Page 120 of Anchor
Reid looked up. The second their eyes met, his entire posture changed. He was still trembling, but something in his face shifted, like his bones remembered her before his memory did.
Claire stepped to the edge of the bars. “Hey.”
Reid’s jaw clenched tightly and unevenly, but his mouth twitched like he meant to smile. “Hey,” he rasped. His voice was hoarse again, worn from effort. But it was his.
Claire placed her hands lightly over his on the bars. “You’re upright.”
Reid didn’t look away. “Yeah.”
“How’s it feel?”
“Like hell.”
She laughed under her breath. “Sounds about right.”
He leaned forward, forehead brushing against hers, shaky but deliberate. “Didn’t want you to see me down.”
“I’ve seen worse,” she said gently.
“I haven’t.”
Her throat caught. She reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw. “You’re here, Reid. You’re here and alive, and you’re fighting.”
Reid was silent, then, in a voice so low it almost broke, he said, “I remember more when you talk.”
Claire blinked. “You do?”
Reid nodded once. “Pieces fit. The way you sound and the way you look at me, it’s like… light hitting through fog.”
She stepped closer, one arm around his back, her other hand still gripping his. “Then I’ll keep talking.
He breathed her in, and for one long second, the shaking in his limbs stilled.
ROOM 218 – 2230 HOURS
Claire sat at the edge of his bed, one leg tucked beneath her, her tablet abandoned. Her fingers played with the edge of the blanket, quiet and distracted.
Reid watched her. The way her shoulders moved when she breathed. The way her brow tightened when she thought too long. Something in his chest hurt, but not from the wound. “Did we get much time?”
Claire looked over, surprised at the softness in his voice.
He continued, “Before everything went to hell.”
She hesitated. “Not enough, but it was real.”
“I had a place,” he said slowly, “in the penthouse, one of the Chase buildings.”
“Unit 9A.” Claire’s lips curled slightly.
“I remember flashes. It smelled like concrete and gun oil. Yours smelled like…”
“Vanilla and coffee.” Her voice lowered, almost shy. “That’s where we spent our first night.”
He blinked. It hit him then, not just the words, but the shape of it. His hand found hers. “You were shot.”
“On campus,” she said softly. “You held me and got me to Chase Med.”
“We were in a suite together after that.”
