Page 133 of The Lineman

Because Elliot was the kind of guy who needed time to work through shit, who needed space before he let anyone in.

So instead, I just said, “Rodriguez wouldn’t blame you.”

Elliot huffed. “Maybe he should.”

He turned his head, finally looking at me again, and I could see it now—the guilt, the weight of whatever was running through his mind.

I sighed. “Look, I’m not gonna sit here and let you do this to yourself. You got hurt. He got hurt. That’s awful, yeah, but you didn’t do this.”

Elliot didn’t say anything. Just looked away again.

“I’ll ask the desk for an update later this morning, but can we go back to the part where you look at me all dreamy and love waking up to my face?”

It took a moment, but he turned back to face me. Slowly—so damn slowly—his scowl morphed into a lopsided grin as he reached a hand toward me.

“I love seeing your face in the morning, afternoon, at night, in the shower, when you’re destroying a kitchen. Hell, Mike, I see your face in my sleep, beneath my lids, in my mind. You’re everywhere—and it’s still not enough. I love seeing—”

I didn’t think.

I didn’t hesitate.

I surged forward, one hand gripping his face, the other burying itself in his hair, and I kissed him.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like I needed to make sure he was real, that this wasn’t just some dream I’d wake up from.

Elliot let out a surprised grunt but didn’t resist. His hands fumbled for me, fingers tangling in the lines stuck into his flesh, tugging me closer.

And for one perfect, infinite second, nothing else mattered.

Then—

The beeping.

Shrill, rapid, unrelenting.

It barely had time to register before the door slammed open and two nurses rushed in, their eyes wide, hands already reaching for Elliot’s IV.

“How ya feeling, dear?” one of them asked. “What’s happening?”

I jerked back like I’d been caught committing a crime, my hands flying into the air in surrender.

Elliot blinked up at the nurses, dazed. “Uh—”

The shorter of the two, an older woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper bun on her head, narrowed in on the monitor and let out a sigh. “Lord have mercy,” she muttered.

The other nurse, younger and clearly trying to keep a straight face, looked between us. “Did . . . did the heart monitor just spike because of that kiss?”

Silence.

Elliot turned his head, slow as hell, and grinned at me.

“Guess I’ve got a weak heart,” he teased.

I groaned, dropping my face into my hands.

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