Chapter 8
Guy
The next day while Fox snoozes, I get up to go for a run, but Monty is already in the kitchen. She’s in leggings and a zip-up sweatshirt, crouched down, tying her sneakers.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing?”
She looks up. “Going for a run. What are you doing?”
“Same,” I say. “I didn’t know you were a runner.”
Monty stands and smacks her ass. “I don’t have a booty like this for nothing. Wanna run together?” I approach her, and she pokes my chest. “If you can keep up, old man.”
“Oh, you are about to eat my dirt, Reid.”
We drive to a local forest where I do all my running, and the moment I kill the engine, Monty sprints from the car.
“Cheater!” I bellow and take off after her.
When I catch up, we continue side by side. It’s bitterly cold, but that means there’s less people on the track, which I prefer. I enjoy the quiet while I run, just the thump of my feet hitting the dirt and my heartbeat in my ears.
“How often do you run?” she asks, her cheeks and nose pink.
“A few times a week, but I prefer weights. Running is more to reset my brain. I’ve been here a lot more since I went on leave.”
She eyes me. “Are you ever gonna tell me why that is?”
I suppose I might as well. I’ll wait until the new year to tell Ella, because no doubt she’ll try to talk me out of it, but maybe it’ll be good to get Monty’s opinion.
“I’m retiring,” I say. “I took the time off to think about it.”
She pauses, hands on her hips, panting. “Really?”
I stop, too. “Yep.”
Tipping her head back, she looks up at the thick canopy, bursts of sunlight touching her skin. Her blonde ponytail swings in the gentle breeze, eyelashes fluttering as she closes her eyes as if to drink in what little warmth the sun’s rays offer.
I watch her, a little enraptured by the moment, my heart rate remaining fast despite standing totally still. She looks more angelic than she ever has, almost glowing in the morning light, and when the trees move and a flurry of leaves cascade down, she opens her eyes and smiles.
Golden and bronze leaves dance around her, touching her cheeks and her now-outstretched hands, and for a second, I allow myself the thought of kissing her.
It’s stolen, and one I’ll never admit to, but it’s such a vibrant image in my mind that I get lost in it. I get lost in her.
She’s so carefree, like one of those leaves on an errant breeze, here and gone in a moment, and my chest suddenly aches for that freedom.
Maybe it aches a little for her, too.
My life has been routine, a solid structure to ensure Ella was happy and safe.
I’ll never regret making those choices for her, but now that I’m alone, I’m granted a view into life on my terms. I want to claw myself free from the restraints I’ve bound myself in, I want to wake up with no idea what my day will bring, but knowing it’ll be busy and grant me stories to tell.
When I pull myself from my daydream, Monty is watching me with a small smile.
“I think retiring is a great idea,” she says. “But can I still call you Chief?”
I breathe out a laugh. “I have a feeling even I said no, you still would.”
“Absolutely.”
We continue our run, and when we’re breathless and sweating, we head back to the car. “What’s your plan, then?” Monty asks. “Once you’re retired?”
I take my car keys out. “Get some land near Ella. I’m thinking of getting some horses.”
“Really? I used to love riding as a kid. I had a horse called Marshmallow and he hated me. He hated everyone, actually.” She laughs, a real laugh, musical and free. “One time—” She stumbles, squeaks, and I catch her before she hits the floor.
“You okay?” I ask. Her sneaker is half off and she nods, but when she puts weight on her foot, she hisses. “Did you twist it?”
“Maybe. Shit, it really hurts.”
“Come here.” I sweep her up, and despite the obvious pain, she lets out a cheer. I laugh, and she wraps her arms around my neck.
“Now this is romantic,” she says. “I think I should only travel like this from now on.”
Opening the passenger door, I sit her down and crouch. She lets out a small whimper as I slip off her sneaker and sock. Her ankle is already swelling.
“Is it broken?” she whispers.
“I don’t think so. Just a nasty sprain. We should go to the ER to get it checked.”
As I stand, she puts on her seatbelt. There are spots of mud on her cheek, and without thinking, I lick my thumb and start wiping them away.
She lifts her eyes to meet mine, and I pause my movements, my hand almost cupping her cheek. A blush climbs up her neck, and she swallows, her lips parting as the moment stretches between us.
My heart throws itself against my chest as we remain frozen, locked in each other’s orbit, close enough to share breath and body heat.
Fuck. I should pull away. Hell, I should run away. Monty is not the kind of woman you kiss.
But she’s also not the kind of woman you offer a place to, and I did that.
My gaze drops to her lips.
Torn between “fuck it” and “fuck no,” Monty makes the decision for us and moves closer. Her eyes flick between mine, and I run my thumb across her jaw.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but it’s true what they say—the biggest regrets are the risks you don’t take.
“I had my first kiss at fourteen and I threw up in his mouth.”
I blink, raising my brows. “What?”
“My fact for the day,” she says quickly. “Should we go?”
I nod and close the passenger door, wondering what the fuck I almost just did.
Monty sighs, dropping her head back. She’s sitting on a hospital bed, leaning back against her hands like her room service is late. “We’ve been waiting forever, let’s just go. It’s probably just a sprain, like you said.”
I fold my arms. “Okay, then walk over to me and we’ll go home.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Know-it-all.”
I’m glad we’re back to teasing and sniping, and not whatever the hell almost occurred in the car earlier. If she hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve kissed her. What the hell was I thinking, getting that close to Monty of all people?
It’s like willingly wading through a den of fucking snakes.
The curtains are drawn back, and of course she gets the youngest, most attractive doctor in San Fran-fucking-cisco.
He looks up from his chart and beams a smile. “Ms. Reid.”
“Yes,” she sighs, either not noticing his good looks or not caring. I hide a smirk behind my hand, then immediately set my face to neutral.
I shouldn’t be happy about her not noticing an attractive doctor. She should notice him. He’s her fucking age.
Pulling up a stool, the doctor positions himself at Monty’s feet. “I’m Dr. Hanson. What happened here, then?”
“I was running. Well, walking back to the car”—she winces as he takes hold of her foot—“and I tripped. It’s probably just sprained, but this guy”—she waves at me—“insisted we come here.”
Dr. Hanson smiles at me. “Well, your father was right. It’s best to get an X-ray.”
“He isn’t my father,” Monty says, and my smirk returns as disappointment flashes across the doctor’s face. It’s worth being called her dad if I get to see his dreams fade when she calls me her boyfriend like she has from the moment she got here. “He’s my friend’s dad.”
Now my smile fucking disappears.
Dr. Hanson smiles again.
I’m gonna hit him.
“Well, Mr. …” He looks at me, brows raised.
“Chief Guy Gibson.”
Oh my God, what am I doing? Am I really in a pissing contest with a thirty-year-old doctor over a woman I shouldn’t even want?
Don’t want. Not shouldn’t.
Don’t.
Dr Hanson continues, “Chief Gibson is right. We should get it X-rayed. I need to ask some personal questions first, so—”
“Can I wear heels?”
The doctor shakes his head. “No, you need to rest, regardless of what the X-ray says.”
“But …” She frowns. “I have a reservation at a restaurant tonight. A nice one. I need to wear heels. I have a whole outfit planned.”
A snake of jealousy curls around my gut. Is Seth Sinclair taking her out again?
Dr. Hanson smiles sympathetically. “I’m sorry, but you’re resting at least for a few days.”
She groans and mumbles about bad things happening to good people.
I think she’s forgetting the kind of person she is.
Monty is taken to X-ray, but the results show her ankle isn’t broken or fractured. It is just a sprain, so with a few days of rest, she’ll be fine. Once we’re back in the truck and heading home, I say, “I’m sorry about your date tonight.”
“Our date.”
I glance at her. “What?”
“The reservation was for us.” She slinks down in her seat. “I had this ridiculously hot dress I was going to wear. I even got you a tie matching the color, so we’d look fucking adorable. But no.” She gestures at her ankle. “I have the ankle strength of a small deer!”
I grasp at words. “You arranged a date for us?”
She shrugs slowly. “Not a real date, because I know you have boundaries, or whatever, but I thought it could be nice to get all dressed up and go into the city together.”
Fuck. That’s sweet. It’s been a long time since someone arranged a surprise for me. Ella used to do it all the time, but as for women I’ve dated? It’s been decades.
I tug on the steering wheel, doing a U-turn until we’re on the other side of the road and going in the opposite direction to home. Monty clings to the car door. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you on a date.”
“Don’t you dare. Look what I’m wearing!”
I laugh. “Not that kind of date.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re loaded up with drive-thru Mexican food and parked at a lesser-known lookout point. I used to bust teenagers smoking weed up here years ago.
I thought Monty might have turned her nose up at the suggestion, but she was excited. And now she’s devoured two tacos and is about to start her third.
“I think Dr. Handsome was a little taken with you, by the way.”
She snorts, almost choking on lettuce. “Oh, I know. I don’t date doctors, though.”
“Why?”
“He saves lives, I end them. We’d never work.”
I laugh so loud I surprise myself, and I thump my chest to dislodge some refried beans that definitely went down the wrong way. Monty grins at me.