Chapter 17
REID
Iwake up before my alarm, which never happens. For a second I'm disoriented — bed's warmer than usual, there's weight against my chest, something smells like flowers and sleep and her.
Laine.
Holy shit. Laine's in my bed.
My brain catches up to my body in stages. That's her back pressed against my chest. That's my arm curved around her waist. That's her hair tickling my chin, and I don't even care because she's here.
We didn't do anything more than fall asleep together, but somehow this feels bigger than anything I've done with anyone else.
The way she fits against me, the soft pull of her breathing, the fact that she wanted to stay.
That she felt safe enough to close her eyes in my bed, in my house, with my arm holding her like I'd been doing it for years.
Best fucking sight I've ever woken up to.
I don't want to move and wake her up, but staying still has never been my strong suit. My fingers twitch against her stomach. I want to trace the curve of her hip, count her freckles, memorize every inch of skin I can reach.
Easy, Garrison. Don't be a creep.
So I just lie there, trying not to vibrate out of my skin, watching the early morning light paint her shoulder gold. She's wearing my gray t-shirt—the one that's too big for me and absolutely swallows her—and it's possibly the hottest thing I've ever seen.
It's barely six AM, and I don't have to be anywhere until this afternoon. Spending the next few hours right here in this bed with her sounds pretty fucking perfect.
Laine stirs slightly, pressing back against me, and I have to bite back a groan. Even half asleep, she's driving me crazy.
"Mmm," she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. "What time is it?"
"Early. Go back to sleep."
Instead of going back to sleep, she turns in my arms so she's facing me, eyes still mostly closed. Her hair is messy, sticking up in places, and she's got that soft, vulnerable look people have when they first wake up. She's gorgeous.
"Morning," she says, smiling sleepily, and my heart does something embarrassing.
"Morning." I brush a strand of hair away from her face, and my voice comes out in a bit of a croak. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." She settles deeper into the pillows, but doesn't close her eyes. "Your bed is really comfortable."
"It's the mattress. Memory foam. Tony said it was bougie, but Tony also sleeps on what I'm pretty sure is a repurposed yoga mat, so his opinion is invalid.
" I'm rambling. I ramble when I'm nervous.
Why am I nervous? She's already here. She already stayed.
"Also, I think you might be the first person other than me who's slept in this bed, so. Thanks for christening it."
She laughs, soft and sleepy. "Happy to help."
We're both whispering, like talking louder would break whatever spell this is. The house is completely quiet around us—Blake's probably still sleeping, or maybe he's already up working. But right now it feels like we're the only two people in the world.
"You're staring," she says softly.
"Can't help it. You're beautiful."
A soft blush spreads across her cheeks. "Even with bed head and no makeup?"
"Especially then." I trace my thumb along her jaw. "This is my new favorite version of you. Sleep-rumpled Laine. Very exclusive. Not everyone gets to see this."
"Just you?"
"Just me." The words come out more serious than I intended. "I hope."
She studies my face, and I can see her thinking about something. Processing. Laine's always processing.
"Reid?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't usually do this."
My stomach drops. "Stay over? Because if you're regretting—"
"No." She puts her hand on my chest, right over my heart, which is now beating way too fast. "Not regretting. Just... acknowledging." She takes a breath. "I don't usually stay over. I don't usually let myself fall for someone this fast. I don't usually want to be with someone this much."
"But?"
"But I did. I do. And it scares me a little."
Okay. Okay, that's not a bad thing. Don't freak the fuck out yet.
"Scares you how?" I ask, because I need to understand. I need to know if this is the kind of scared that makes people run or the kind that makes them stay.
"What if I mess it up? What if I don't know how to do this—the staying, the building something with someone else?" Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, absent and anxious.
"You don't have to be good at it right away." I cover her hand with mine, stilling her nervous fingers. "We can figure it out together. I'm not exactly an expert either."
She looks up at me, and there's something vulnerable in her eyes. "What if you get tired of me figuring it out?"
"Laine." I cup her face in my hand. "That's not going to happen."
"How do you know?"
"Because I—" I stop. Start again. My thumb traces her cheekbone, buying time. "Look, I'm not good at this. The serious conversation thing. I usually make a joke and change the subject, but I don't want to do that with you."
"Then don't."
"I've never felt like this before." The words come out rough.
"Like, ever. And I've dated people. Nice people.
But I never wanted to spend a Saturday morning grocery shopping with them.
I never wanted to know their coffee order or meet their friends or—" I'm rambling again.
Fuck. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm falling in love with you.
And that's terrifying, and I'm probably saying this all wrong, but it's true. "
Her breath catches. "Reid..."
"I know it's fast. I know we've only known each other a couple of months. But I can't pretend I don't feel it. I don't want to pretend."
She's quiet for a long moment, just looking at me. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs, can feel her hand still pressed against my chest. She has to feel it too. Has to know how nervous I am, how much this matters.
Then she leans up and kisses me, soft and sweet and full of something that feels like relief.
"I'm falling in love with you too," she whispers against my lips. "And that is so freaking scary. Like standing on the edge of something and wanting to jump, even though you can't see the bottom."
Would it be inappropriate to scream and jump up and down on the bed? I don't want to pull a Tom Cruise, but damn, I know what he was feeling in that moment. It's this amazing mix of best feeling ever and 'oh God, don't let me fuck this up'.
"That's—" I pull her closer, needing her against me. "I'll catch you. Or fuck—I'll jump with you. I know that sounds like a line, but I mean it. Whatever this is, wherever it goes, I'm not going anywhere."
"You can't promise that."
I really can. Because I know enough to know that what I feel for her is so much more than anything I've ever felt.
Even with Tracy. For the first time, I'm grateful she walked out the fucking door.
I could have lived my whole life not knowing I was settling for something less than amazing. "Watch me."
We kiss again — deeper this time, slower — and when we break apart she tucks herself against me, head on my shoulder like she's done it a thousand times.
Her whole body goes soft. Warm weight pressing into mine, no tension anywhere, just — trust. The kind you can feel in the way someone breathes.
And this knot I've been carrying around for I-don't-even-know-how-long just quietly unties itself.
She's here. She's staying. She feels the same way.
Holy shit.
We lay for a while, just breathing together. My fingers have found her hair—I can't help it, I have to be doing something—and I'm playing with the ends, twisting them around my knuckles.
"Tell me something," she says quietly.
"Something like what?"
"Something I don't know about you. Something real."
I think about deflecting. Making a joke about my irrational fear of geese or my secret talent for karaoke. But she asked for something real, and she deserves real.
"I used to be afraid I'd never find this," I say finally. The words feel heavier out loud than they did in my head.
"This?"
"Someone who makes me want to stay home. Someone I look forward to seeing at the end of a bad day." I run my fingers through her hair, slow and steady. "After Jared died, I kind of shut down for a while. Didn't date much, didn't let people get close. I was all about casual. Easier that way."
"What changed?"
"You." The word comes out simple and true. "Meeting you made me realize I wasn't actually protecting myself from getting hurt. I was just... existing. Going through the motions. Waiting for something without knowing what I was waiting for."
Laine tilts her head up to look at me. "I know that feeling."
"Yeah?"
"All those years traveling, I told myself I was doing what I was supposed to do.
Following my parents' example, you know?
Keep moving, help people, make a difference wherever you land.
" Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my chest. I don't think she knows she's doing it, but it's driving me crazy in the best way.
"I never really let myself think about what else might be possible. "
"And now?"
"Now I'm lying in bed with someone who makes me want to build something instead of just passing through." She pauses, and I can hear the wonder in her voice. "Someone who makes me realize there's more than one way to help people, more than one way to matter."
The words settle between us, heavy with meaning. This is it—the moment where we both acknowledge that whatever this is, it's not casual. It's not temporary. It's the kind of thing that changes your life.
"Your turn," I say, nudging her gently. "Tell me something I don't know."
"What do you want to know?"
"Anything. Everything. Your middle name. Your worst fear. Whether you were a Backstreet Boys or NSYNC girl."
She laughs. "NSYNC, obviously. I had a poster of Justin Timberlake on my wall for approximately three weeks before we moved."
"See? This is vital information. I'm learning so much."
She hums, thinking. "I've never had a favorite coffee shop before."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, everywhere I lived, I'd find a place that made decent coffee and I'd go there until I left.
But I never had a place where the barista knew my name, knew my order, asked how my day was.
" She smiles against my chest. "Now I have this little place near my apartment where Maria always has my drink ready before I even order it.
She asks about my shifts. Remembers that I hate it when it rains. "
"That's nice."
"It is. But it's also weird, you know? Having routines, having people who expect to see you. Sometimes I still wake up and think about packing my bags." She says it casually, but I feel her tense slightly against me.
"Do you want to? Pack your bags?"
The thought of her actually doing it, just up and leaving makes me want to puke.
I'd probably follow her. Trail behind her like some lost dog, showing up wherever she landed next with my own bag and that stupid hopeful look on my face. Hey, remember me? Your disaster of a boyfriend who can't sit still and talks too much?
Christ. I'd be that guy. The one who can't take a hint.
She doesn't answer right away, and my heart actually stops. Then she shakes her head slowly.
"No. That's what's weird about it." She looks up at me, and there's wonder in her eyes. "For the first time in my life, I don't want to run when things get real. I want to stay and see what happens."
The relief that floods through would have made my knees buckle if I were standing. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"What do you think happens?" I ask, because I'm curious. Because I want to know if she's picturing the same things I am.
"I don't know. That's the scary part." She settles back against me, her hand warm over my heart. "But also the exciting part."
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while, just holding each other.
"Reid?" she says eventually.
"Mmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For making me want to stay somewhere. For making me want to try."
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in. "Thank you for staying."
She lifts her head to look at me, and there's something different in her expression now. Less vulnerable, more sure. Like she's made a decision.
"So what do we do now?" she asks.
"Now we see what happens when two people who are falling in love decide to fall together instead of running away."
Where the hell did that come from? Must be from one of those relationship podcasts Tony's always playing in the rig. Doesn't matter. It's true.
"That sounds terrifying," she says.
"Yeah, it does."
"And amazing."
"That too."