Page 21 of Rescue Me

Eventually, exhaustion wins. It always does. My eyes drift shut, the dull ache in my ribs fading to the background as the darkness pulls me under.

But even in sleep, I see him. Ethan, with his laugh and his summer scent, looking at me like I’m something worth noticing. And for just a moment, I let myself believe it.

Chapter fourteen

ZANA

Something’s wrong with Ethan. I don’t need to ask him—I can feel it. It’s in the way he moves, the way his scent twists just slightly, like he’s searching for something he can’t name. It’s been less than a day since we talked about Reid, but it’s already clear he’s struggling to keep it together.

I glance over the top of my laptop, pretending to focus on the mountain of emails in front of me. This divorce case I’m working on is brutal—two Alphas tearing each other apart over territory and petty grievances—but honestly? I couldn’t care less right now. My eyes keep drifting to Ethan, curled up in the living room, buried in the chaos of his makeshift nest.

Blankets, pillows, and plushies are strewn everywhere like some colorful explosion. He’s got his laptop balanced on his knees, his big glasses sliding down his nose, and a pencil sticking out of his mouth like he’s auditioning for the role of Adorable Mad Genius.

And heisadorable. Absolutely, heartbreakingly adorable. But the tension in his body is impossible to miss and it makes my chest ache. He keeps fidgeting, grumbling under his breath as his fingers fly over the keyboard. Every so often, he snatches the pencil out of his mouth to scribble something in the notebook beside him, only to toss it down and go right back to typing.

Watching Ethan is one of my favorite things. The way his brows furrow when he’s deep in concentration, how his tongue pokes out at the corner of his mouth when he’s trying to figure something out—it’s mesmerizing. Normally, I’d let him work through whatever’s bothering him at his own pace, but today? Today, he’s wound tighter than I’ve ever seen, and it’s starting to wear on me too.

He’s working on a website design—one of his many freelance gigs—but it’s obvious his heart’s not in it. There’s an edge to his movements, a frustrated energy that hums through him like a live wire. I know him too well to think this is just about work. No, this is about Reid.

He shifts again, letting out a frustrated huff and I can’t help but smirk a little. “You okay over there?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

“Mm,” he grunts, not even looking up. That grunt says everything:No, I’m not okay, and also don’t talk to me right now.

Great. Nonverbal mode. That’s one of his two frustration settings, the other being 'talks until he runs out of oxygen'.Neither is particularly fun to deal with, but at least the chatterbox version is entertaining. This version just makes me worry.

I try to focus on my emails, but it’s useless. Normally, I’d be locked in, calculating my next move and drafting arguments to keep my client from losing their metaphorical shirt. But with Ethan only a few feet away, radiating restless energy, my brain refuses to cooperate.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as he shoves his laptop aside and grabs his notebook. He scrawls something in it—jagged, angry strokes—then huffs again and picks up his laptop like it personally insulted him. Without a word, he gets up and shuffles over to the couch where I’m sitting, his slippers making littleshh-shhsounds on the floor.

Before I can ask what he’s doing, he clears a spot on the couch—read: shoves my carefully arranged files aside like they’re trash including my laptop—and plops himself right into my lap.

“Hey, baby.” I laugh, caught between surprise and amusement. My arms instinctively circle his waist, pulling him close. “What’s this about?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look up from his screen. He’s already hunched over his laptop again, typing like the fate of the world depends on it.

“Needy, are we?” I tease, resting my chin on his shoulder. I glance at the screen, trying to figure out what he’s working on, but he angles it away from me with a little grunt of annoyance. Oh, we’re inthatkind of mood, huh?

I shift slightly, tightening my grip on his waist as I nuzzle against his neck. “You know, if you wanted attention, you could’ve just said so.”

Another grunt. Translation:Shut up, I’m busy.

I smile softly, brushing my cheek against his. His scent is sharper than usual, the restless edge still lingering, but I can feel it start to soften beneath my touch. It’s subtle at first, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He’s not there yet, but he’s close.

“There we go,” I murmur, my voice low and soothing. I press another nuzzle to his neck, slow and deliberate, scenting him. His body sags a little more, his head tilting slightly, leaning into me without even realizing it. “Good boy,” I whisper and that’s when I feel him finally relax. Just a little. Just enough.

He lets out a small sigh, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. “I’m not needy,” he mutters, his voice muffled but soft. “I just… wanted to sit here.”

“Uh-huh,” I snort, smirking against his shoulder. “And it had nothing to do with the fact that my lap is clearly the comfiest spot in the house?”

He huffs again, but there’s no real heat behind it. “It’s notthatcomfy,” he grumbles, shifting a little to get more comfortable. The contradiction is so obvious.

“Whatever you say, baby,” I murmur, holding him tighter. My hand rubs slow circles over his stomach, the tension in him slowly melting away.

Ethan lets out this soft little whine, barely audible, as his head tips to the side, giving me better access. He’s still focused on his laptop, typing away with that frenetic energy only he can pull off. At least he’s not vibrating out of his skin anymore.

“Better?” I ask, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He grunts in response, but there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. Just a flicker, but I’ll take it.

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