Page 22 of Last Chance Love

“So,” he said, drawing away. “I ask again, do you really regret it?”

“No,” I said, licking my lips nervously and feeling a pang at their dryness. That definitely could not have been a good couple of kisses for him. “Definitely don’t now.”

He chuckled as he stepped back, his fingers finding my forearm and trailing down so they could wrap around my wrist. “Glad to hear it.”

“So, uh, what now?”

“You didn’t think this through, did you?”

“Ugh.”

“You never do when one of those rare moods strikes you,” he said with a small smile.

“Hey!” I protested because that was my only real counterargument in the face of the truth.

“Let’s,” he said, fingers sliding down to lace with mine, “figure it out as we go, alright? You’ve got enough on your plate without having to figure something like this out all at once.”

Personally, I could have agreed to the whole package if that’s what he was interested in. As far as I was concerned, he could have whatever the hell he wanted from me at that exact moment. I didn’t have a frame of reference for relationships or love, at least in my everyday life. But this was pretty close to what all those love songs were constantly going on about, so maybe it was close.

Whatever it was, I knew damn well there was nothing I could do but smile, squeeze his hand in return, and say, “Yeah, sure. We can do that.”

* * *

There weremany years since that first kiss and many other kisses, but how irritating was it that he still managed to affect me? Even now, I was helpless in the face of his simple act of just standing there, making himself comfortable. The bastard had always been so confident in a natural way rather than acted. Yet there wasn’t a single trace of arrogance in him, just the feeling that no matter what, he was the one you could come to when things got dire.

“What?” he asked, brow coming up and watching me carefully.

“Just…a long day and the heat,” I said, glancing at the bag he’d set down earlier. “What are you doing anyway?”

“I’m going around checking on everyone. Already had a couple of instances of heat stroke and several more of heat exhaustion,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know what it is about this place, but nobody seems to learn…or listen.”

“Anything serious?” I asked.

“No, just your standard bullheaded guys not paying attention to what their bodies are telling them,” he said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “The Strokers are in the clinic where they’re going to rest out the day. The Exhausters will get plenty of water and a few hours break until I give them the pass to return to work.”

“And I’m sure you’re showing the right bedside manner,” I said, knowing full well what a hard ass he could be when he was pushed. Yes, he was a professional and knew his stuff, but he was also not someone you wanted to piss off. ‘Fear the healer,’ I had been told once, and honestly, I was never too keen on finding out why that was a phrase in the first place.

He snorted, shaking his head. “You know how these guys are. Too many of them take being nice as a weakness.”

“That’s not true,” I said with a frown. “Most of them just need someone to treat them like a person. That’s what any of us really want.”

“Even Reno?”

I winced. “He’s…a special case. I don’t know what kind of special, but special all the same.”

“Probably a good thing Elliot isn’t around to hear you say that. I’m sure he’d have a witty remark or two.”

“He’d think it was witty anyway.”

Reed chuckled, staring out over the pens. “Look, I know these guys want to be treated like people, okay? And I do that every single day, but that’s the same thing as treating them nicely or kindly all the time. Most respond well if you treat them like tough badasses who can only communicate in bad jokes, insults, and a complete lack of fear.”

I wasn’t enthused about agreeing, but I couldn’t deny it either. Sadly, most guys who ended up here were doomed to a similar fate long ago. Happy childhoods and healthy attitudes toward life weren’t in good supply when it came to felons, even if they were aspiring to improve their lot in life.

Once again, it made me think of Elliot and Reno and wonder what their stories were. Despite how much of a bulwark Reno threw up in people’s faces, he was the easier of the two to read. No one just happened to have that kind of rage and bitterness toward everything. That was the sort of thing you developed over time, with life and all its cruelties and unfairness honing it like a blade. Elliot, though, was an odd one. Most of the time, he seemed out of place with so many of the guys here, using humor and evasive tactics to avoid going near his more sensitive parts. Yet I sensed a kind of sadness in him, a loneliness so deeply rooted I wasn’t sure if he had ever had someone truly on his side.

Even Reed, despite his ‘apparent’ advantages in life, hadn’t been dealt the best cards. He came from a seemingly good family, growing up in a nice part of town with a nice house and never needing anything regarding basics or extras. He’d always had new clothes, never off-brand, always had the latest game systems and games, and he’d been given a car for his sixteenth birthday. His life looked perfect as far as other people were concerned.

No money could make up for the lack of parents, though. Oh sure, his parents were technically present in that they existed and influenced his life. They paid for the violin he’d played off and on and ensured he always got to his practices, but they never went to any of his performances. They kept a light finger on his studies but never attended conferences. They made sure he went to church, but they never bothered even to know if he believed like they did or was going through the motions because he was supposed to.

---