Page 122 of Anchor
Claire confirmed it.This isn’t your lane.They moved in sync. She reached the floor’s edge. Flex cuffs. A climb to the roof. A man in custody.
Afterward… her mother left her behind, and Reid was ordered to take her home. A third-floor walk-up that smelled like old brick and vanilla shampoo. She had one lamp on.
She didn’t pretend it was nothing. She didn’t pretend she wasn’t scared or that she didn’t want him. He was her first.
It was everything else—trust, tension, something huge neither of them could name yet. That was the night. The night they created the child she now carried.
Reid’s voice cracked out loud, barely audible. “Claire…”
When Claire stood, eyes already brimming, he looked straight at her. “You were wearing black,” he said hoarsely. “Sequins. Your hair was up.”
She blinked fast and stepped closer.
“You saw them first,” he whispered. “I took you home.”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“You had that little lamp in the corner,” he said. “You kissed me like you were already mine.”
Claire couldn’t speak. Her shoulders shook.
“That was the night, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Our first night.”
She nodded, tears spilling now.
He stared up at her, remembering everything. “And you were mine,” he said. “From the second you walked toward me.”
Tuck didn’t speakat first. He just stood there, his frame rigid, jaw tight, watching Reid with something too complicated for a single name. Not pride. Not relief. Something deeper: love.
Claire turned to Tuck, blinking through tears. But he held up one hand. “Don’t,” he said gently, rough with emotion. “Just let him talk.”
Reid looked up at the man who’d been more father than uncle. “You always knew, didn’t you?” he asked. “About her. About us.”
Tuck swallowed hard. “I knew what mattered.”
There was a long silence between them. Tuck gave a nod and cleared his throat. “Well, hell, it’s ‘bout time something came back besides muscle pain and attitude.”
Reid gave the ghost of a smile.
Tuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll give y’all a minute.” And he left them, quiet and steady, the way he always had.
Claire saton the bed beside him, one hand resting over the small curve of her stomach. Her hair was down now, exactly the way it was that night.
Reid lay on his side, propped up slightly, eyes fixed on her. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your first time when we talked about it the other day?”
She knew she had. She wouldn’t remind him. “Would it have changed anything?”
“No,” he said. “But I would’ve remembered sooner. I would’ve held on to that.”
She reached for his hand. “You did,” she whispered. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
His fingers closed around hers gently. “I remember how you looked at me that night.”
She smiled. “Like I wasn’t afraid?”
“No,” Reid said. “Like you already knew we’d break something wide open.”
She leaned down, pressing her forehead to his, and for the first time in weeks, he felt fully awake. Not just conscious, but present.
