Chapter 24
LAINE
The driveway gravel crunches under Blake's tires.
I'm still wearing his jacket.
I didn't mean to keep it this long. Somewhere between Sunriver and here, I stopped noticing the weight of it on my shoulders. It just felt warm. Safe.
Reid's hand finds my knee as Blake parks the truck. "Team Badass Hotties, undefeated."
"That's not a thing."
"It's absolutely a thing. I'm making shirts."
I laugh, and god, it feels good to laugh.
The day has been so much—the accident, Emma's blood on my hands, the quiet intensity of the install where we barely spoke.
I'm exhausted in a way that goes deeper than muscles and bones.
The kind of tired where your brain should shut up but won't. When has it ever?
But I'm also weirdly okay. More than okay.
Blake kills the engine and he's already moving, out of the truck before I've even fumbled with my seatbelt. He grabs his gear from the bed—efficient, deliberate. Not looking at us.
Right. We're back to this.
I shrug off the jacket as I climb out, holding it toward him. "Thanks for this. I can wash it before I—"
"Keep it." He still won't look at me. "Got blood on it anyway."
"Blake—"
But he's already walking toward the workshop, shoulders tight, toolbag in hand. The door opens, closes.
He's gone.
And I'm just standing here holding his jacket like an idiot. Oh, you'd like me to keep it? How amazingly kind of you. Such a generous man.
Reid comes around the truck and watches Blake disappear, a small frown creasing his forehead. "You coming in?" he yells toward Blake's silhouette. "We could order food."
No answer. Just a toss of his arm. The universal sign for 'leave me the fuck alone'. Is it wrong that it makes me feel a little better than he's brushing off Reid too?
Reid sighs. "He gets like this sometimes. After intense days. Needs to work through it."
"He was different today."
"Different how?"
How do I explain it? Blake crouched by the guardrail. His hands—big, rough, the kind of hands that look like they were built to break things—gentle on Emma's mom's hands as he picked glass from her skin. The low voice he used. Patient. Calm. Like he had all the time in the world for her fear.
I'd really like to get to know that version of the man. Is it going to take another medical emergency to get us there? Maybe I should trip and fall next time he's around, and he can bandage my skinned knee
"With Emma's mom," I say. "He was really gentle with her. I didn't expect that."
Reid's face softens. "That's who he is. Doesn't like people seeing it though."
"He cleaned her cuts while we worked on Emma. Talked her down. She was about to fall apart and he just... kept her steady."
"That's his thing. Taking care of people when they can't take care of themselves. He'd be an amazing Paramedic if it weren't for the whole talking to people thing." Reid takes my hand, tugs me toward the house. "He doesn't trust easy. Doesn't let people in. But when it matters, he shows up."
He showed that side of himself today, over and over. Blake stepping into traffic without hesitation. Putting himself between the road and us. Not even thinking about it. And then later—noticing I was cold before I did. The jacket settling over my shoulders, heavy and warm.
You're cold. Not a question. A fact. And then he fixed it. All of it was instinctive.
"I'm glad you got to see that side of him," Reid says. "He's worth knowing. When he lets you."
Why wouldn't he look at me when I tried to give him back his jacket? Just when I think we've started to connect, he pulls back.
I glance back at the workshop and the warm yellow light through the dusty window.
The gruff guy who won't make eye contact and the gentle one who cleaned glass from a stranger's palms—how are they the same person?
"Come on." Reid squeezes my hand. "You're freezing. And you have blood in your hair."
"I know."
"It's very sexy in a terrifying way."
"I'm going to shower."
"Good plan. I'll go after you." He steals a kiss, quick and warm. "Leave me some hot water."
"No promises."
The shower is heaven.
I stand under the spray until the water runs clear, scrubbing dried blood from my nail beds, the creases of my knuckles, the strands of hair near my temple. It takes longer than I expect. Head wounds really do bleed everywhere.
Things could have gone so badly today. We all got lucky.
And thank God Reid was there. Working side by side with him felt so right.
He's this happy, bouncy guy ninety percent of the time, but when someone's hurt, that switch flips.
All that golden retriever energy goes focused and steady, and it's fascinating.
Like finding out the class clown moonlights as a surgeon.
We were good together. Really good. Like we'd been doing this side by side for years instead of months.
The water starts to cool. Oops. Reid's going to have to be quick. He's going to be grumpy about it, but I'm sure I can make it up to him.
God, I really want to make it up to him. I am so ready to have all of him. I honestly can't believe we've waited this long, but something always seemed to hold us back.
But tonight, I'm not letting anything come between us.
Reid's clothes are waiting on the counter—a soft t-shirt, a pair of sweats with a drawstring. He must have slipped in while I was washing my hair.
I pull them on and catch my reflection in the foggy mirror. The legs are about six inches too long, but the hips? Snug. Story of my life. My hair is doing that damp, frizzy thing it does when I don't have product, a mess of dark blonde waves, but whatever.
When I open the bathroom door, Reid is waiting in the hall.
"Better?" he asks.
"Human again."
He drops a kiss on my head as he passes. "My turn. Make yourself comfortable."
Reid's room is messy in a comfortable way. Clothes draped over a chair, books stacked on the nightstand, the bed unmade from this morning. It smells like him—cedar and soap and something warm underneath.
I've stayed over before, but I never let myself poke around.
I didn't want to be nosy. But I want to know everything about him and I know Reid well enough now to know that he wouldn't mind.
So I wander toward his dresser while the shower runs down the hall.
There are photos tucked into the mirror frame.
Reid, Blake and another man that has to be Jared, in military fatigues, grinning like idiots.
Another picture of a younger Reid with an older couple. Mom and Dad.
There's a little scream, then a string of curses from the bathroom. Oops. I forgot to tell him about the hot water. My bad.
His bookshelf is chaos. Medical manuals next to fantasy paperbacks, a dog-eared copy of The Hobbit wedged between Paramedic training guides. Huh. Wouldn't have guessed that one. I somehow pictured him reading thrillers.
A carved wooden box sits on the top shelf. And somehow, I know it's Blake's handiwork.
The shower cuts off. A few minutes later, Reid appears in the doorway—damp, clean, wearing jeans and nothing else. Water droplets still clinging to his shoulders.
"Hey." He's grinning at me. "Funny thing. Turns out, someone used all the hot water."
"Whoops?"
He laughs and does that hot guy lean in the doorway.
The one where he grips the top of the door and leans forward, showing off all that skin.
And the muscles. And that trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans.
Do guys practice that? Do they talk about in locker rooms?
However he learned it, he's amazing at it. Top marks. Top of the class.
My mouth is dry. "Hey, so—." Clearing my throat, I hold up the photo I'd been looking at—him and Blake, somewhere sunny. "You were cute."
"Were?" He crosses toward me, and my pulse kicks up. "I'm still cute. I'm adorable."
"Mm. Debatable."
"Harsh." He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. "Snooping through my stuff?"
"Learning things about you." I set the photo down. "You read The Hobbit."
"Multiple times. Bilbo's a hero." His hand finds my hip, thumb tracing a slow circle. "What else you got?"
"Blake made you a box."
"After Jared. Yeah." He says it simply, no big emotional moment, and somehow that makes it land harder.
I touch his jaw. Still damp from the shower.
"So." His free hand comes up to trace along my jaw. "Big day."
"You mentioned."
"Just making sure it sunk in." He brings my hand to his lips, presses a kiss to my knuckles. "We were pretty great out there."
"We were okay."
"We were amazing. Admit it."
"Fine. We were moderately impressive."
"I'll take it." He's grinning, that full-wattage Reid grin, the one that makes the room feel like it has better lighting. "Tony fumbles the kit half the time. You were like a surgical assist out there. I'm filing a partner transfer request Monday."
"You can't replace Tony."
"I can dream, Laine. Let me dream." He shifts closer, and I let him, because apparently I've stopped pretending I don't want him closer. "Seriously though. Working with you today. Being a team. I liked it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I want more of that." His thumb brushes my cheek, and I hold still like if I move too fast the whole thing will glitch. "You and me, side by side. Whatever comes."
Side by side. Whatever comes.
That's the kind of thing people say before life kicks them in the teeth. I know that. I've lived that. But his hand is warm against my face and he's looking at me like he means every single syllable, and I'm done bracing myself. Wondering if this will last. Or if I'll screw it up.
I'm thirty-two years old, and I've finally figure out what I want.
So I'm going to grab it with both hands.
"Okay," I say.
Reid blinks. "Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. Side by side. I'm in."
His smile is blinding. "Just like that?"
Yep. I will die a happy woman, preferably many many decades from now, if Reid Garrison looks at me for the rest of my life. "Just like that."