Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
SUTTON
The following morning, I was up for my shift at the firehouse far earlier than I needed to be. Normally, on days like these, I would’ve gone to the gym and burned off some energy before heading into work.
I geared up for a run in my favorite pair of fleece-lined leggings, thick socks, and a few long-sleeved layers on top, I pulled my hair into a pony and braided it so it hung between my shoulder blades, adding a headband to protect my ears from the cold.
Once I’d laced up my shoes, I headed downstairs to fill the water bottle I liked to take with me.
When I flipped on the light in the kitchen, a yelp left me when Lane appeared, leaning against the counter, coffee pot hissing and dripping behind him.
“What the hell!”
Lane grinned, a slow, sexy smile that shot a jolt through my core, waking me up far more than a run ever could.
“Morning.”
“What are you doing in the dark?”
“Too early for lights.”
I frowned. “How can you see?”
“It’s my house, Sutton. I could navigate it blindfolded.” Fair enough. “Why are you up so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go for a run.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
My brows drew further together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I just mean…” His eyes darted around the room, everywhere but in my direction, as if looking for a good excuse. “Let me come with you.”
“No.”
“Sutton…”
“Lane.”
“I could just go, you know.”
“But you won’t. You need to rest. Take it easy.”
“No,” he pressed. “I need to get my strength back.”
I couldn’t argue with that point, but I had no idea what his doctor and physical therapist had cleared him for and, knowing the extent of his injury, I doubted running was on the table quiet yet.
“I don’t want or need an escort.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll make you a deal then. A compromise.”
I raised a brow. “I’m listening.”
“You can use the gym in the basement. Then you still get your exercise, and I can keep an eye on you.”
“Why would you need to keep an eye on me?”
His mouth opened and closed a few times, as though he was searching for a proper response.
“I…” he started, but trailed off, clearly unable to come up with anything good to say.
I narrowed my eyes. Something was going on here—something he hadn’t told me about.
“Lane,” I said firmly before repeating my question. “Why would you need to keep an eye on me? Is it Ryan? Is he actually not dead?”
He sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face, his neck, over his chest where it came to rest over his heart—covering the skin that had regenerated over his bullet wound.
For the first time, I noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Shit.
My brain short-circuited, mouth going dry like I’d never even heard the word water, because, respectfully, what the fuck?
At twenty, Lane had been muscular in a way that boys that age were, especially ones who’d been athletic in high school and mostly kept up with their fitness after graduation. Back then, I knew a lot of his motivation had been to stay in good shape for his future career in law enforcement.
Over the years since we broke up, I’d recognized in the most detached, abstract way possible, that he’d gotten bigger. Wider, bulkier, his shirts barely able to contain his biceps, the legs and seat of his pants straining against the thick muscles of his thighs and ass.
Seeing it all on display now, coupled with the seemingly thousand more tattoos he had compared to back then?
I was in serious trouble.
I couldn’t drag my eyes away, couldn’t avert my gaze from the ink that covered damn near every inch of available skin from neck to the waistband—the very low waistband—of his grey sweats.
My eyes drank him in hungrily, dragging over the swirls, shapes, words, and other tiny details I’d never fully understand unless I asked.
And I found myself wanting to. What were the meanings behind all of them? Did they have meanings at all? How many did he have? Had they hurt?
Would they be raised against my touch? Could I read his ink with my fingertips like a blind person read braille?
Lane cleared his throat, and my eyes snapped to his, finding them twinkling with delight, a smirk playing at his gorgeous, full mouth.
“You keep looking at me like that, sunny, and we’re going to have problems.”
“What kind?” I asked dazedly in a breathy whisper.
“Big ones.”
My eyes dropped to his crotch, then my feet, and my cheeks instantly heated. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“No apologies necessary,” he said, tone sounding like he was deeply enjoying this. “It’s yours if you want it.”
Unbidden, like my body moved before my brain gave it permission, I stepped forward, my gaze meeting his again.
Was he offering what I thought he was?
Could I take it?
No.
Shaking my head, I retreated again. I couldn’t—wouldn’t. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us, least of all myself. Sure, I could have done it. Could’ve walked right over to him, pressed myself against the hard planes of his chest, and lost myself in him. Let that be enough.
But the problem was—it wouldn’t be enough.
When it came to Lane, there was no sex without love.
There never had been. And after my rape, I’d become entirely unable to disentangle the emotion from the act.
I couldn’t give my body to someone I didn’t trust implicitly, and I couldn’t trust myself in this situation.
I couldn’t play fast and loose with my heart when it wasn’t entirely whole.
Not when I couldn’t have his to fill the void of handing mine over.
So instead, I mumbled, “Thanks.”
What I was thanking him for was anyone’s guess.
Lane’s voice was soft but flat when he replied. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”
Nodding, I turned on my heel and headed for the door to the basement, not bothering to change into more indoor exercise appropriate clothing, desperate to get as far away from him as possible and collect myself.
I’d been working as a paramedic within the Dusk Valley Fire Department since I was twenty-two years old.
After my rape, I’d dropped out of college.
While I’d been in school to become a physical therapist, I’d been unable to face that place any longer, unable to remain on campus knowing I could run into him at any moment.
Luckily, the next paramedic training course began right around the time I’d been pulling myself out of the darkest depths of my despair later that spring, so on a lark, desperate for something to throw my energy into, I signed up.
As it turned out, I was really fucking good at it, and I loved it. Once I completed the program, I lucked out again when a position opened in Dusk Valley. I rented the house I now owned, started my job, and the rest was history.
It seemed as if, in the wake of my rape and everything that piece of shit had taken from me, the universe was trying to set things to rights by providing me with these perfect opportunities.
That morning, and as usual, I was one of the first members from second shift to arrive. I relieved the paramedic in charge, officially taking over my post for the day. Over the next twenty minutes, my partner, Thomas, and the firefighters trickled into the house.
There was one in particular I wasn’t looking forward to facing, and he wasted no time showing me exactly why when he arrived.
“Cap,” I said brusquely, trying to brush past him in the common room.
“Rausch,” Crew replied, a stupid smirk on his face. “Hear you’re living with my brother now.”
Several heads snapped in our direction, intrigued by the comment, but I shot them all death glares and they turned away.
“It’s only temporary while my house gets fixed up.”
I had no idea when that would happen. As of now, the place remained a crime scene, and I couldn’t get a crew in there to make repairs until the sheriff’s department released it. But Crew didn’t need to know that.
He definitely didn’t need to know I’d been the one to ask if I could stay with Lane, and not the other way around.
The grin on his face widened.
I’d always liked Lane’s youngest brother, but right now, I wanted to punch him in the face.
“Don’t you have a brother in Boise?”
“Fuck off,” I seethed, tossing him my middle finger as I breezed from the room. Snickers from the other guys followed me out.
Before I made it too far, a loud buzzer filled the air, followed by a beep and the nine-one-one dispatcher calling me and Thomas to a scene.
I raced out onto the apparatus floor where the trucks and our ambulance were parked, getting into the passenger seat. I’d barely closed the door before Thomas opened his and slid in behind the wheel.
With the whir of the lights and sirens, we pulled out and headed across town.
Some days at our small-town firehouse, which was manned by a dispatcher out of Boise—rural American budgetary restrictions—were slow as hell, giving me far too much time to think.
Fortunately, today was not one of them. The seemingly endless minor calls provided a much-needed distraction, forcing my mind to stay wholly in the present instead of being allowed to wander.
Our first call was an elderly woman in distress. She’d fallen and suffered a pretty nasty gash on her arm, but her head seemed to be okay. We patched her up and took her to Dusk Valley Memorial where they’d handle the rest of her care.
We’d managed to eat breakfast before we were called out again, this time to the middle school where a kid had fallen off the monkey bars and broken his ankle.
I spent a few hours in the early afternoon on my bunk with my Kindle in hand, cruising through an MM hockey romance that had me in an absolute chokehold.
Around four p.m., Thomas and I were once again called out to the school.
One of the high school football players had an asthma attack during practice, so we administered albuterol and took him to the hospital for more tests.
Trey, who was the high school football coach, was there but wisely didn’t say a word to me about the fact that I was shacking up with his brother.