Chapter 4
four
. . .
SUTTON
To say my sanity was balanced on a ledge a few thousand feet off the ground was an understatement. One false move would send me tumbling toward a psychotic break.
For the first few days after Lane was shot, I constantly battled myself, trying to decide whether I should go to the hospital and check on him, or leave him alone.
When I heard the news that he’d finally woken up, I could breathe a sigh of relief.
He wasn’t entirely out of the woods yet, but being awake and, according to Crew, seeming to have sustained no long-term mental damage, was a good start.
But the war between whether to avoid him or go to him waged on.
Would he even want to see me? As far as I knew, he hated me, and while how I felt about him was the polar opposite of that, I couldn’t stand the thought of going to see him only for him to turn me away.
So I decided to do nothing.
Still, going about my day was difficult given the amount of anxiety that sat like a weight on my chest.
He’s awake, he’s okay became a constant, endless mantra that barely managed to get me through.
Hell, maybe I did need to go see him. Maybe I needed to at least put eyes on him and give my brain the proof it needed that he’d be fine.
“Hey Sutton. You okay?”
I lifted my head from the table in the common room of the firehouse. Crew sat down next to me, face lined with concern.
Giving him a weak smile, I said, “I’ve been better.”
He glanced around the room to make sure everyone else was preoccupied, then leaned closer. “This about Lane?”
I grimaced and groaned, hating how transparent I was. “That obvious?”
“You’ve had tough calls before,” he said. “But you’ve always been able to compartmentalize. This is different. And your reaction when he got shot…”
“What about it?”
Crew took a beat to study me, as if weighing whether to press the issue. Instead, he said, “I know he’s my brother, but I hope you know you can talk to me. Or let me get Aspen down here, and you can talk to her.”
I choked on a laugh. “You would want to sic your wife on me.”
“I offered myself up first,” he pointed out.
Crew and I had worked together for a long time at the Dusk Valley Fire Department, which was responsible for emergency fire, rescue, and injury response for much of Owyhee County.
We’d developed a solid working relationship and, dare I say, friendship over the years.
I respected his opinion. Working in a job like this, where lives were constantly on the line and we all heavily relied on each other, requiring us to have our shit together both mentally and physically, we’d gotten close.
Still, this was awkward as hell because this was his brother we were talking about.
Before I could direct us into calmer conversational waters, he surprised me by standing, hauling me out of my chair, and pulling me into a hug.
He held me for far longer than was necessary, crushing me to his chest. Long enough, in fact, that several of our colleagues shot us funny looks as they walked past.
When he let go, he yielded a step and held me at arm’s length.
“Thank you.”
“For…?”
“Saving him. He’s a pain in the ass more often than not, but I doubt my family would’ve survived if he hadn’t. So…thank you.”
I swallowed hard, my eyes fixed on the floor at my feet. “I was just doing my job,” I said weakly.
“You held your shit together and gave him a fighting chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“You were there too,” I reminded him.
He shook his head. “That save was all you, Sutton.”
Unsure what else to say—and, truthfully, not wanting to speak at all lest the emotion stuck in my throat become evident in my words—I gave him a tense smile and walked away.
Crew was wrong about me though.
I wasn’t selling myself short, and it wasn’t an overinflated sense of self-importance talking when I said I’d saved lives before.
That was the job. Speaking in the grand scheme of things, Lane’s life was no more important than that of anyone else who existed in the world.
I hated the idea that members of this community, his family especially, hero-worshipped me.
I didn’t deserve it, and I knew it would only make Lane uncomfortable, feeling like he owed me something.
The last thing I needed was to further muddy the waters where he and our relationship was concerned.
Crew, apparently not done with the conversation, didn’t let me get very far before he caught up with me and pulled me around to face him again.
“Have you been to visit him?” he asked.
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t think he’d be too happy to see me.”
“Are you joking?”
“No?” I said, though my intonation made it come out as more of a question.
Crew huffed softly in what I interpreted to be disbelief. “Just…go see him, Sutton.”
This time, he let me go and walked away before I could respond.
His plea didn’t change my mind, though.
I wouldn’t go see Lane.
No, not even that.
I couldn’t.
Apparently, I could, though, because the next morning when I got off shift, instead of heading home and going to bed, I found myself driving up to Boise.
The closer I got, the more I shook as memories from that day the week before flooded my system with an excess of adrenaline.
When I pulled into the lot, I sat in my car for a long time, attempting to give myself a pep talk. I had half a mind to turn around and go home, but I’d come all this way, and I couldn’t let it be for nothing.
Finally, I gathered enough courage to get out of my car.
In the lobby, I approached the information desk and was directed to the fifth floor when asked for Lane’s room number.
The woman at the nurse’s station up there pointed me toward 519.
My feet felt like lead, footsteps heavy as I made my way down the hall.
When I reached his door, I found it closed.
After a fortifying breath, I lifted my hand and knocked.
“Come in,” a deep voice rasped, lacking its usual volume and authority.
Pushing on the handle, I opened the door about six inches and poked my head in.
“Hey, Lane.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting when he first saw me, but it hadn’t been the broad grin that overtook his entire face, like he was excited I was here.
Hell, this was a bad idea. That smile did funny things to my insides, twisting me up in knots. The only reason he offered it was because he likely knew I’d been the one to keep him alive long enough to get to the hospital.
“Sutton,” he said, lips still tipped up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeated like an idiot.
“Come in,” he said, gesturing with his right hand, his left immobilized in a sling.
Apprehensively, I shuffled deeper into the room, though I stopped several feet from his bedside.
I hated seeing people in hospital beds, but especially Lane.
The mountain of a man appeared half his size beneath the pristine white sheet and ugly gown that thousands of people before him had worn.
Tubes snaked out of his arm, and I could make out the edges of thick bandages covering his chest where the bullet had entered.
His skin was far too pale, his tattoos lacking their usual luster, and his sandy hair was limp and hanging in his eyes.
Dark circles had taken up residence beneath them, their normally vibrant blue dimmed considerably.
“I heard you were awake and wanted to come check on you,” I said a bit awkwardly, compelled to explain my presence.
“I’m really glad to see you.”
“Y-you are?”
“Of course,” he said, tone steady, expression open and honest.
“But…why?”
His brow creased. “I mean…you saved my life. At the very least, I need to thank you.”
“I was just doing my job, Lane.”
God, I was getting sick of saying those words.
He chuckled and shook his head. “So modest.” I shrugged but didn’t reply, and he pressed forward. “I’ve also had a lot of time to think, being cooped up here. And I realized something.”
“Oh?”
“I fucked up back then.” I didn’t need clarification to know what back then referred to. There was only one time in our lives he could possibly mean. “And I’d like to make things right.”
“How exactly?” I asked. My voice shook, and annoyance mixed with something far more dangerous—hope.
“Maybe we start by letting this animosity between us go. And then, maybe, you let me take you out to dinner.”
I’d been lying if I said I hadn’t spent a number of years wishing for this exact moment. That I hadn’t spent hours daydreaming about what it would be like if we tried again.
Unfortunately, now that my fantasy was playing out, the balloon of hope welling in my chest deflated as quickly as it had expanded.
This had nothing to do with us or wanting to make things right, wanting to fix the mistakes of our younger selves.
“I’m sorry, but no.”
The hardest four words I’d ever had to say.
Lane frowned. “What do you mean, no? I thought—”
“There’s this phenomenon that occurs between first responders and victims. Thanks to the intensity and the high stress levels, it’s common to experience extreme gratitude that manifests as romantic interest,” I explained, quickly and flatly. “That’s all this is, Lane.”
He snorted. “You do realize I’m a first responder too, right? I’m familiar with the phenomenon, and I can assure you that’s not what’s happening here.”
I rolled my eyes, surprised to find anger heating my blood.
Good. That was better than the sensation of being stabbed in the heart.
“So what, you woke up from your coma and suddenly decided you wanted to give us another chance? After fifteen years? Are you high?”
“These drugs are good, but they’re not that good, sunny.”
I gasped; I couldn’t help it.
That nickname.
I hadn’t heard it in ages, not for nearly sixteen years.
“Don’t call me that,” I whispered.
“Why not?” he asked, oblivious to my panic in his altered state.
“We…that’s not who we are to each other anymore, Lane.”
“But I thought…” He trailed off and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, they seemed to be brighter, closer to their normal shade. “Never mind. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t, though. None of this was okay. Only a few feet separated us, but it may as well have been miles.
The air in the room instantly became oppressive, bearing down on me until I could no longer stand it. With an awkwardly murmured goodbye, I made my escape.