Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Hunter
“Hey, LT.”
At the sound of knuckles knocking against the doorframe to my office, I glance up from the paperwork I’m in the process of filling out to see Lucas.
We’ve not long got back to the station after responding to a road traffic collision.
It was big and messy, but thankfully, no one suffered life-changing injuries.
I try to complete the paperwork as soon as we get back while everything is fresh in my mind.
It doesn’t always go that way, but I’ve told myself if I can get this done now, I’m going to try and catch some shut-eye before the next call comes in.
I’m a master at catnaps.
“You’ve got someone here to see you,” Lucas announces.
“Oh? Who is it?”
Something sparks in Lucas’s expression as he says, “Elliot Olsen.”
My head snaps toward him, paperwork long forgotten.
“Elliot’s here?” I ask, pushing my chair back to stand.
My mind instantly goes into panic mode. It’s been about eight hours since we left his apartment building. Is he sick? It’s not uncommon to experience residual side effects of a panic attack that can last hours or sometimes days. It’s called a “panic attack hangover” for a reason.
I rush around my desk and walk with Lucas across the mezzanine toward the stairs leading down to the apparatus bay. The smell of food filling the air has my stomach growling as we get closer. Spencer must be finally cooking the chili he’s promised us all week.
“Does he look okay?”
“Yeah, he looks fine. He’s got a box from the bakery where Daniel works.” He lowers his voice. “You better be quick, though, because I’ve left him with O’Connor, and I wouldn’t put it past him to corner him for game tickets.”
“Shit.”
O’Connor is harmless, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he begged.
I hurry down the stairs, and when my boots hit the concrete floor, Elliot turns my way, and a relieved smile crosses his face.
His green eyes are bright, and his expression no longer holds the fear that’s been stuck in my mind since we left this morning.
It might not have done anything to lessen how gorgeous he is, but it’s something I don’t ever want to see on his face again.
“Hey, is everything okay?” I ask Elliot before shooting O’Connor a quick you can go now look.
Picking up on my unspoken order, O’Connor lets out a heavy sigh, and holds his fist out to Elliot to knock. “It was good to meet you. Hope you kick Pittsburgh’s ass tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I’ll give it my all,” Elliot chuckles awkwardly, then bumps his fist against O’Connor’s.
As soon as he leaves, I ask quietly, “Are you alright?”
Elliot averts his gaze to something over my shoulder, and the tops of his cheekbones turn a light shade of pink. “Yeah, I’m fine. Apart from being embarrassed.”
I frown, tilting my head slightly. “What’s there to be embarrassed about?”
He quickly glances in the direction of where O’Connor went before returning to me. “It’s embarrassing when people find out I have a stupid fear.”
“It’s not stupid,” I say automatically. Because it isn’t, and I don’t like him talking down on himself.
“I’ve gotten a lot better with things. I’ve kinda had to when I spend so much of my time on planes and in hotels, but sometimes you can have all the exposure therapy in the world, and there will be one thing that reverses all the progress you made.”
That’s something I know all too well, but I’m not going to dump my own trauma at his feet.
“One setback doesn’t mean you’ve failed, though,” I say, and I have to shove my hands into my pockets to stop myself from reaching out to him.
This need to comfort him is something I don’t usually experience with anyone else.
“And I can tell you one thing, none of us here think any differently of you. If anything, I think you’re incredibly brave. ”
Surprise flickers across his face at my statement. “I am?”
“Yeah. You didn’t let your fear get the better of you when you got back in another elevator with me, and I assume you have to put yourself into a lot of different situations you’d rather not be in.”
He drops his chin and uses the toe of his shoe to scuff a spot on the floor. I’m glad my hands are in my pockets because it takes everything in me not to take hold of his chin and lift his head up. To let me look into those pale eyes that are almost like green glass in the sun.
But I resist, ignoring this needy desire that burns inside me whenever I’m around him. A fire I haven’t felt since Duncan died.
Because I can’t go down that road.
“I made you these,” he says after a long minute and holds out the pink box. Jacob’s Delicious Desserts is written on the top in cursive lettering. “Well, my brother-in-law helped me. He owns the bakery with his brother, so he’s a professional.”
I take the box but keep my eyes fixed on Elliot as he continues.
“But I helped. Well, kinda.” He lets out a defeated sigh and runs a hand through his loose blond waves.
“Okay, so maybe he did most of it, but I put the chocolate chips in, then I made them into balls to put on the tray.” He tenses, and his eyes widen suddenly.
“Wait. Can you eat chocolate? I have a teammate who can’t eat dairy, and that includes chocolate.
Oh, shit. I’m gonna end up killing you, aren’t I? ”
“Don’t worry,” I laugh. “I can eat chocolate. You’re not gonna kill me.”
His entire body sags in relief. “Thank god. I would’ve been really upset about that.”
I can’t stop my mouth from tipping up with a smile. “Yeah, me too.”
His expression turns soft and shy. Those full, pillowy lips curl up as he dips his head again and looks up at me from beneath his lashes.
Fuck. In another life, I would ask him out. I’d promise him anything he wanted and make sure everyone knew he was mine.
But I’ve learned the hard way that life is a cruel beast, and men like me don’t deserve angels like Elliot Olsen.
“Thank you for making these,” I say with genuine gratitude. “You didn’t have to do anything, but I’m definitely going to enjoy these with a cup of coffee.”
The way his face lights up has something tugging in my chest. Like hearing I’m going to enjoy something he did is the highlight of his day.
“I better go. Alex is waiting for me outside.” He points over his shoulder.
“Thanks again”—I lift the box up—“for these.”
He smiles softly. “Thanks for saving me, Hunter.”
I want to argue that I didn’t save him, but before I can get my words out, he turns on his heels and heads toward the door.
The following morning, I swing by the grocery store to grab some things for breakfast before heading home.
The house I share with my uncle isn’t anything special.
A three-bed town house with a small yard in a quiet neighborhood.
It doesn’t have a view of the ocean, unlike my last home in California, and it doesn’t have the scenic views I became familiar with growing up in Massachusetts.
But it takes me less than thirty minutes to drive into work—or less than twenty if I’m riding my motorcycle, and it’s somewhere that Duncan never visited.
It’s free of any memory of him, except for the ones that live in my head.
After my ten years with the Navy SEALS were up, I needed to get away.
A fresh start. There was nothing left for me in Coronado.
Literally. The home I shared with Duncan went up in flames while I was deployed, taking my husband and everything I owned, and I didn’t want to go back home to Massachusetts.
Everywhere I went, it reminded me of Duncan.
We met in high school, and he supported me through everything.
He was easygoing and charismatic, and could light up a room the second he stepped inside.
People often called us the black cat and golden retriever couple because we couldn’t have been more different, yet we worked together.
And while I still loved him, constantly being reminded of him was haunting me.
His favorite coffee shop or the local brand of ice cream he would buy in bulk.
Everywhere I went was a reminder, and I could sense myself starting to spiral.
I knew if I didn’t get out, the odds were not going to be in my favor.
That’s where Uncle Walter came in. Now a retired fire chief, he spent four decades living and working in Chicago and offered me to stay with him under the guise he needed help around the house.
It was the out I needed. He’s never been married and has no kids.
He devoted his life to the Chicago Fire Department, and now, all he was left with was a broken body and his nephew taking up his space.
In all honesty, I think he was lonely and knew I was too. So knowing my company was helping him in turn helped me recover from the hardest time of my life.
“Here, son, let me do that,” his gruff voice comes from behind me, along with the tap of his walking stick against the tiled floor.
I flip over the strips of bacon before glancing over my shoulder and offering him a tired smile. “I’ve got it. You can grab the plates, though.”
I’m more than capable of getting the plates, but I’ve learned that there’s no arguing with Walt. He likes to feel useful.
“How was your shift?” he asks as he sets the plates beside the stove.
“Long.”
He snorts. “That ain’t anything new. Did you manage to sleep?”
“I got about two or three hours total, but it was broken.”
He lets out a disgruntled noise. “That ain’t enough, Hunter. You’re gonna burn yourself out.”
It’s a conversation we’ve had so many times, yet the outcome is always the same. A record stuck on repeat.
“I’m gonna try to get a few hours this morning before I head to the gym.”
“Make sure you do. Who will make me bacon if you snuff it?” he jokes, and I grin.
A few minutes later, I dish up bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and hash browns and carry the plates over to the small wooden table in the kitchen before pouring two mugs of coffee.
“Will you be able to drive me to Matilda’s tonight?” he asks, eyes remaining fixed on the TV that’s showing highlights from last night’s basketball game.
“Sure.”
Matilda is his “lady friend,” as he likes to call her. I’m pretty sure they’re dating, but Walt has never been one for labels.
“She’s made stew.”
“That sounds good.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “When are you gonna find someone to make you stew?”
My fork pauses midair. “What?”
“Don’t make me repeat it, Hunter. I know your hearing works fine.”
Frowning, I shake my head. “I won’t be meeting anyone.”
He clicks his tongue. “Duncan wouldn’t want this for you.”
I drop my fork to my plate, my hunger suddenly disappearing.
“He’d want you to make someone happy and for someone to make you happy.”
“And make me stew?”
“Exactly.”
“What if they can’t make stew?” I raise a brow in challenge.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act all snarky with me, son.
They can make you a grilled cheese sandwich if that’s all they can do, but my point still stands.
Duncan wouldn’t want this life for you. This…
” He waves his fork in the air before stabbing a piece of egg.
“Lonely life. You’re too good of a man to end up like me. ”
“You’re a good man,” I argue.
“You’ve served this country. You’ve seen things I can’t begin to fathom. You need someone who can soothe those wounds. Someone with a good heart. A good soul.” He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t want you to end up like me, son, and Duncan wouldn’t want that for you either.”
I know Duncan wouldn’t want me to be alone, but it’s hard.
When you’ve lost people, it’s hard to open yourself up to the risk of having your heart torn out again.
But despite all that, Elliot flashes in my mind.
His kind eyes. His pure heart. His energy that sucks you in and brings a lightness to your veins.
“Just think about it, alright?” Walt says after minutes go by without me saying a word.
Knowing it’s a fight I’m not going to win, I nod. “Yeah, I will.”
“Good man. Now, is there any more bacon left? There’s no need to go easy on the bacon, son.”
Huffing out a laugh, I get up and fetch the rest of the bacon from the pan.
And while I drink my coffee, I let myself daydream about what it would be like if things were different and I opened my heart for someone again.