Chapter 7 - Hailey
“The right path doesn’t always mean following the same career as the people who came before you,” Michael says the next day while we’re having dinner. I notice my eyes drifting across the room again and again.
He’s not here. Wes didn’t come to another homey dinner.
My shoulders sink, and I finally give Michael my full attention. “I know.”
He studies me for a moment. “Do you?”
“I think so,” I say slowly. “I love my father. I love being here, making connections, helping people. But I don’t think I fit neatly into the future he has planned for me.”
Michael nods once. “Then we are on the same page,” he says calmly. “What you’re feeling isn’t confusion. It’s awareness.”
I tilt my head, studying him, a half-smile tugging at my mouth. “You’re not talking about careers anymore, are you?” I ask. “Because the way you’re looking at me right now feels dangerously close to my love life.”
He chuckles softly. “I’m saying you’re a young woman with a heart and a mind of her own. And I’m guessing your father isn’t always the easiest person to talk to about that.”
“I want one,” I admit. “A love life. And… I might already have someone in mind.”
“I won’t ask you to share more than you want,” he says gently, placing his hand over mine. “But I will say this as a friend: paths aren’t always laid out for us. Sometimes you have to make space for the life you want. Clear what’s in the way. Decide what’s worth the effort.”
“You’re being cryptic. Did you learn that from Captain Holt?” I tease. “He may have learned it from me. Old dogs pass along their tricks,” he chuckles, then his smile softens into something fond. “Your mind is definitely stuck in one place.”
I sigh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes,” he says kindly.
I feel my cheeks warm. “I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. And I don’t even know if what I’m feeling is real or just—” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if you keep thinking about it,” Michael replies. “That usually means something wants to be acknowledged.”
I hesitate, then whisper, “If it’s about a person, it’s complicated.”
“Most meaningful things are,” he says. “Complicated doesn’t mean wrong. It just means it takes care.”
“But it can’t be just me,” I insist. “It takes two people. Two choices.”
“Of course,” he agrees. “But sometimes it only takes one person to start a conversation. To open a door.” He meets my eyes. “Your father brought you here. That was his choice. What happens next is yours.”
His words settle deep, steady and grounding.
And for the first time, the idea of choosing something for myself doesn’t feel reckless.
It feels possible.
***
I keep twisting Michael’s words in my mind as I serve at the bar.
It’s getting later and later and my mind keeps picking apart everything we talked about.
It seems like everyone here has managed the art of saying a lot in as few words as possible.
Like they’re all preparing for conversations to be interrupted and would rather leave a heavy impact than be inescapably clear.
Melissa and I pass time by talking until our shift is nearly up. I sigh, “I miss outings into the city or hanging around people that just want to relax.”
“Plenty of us want to relax, but don’t know what to do with ourselves,” Wes’s voice pricks my ear, setting my body on fire.
Melissa smirks and takes more dirty glasses to the back while I turn my attention to Wes. He’s one of the few here, definitely the only one that’s sober. I walk towards him, then pause when I see how exhausted he is and how his gaze tracks every step I take.
“You look like you’re carrying too much tonight,” I murmur.
“I thought you said I could carry the world,” he replies.
“Yeah, but everyone needs to set the weight down every once in a while, or to share the burden,” I murmur. “It’s not fair to expect one person to hold everything together all the time—and do it perfectly.”
He studies my face. “Is this how you see it, Hailey—sharing the weight by working here? Being part of this world, like Melissa, Michael, or me?”
“Always with the heavy questions too,” I tease.
“I’m here to find out if it’s what I want, but the longer I’m here, the more reasons I find to stay.
” My gaze lingers on his face even though I still want to give him space to talk.
“And the more I’m sure that I’m interested in Ridgehouse for the people not the job. ”
He nods once, his gaze softening even though I notice he’s gripping the edge of the table while trying to look relaxed.
“How are you, Wes, really.”
“Cap-”
“I’m asking a friend how they’re doing, not a captain. You don’t have to hide behind policy and professionalism. I’m not going to report you for being a person,” I say gently while hesitating to get him the regular coffee he requested.
He’s obviously tired. He’s rolled his sleeves up, his voice is lower than usual and I can tell that something’s off. I reach across the bar and offer my hand without touching him. He looks at my fingers and something like want wars against his stoic features. “Is that the new price for a coffee?”
“It could be.”
“I’m okay, Hailey,” he says, not looking away from me, studying my eyes like he’ll find an answer there. When I blush, I see him soften. “I appreciate your concern. Probably more than I should.”
We watch each other for a long moment, then slowly touch his hand once he sets it next to mine. “And are you really okay?”
“Well, I will be.”
“That’s not the same.”
His voice is lower, his gaze lingering on mine.
“It’s better because I know what’s on the horizon.
” He doesn’t move his hand away from mine right away, but when he does, I remember his request for coffee.
He seems to realize how odd it is before I can point it out.
“I have some paperwork to take care of tonight.”
“You can do it here, there are plenty of tables to choose from,” I encourage.
He nods and finds one. I bring his coffee, then see another customer’s hand go up for a refill.
As I walk by Wes, my fingers dance across his shoulder blades, but at some point it smooths into a caress.
I want to memorize the way his back feels against my palm with only thin cotton between our skin.
His muscles tense, but he doesn’t say anything and, most importantly, he doesn’t pull away.
Twice, I feel his eyes on me, and twice I find him still looking instead of letting his gaze flick away. His presence, even further away, feels more consistent. He stays longer, barely talks to others, which makes every conversation with him feel more precious.
The next night, he’s there earlier, immediately sits at a table and watches me until I bring over a beer and a tasting glass for another.
He arches an eyebrow at the break in pattern.
I smile. “I know you’re all about routine, but sometimes routines need to have some spice, just to see if there are options that are better. ”
He doesn’t look at the glass, just me. “Sounds like you’re familiar with liking options more than the status quo.”
“An easy way to miss out on life is sticking to the same. Complacency kills ambition after all,” I say, nudging the glass towards him. “Do you need me to try it first to prove it’s not poisoned?”
“I don’t think you’d poison me. It would mean damaging military property.”
“You’re not property, though. You’re a person. Not saying I’d poison you. It’s just mead. It feels warm and-”
He takes a drink of it without dropping eye-contact.
I watch his throat work and when he sets it down, his tongue drags across his bottom lip.
I’d do so many things to taste him. My own simmering lust is going to lead to disappointment, but it’s not like I can stop feeling.
I’m alive, he’s amazing in ways I don’t expect and the more I learn about him, the more I want him. I’m only human.
“Very nice. Very you,” he says. The tremor in his voice on the last sentence gives me hope. Just like the way his eyes slowly map every inch of me before focusing on my lips. He swipes his tongue along his bottom lip.
“And now you’re not missing out,” I say breathlessly.
“I’ll save it for special occasions.”
“Is that what you save me for?” I flirt, letting our fingers touch as I take the mead.
“I have yet to save you for any reason or in any way,” he says, blue eyes holding mine until I blush. “Do you have a job for me, Hailey? Enemies I don’t know about? Someone who’s threatening you?”
His voice grows sharper on every assumption and his desire to protect me makes my entire body tingle and spark with lusty fire.
“No, Wes,” I whisper. “I’m not that interesting.”
“You’re the only one who thinks that,” I hear him say even as I’m walking back to the bar.
It takes every ounce of restraint to just let that comment exist between us without chasing it with something much stronger than alcohol.
I don’t know when a crush is suppose to wear off, but whatever I feel for him only seems to be burning hotter every day, threatening to roast me alive if I don’t do something about it.