Chapter 11 - Hailey
It’s been four days. Day one was total confusion, but hope. Hope that Wes just needed to compose himself and he’d come back to me, sweep me off my feet and kiss me silly, telling me we’d figure everything out.
He didn’t come. By day two, I was sure I’d see him at the bar—he shows up every other night. But he wasn’t there. His table sat empty until some privates sat down and happily ordered drinks. I passed on a smile and forced myself to focus on the moment.
Day three, the abandonment kicked in. One kiss was enough to send him running because he could taste how inexperienced I am. I’m sure of it. It’s a thought that still fills my head now on day four. But I’m angry too. Because I offered him myself, I would have given him everything.
Half because I thought he’d be the kind of man who would respect what I’m offering. He’s noble, he’s strong, he’s protective and stable. He’s so many things which doesn’t spell out kissing and running.
My heart aches and I know Melissa can tell, but she just says ‘you’ll find someone else’ assuming he brushed me off.
I mean, he did, but I kissed him first. I fell into him and no kiss has ever felt like that.
Slow and decadent, delicious and full of surrendering to his control happily.
Maybe I am na?ve. Maybe I don’t understand the way people work like I thought I did.
But it’s not going to break me.
I hadn’t been late for a single shift, despite the sleepless nights spent wondering what went wrong.
It had been a good kiss—for me. He’d swooped in and saved me like some avenging angel, or a hero straight out of a romance book.
We’d been stewing in tension, and he’d been consistent about being there, even if our conversations weren’t romantic, even if he didn’t flirt beyond subtle shifts of his gaze.Scoffing to myself, I shake my head.
“I have early watch in the morning on top of drill. Can you finish up?” Melissa asks.
“Yeah,” I answer.
It’s already two a.m. We already closed and again… no Wes. Captain Holt. I’ll have to adjust to that again.
Sighing, I get to work cleaning tables, then call it a night and head for the spare bedroom at the activity center. I’m too exhausted to make the drive home, and I was told I could use it whenever I needed. My car is fine out front, and right now the only plan is getting a few solid hours of sleep.
Which is immediately ruined when a siren goes off.
Gasping, I sit up and slide out of bed, ignoring the fact I’m not wearing pants. I open the door. “Michael!”
“Hailey?”
That’s not Michael. My heart lodges in my throat, making it impossible for me to speak. Red lights flash through the corridor and the sound of feet echo.
“Security breach,” Wes’s voice carries down the hall, firm and controlled. “Unidentified individual on the perimeter. Lock down immediately. Shelter in place and stay in your rooms.”
A second later, strong arms circle me from behind. I blink, startled, breathing in a familiar scent I know far too well. My pulse spikes before I recognize it.
“Wes—”
I gently free myself from his hold, turning back toward my room as instinct takes over. He follows immediately, shutting the door behind us and locking it with a sharp click. The sirens still wail outside, red light pulsing through the narrow window.
“Stay low,” he says quietly.
He takes my hand and guides me to the closet, pulling the door mostly closed before sitting down with me on the floor. The space is tight, grounding. Safe. I lean back against the wall, knees drawn up, watching him watch me. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with him being here like this.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
I’m not sure he hears me over the alarms, but the flashing red light cuts across his face, illuminating his eyes—locked on me, alert, focused. He glances once toward the window, then settles closer, one hand brushing my knee as if to anchor me.
“I saw your car outside,” he says. “And I got a bad feeling.”
I huff quietly despite myself. “Soldiers don’t operate on feelings, Captain Holt.”
His gaze snaps back to mine, sharp but not offended. There’s tension in him—restless energy barely contained.
“Since when is it ‘Captain Holt’ again?” he asks softly.
“You know when,” I murmur, resting my chin on my knees and wrapping my arms around my legs. If I touch him, I’ll end up in his arms—and I don’t trust myself not to do exactly that. “Apparently, we have time.”
“Hailey,” he says, just as quietly. “I’m here. That matters.”
“You’d do this for Michael,” I reply. “Not for me.”
He shakes his head once. “Not once I saw your car in the lot and heard the sirens.”
He’s panting, stroking my knee, shifting closer. I think he’s going to touch my face, but he pauses. Instead, his fingers mold to my knee, his middle finger sliding behind my knee. His thumb almost brushes my jaw.
We just watch each other, the siren making my breathing feel too fast and too slow at the same time.
I can’t look away from him. He’s handsome with every sharp, masculine line of his face highlighted in red.
Every reason I should be done with him – namely the fact that he ran off – starts shrinking, feeling smaller, less important.
“I don’t want to be ‘Captain Holt’ to you, Hailey,” he breathes, voice raw and throaty, so rough that I want to fit myself against him just to smooth it out.
The comment sits between us. Because I don’t want him to be Captain Holt either. I want him to be mine. My Wes. The man who’s always set the bar in ways I didn’t even realize until he was gone.
I swear, I feel his pulse thudding in his thumb as he brushes it across my jaw.
He moves closer to me. He’s gently, his fingers rubbing my arm and squeezing my knee, stroking my chin until I lift my head.
He brushes my hair behind my ear like he knows I need it, but his touch lingers.
It’s so shockingly gentle, like he’s asking permission to touch me, to stay close.
All while something crackles in the air in the darkness between the red bursts of light.
My breathing shallows as I focus on him, slowly forgetting the alarm.
The lights seem to dim, the alarm quiets.
Wes’s focus keeps me jumpy, almost painfully alert, but it makes me so aware of him that it hurts not to touch him.
When the alarm finally dies down and the low lights creep back on, I exhale and start to unfold. The relief is exquisite. We’re safe. We’re okay and he’s here. He’s still here, watching me like I’m the only relief that matters, like my safety, my comfort is what he’s meant for.
His hand brushes my cheek, slow and reverent, and he leans in—then stops, tension coiling tight between us like a held breath.
I swallow hard, my pulse roaring in my ears, and lick my bottom lip. “Don’t run this time.”
Something in him breaks.
He kisses me like restraint has finally snapped, deeper and surer than before, all hunger and heat where there had once been control.
It’s not frantic, but it’s fierce. Like last time was only a warning.
His arms come around me, firm and decisive, pulling me onto his lap as if there was never another place I was meant to be.
The contact steals my breath.
His hands move with purpose, long strokes over my back, my thighs, sliding into my hair as if he’s claiming ground he’s already decided is his.
Every touch sinks into me, steady and overwhelming, until I’m dizzy with it—until I know that if he keeps going, I won’t be able to tell where he ends and I begin.
I pant against his lips between hungry kisses until his hands slide down to my ass and he tugs me impossibly tighter.
His fingers, tracing my underwear, the way he turn every kiss into something that demands another answer tells me he’s not going to stop this time.
Not that I want him to. I’m soaking wet and ready to go, but he has to know.
“Wes,” I whimper as he kisses my throat. I gently draw back and take his face between my hands.
He kisses my palms, then meets my eyes. “What is it, baby?”
“I haven’t … I haven’t done this before.”
“Kissed?”
I suck my bottom lip. “I haven’t had sex.”