking where he’s going. “Why’d you go to …”
A woman rounds the corner with a stroller and a dog.
Dustin takes one step backward and collides with the stroller. “... Hallie’s house?”
He’s going down, but he’s still asking questions—wobbling from foot to foot, pivoting, grasping for anything to keep upright.
The dog runs around the stroller, wrapping Dustin and the mom with his leash.
The mom shouts, “Sorry! Dustin, I’m sorry!”
Dustin’s lifting his legs, trying to grab the leash. “It’s okay!”
The dog lurches forward and Dustin folds at the waist, arms flapping.
In the middle of the chaos, he looks at the woman. “Did you ever ask Greyson to dinner?”
She grabs at a tree trunk. “No. Should I have?” She looks at her dog. “Marty! Sit.”
The dog sits.
Dustin and the woman stabilize.
The woman untangles the leash.
Dustin lifts his legs and steps back. “No. I’m just checking.”
Dustin bends and puts his head in front of the baby in the stroller. “You’re okay, aren’t you? Goochie goo!”
The baby reaches out and grabs Dustin’s nose and gives it a solid squeeze.
“Owwwww. Ow. Okay, buddy.” Dustin honks out.
He stands up, rubbing his fingers down his reddened nose.
The mom apologizes profusely.
“No problem. I was the one running backward. Have a nice morning, Stella.”
She laughs softly. “You too.”
Dustin takes off running—facing forward this time.
He catches up to Greyson and starts right back in on his inquisition. “Emberleigh and I asked you to dinner. Remember that, Grey? I do. And you said no.”
Greyson keeps running, eyes on the horizon, as if Dustin’s no more important than a gnat, buzzing around his ear.
Dustin slows his pace and pulls up next to me a few blocks before we reach the station. “What did you cook?”
“Ribs and potatoes,” I say.
“I like ribs and potatoes,” Dustin says with a pout.
“Give it a rest,” Greyson practically growls.
I giggle.
“That’s funny to you?” Greyson asks.
“Yeah.” I smile over at him.
We reach the driveway and come to a stop. I press the ball of my foot against the curb and lean forward to stretch my calf.
“Why did you have Greyson over without the rest of us, Hallie?” Dustin asks while we stretch out from our run. “I’m a lot nicer. Haven’t Patrick and I been nicer to you? Greyson barely talks to you.”
“You should try that sometime,” Greyson says under his breath.
“Is that what it was?” Dustin presses on, paying no attention to Greyson. “Is it because Greyson never talks? You had him to dinner to get him talking?”
I put my hands on my hips, staring Dustin in the eyes. Do I just tell them I have a daughter—and share that Greyson is her coach? They’ll see me differently once they know. I had a plan. But that plan didn’t include finding Ace again.
I’m cut off by the alarm ringing through the station.
Patrick and Dustin run into the bays.
Greyson and I stride in behind them.
He glances over and says, “Saved by the bell.”
I chuckle. “Yeah.”
Cody steps out of the office into the bay. “Dispatch called. We’ve got a water safety call out at Black Bear Creek just past Turnaround Road. Bunch of teens ditchin’ school and daring one another to go in while the creek water’s still cold.”
“On it,” Greyson says.
We’re all wearing our station-issued workout clothes—shorts and a t-shirt. Time could be critical if this turns into a rescue, so everyone jumps into the engine dressed as is. Greyson’s sweaty, his shirt clinging to his chest.
I climb into the left jump seat and pop on my headset, glancing at the clock on the engine dashboard. My stomach tightens. I’m supposed to meet Mia after school in two hours during my lunch break. I made her a promise. My word matters—especially when it comes to my daughter.
Patrick hits the siren and we speed through town.
Dispatch keeps us informed of the updates on the situation while we pass through neighborhoods and turn down a country road.
When we pull up, the sheriff’s already on scene.
A group of teen boys is standing around in a dripping huddle, seemingly more embarrassed than in danger.
We jump out of the engine, joining the group. They look younger up close.
“Hey, guys,” the sheriff says. “Uh. And gal.”
The boys stifle chuckles.
“This is Hallie,” Dustin supplies.
“Nice to meet you,” the sheriff says. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” I say.
The sheriff brings us up to speed. The boys were daring one another to jump into the water while it’s still pretty icy. Spring is just around the corner, but the water is nowhere near warm.
Patrick steps in and looks at each of the boys. He launches into a talk on water safety. I glance around at the boys while he’s talking.
One boy with disheveled brown hair is shivering more than the rest. He keeps lifting his foot and then carefully setting it back on the ground with his heel still elevated.
I catch Greyson’s eyes and tip my head toward the boy’s foot. Greyson glances down. He looks back up at me and nods.
“Excuse me,” I say to Patrick.
He pauses.
I address the boy. “Is your foot okay?”
“I think I just twisted it when we went in.”
“Mind if I look at it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”
Greyson and I help the boy to the ground. Patrick resumes his talk to the other kids, even though Greyson and I are a distraction.
We test the ankle carefully. “I think you might have a sprain,” I say, looking to Greyson for confirmation.
“Could be. You’ll need to get it checked.” He stands and gets the medic kit from the engine. Then he hands me the Ace bandage and I carefully wrap the boy’s ankle.
“My dad’s going to kill me,” the kid mumbles.
“Nah,” Greyson says. “He won’t be happy. But I know your dad.”
The boy nods. We help him up onto his feet and then Patrick wraps up his talk. Since everything’s under control and the sheriff is present, we head back to the station.
We’re a few blocks away from the station when Greyson says, “Good work back there, Collins,” into his headset.
Dustin asks, “Did you just compliment the rookie?”
Greyson grunts. It’s an actual grunt.
I swallow my smile.
“You never give compliments,” Dustin complains.
“I do when they’re earned,” Greyson says.
I try to remain neutral, but my whole body feels like it’s been wrapped in a blanket fresh out of the dryer.
I stare out the window, watching the scenery as we make our way back to the station.
A memory of my graduation from the academy comes to me.
I practically floated across that stage.
My body was half helium. I had done it—set my mind to the goal and achieved it.
And here I am, riding through town in the jump seat while Greyson compliments me with five short words that mean more than my certification.
Good work back there, Collins.
He shouldn’t affect me the way he does.
But for the rest of the ride, I let him.