Chapter Text
Danger pay didn’t even come close to covering a day like this one.
Kneeling in the dust, Chris reassessed her options. She didn’t like their odds. She couldn’t run or drive with a busted leg, and Deac’s shoulder would only hold for so long. The HCP officer was in no fit state to drive either. They were outnumbered and outgunned.
Unbidden, Miguel’s words from earlier came back to her.
“May I ask you something? What do you think about in situations like this? Do you think about your family? About your Tío Sarso and your Tía Helena?”
“Yes.”
“You think about your family and what they would do without you?
“Can’t think about that. Worst case scenario doesn’t work for me.”
But now, as she fought a hint of despair creeping in, her aunt and uncle’s faces flashed before her. And they weren’t the only ones she saw. For a fleeting second, Chris closed her eyes and allowed herself to see him in her mind’s eye, bright and clear and smiling. If their options had really all run out, she wanted to have that image in her head as she went down fighting.
A roar overhead snapped her attention to a sleek grey helicopter, appearing as if from nowhere at the end of the main street, heading for a speedy touchdown. Chris caught sight of Hondo up front, gun trained on the cartel members. The team had come for them. Chaos descended in a whirl of dust and gunfire, and Chris fought her way free and hobbled into the bar in search of her gun. But even with adrenaline powering her steps she was moving slower than normal, and by the time she’d made it inside, located her weapon and made it back to the doorway again, it was all over.
With the knowledge that they were safe, every part of her body seemed to start aching at once. Her leg shook beneath her as she limped out into the harsh desert light, squinting but unwilling to lift a hand from her gun to shade her eyes.
Footsteps drew her attention, and with a rush of relief she saw Street jogging towards her like her desperate thoughts had teleported him there. He wasn’t quick enough to wipe his face clear of worry before she saw it, and it threw her for a loop. They faced death every week at work – it was part of the S.W.A.T. package deal. But Chris had never seen Street look so visibly shaken up before. She decided to play it down, to keep it casual. It was the safest option.
“Good to see you,” she called to him, a smile breaking across her face for perhaps the first time all day. Street slowed and crossed the space between them rapidly as she hobbled down the stairs towards him, relief replacing worry as he lowered his gun.
“Got here as fast as we could,” Street replied softly, reaching out to take Chris’s gun. She hadn’t realised how tightly she was clinging onto it until he had to pry it gently from her fingers, the contact sending zips of warmth through her skin. For a moment they both still, staring at each other, and Chris knew he saw through her bullshit, that they both knew how close she and Deacon came to dying today. Street’s eyes darted across her, checking for injuries, each glance like a gentle caress against her skin. If they were alone right now, she didn’t think she could trust either of them to maintain that fragile professional distance between them. For a brief moment it seemed like even that might not be enough to keep Street from closing the distance between them, and her heart ached for his closeness and reassurance. But they weren’t alone, and Chris could already feel her expression shutting it down for both of them, closing her off from the intimacy she desperately craved but could never let herself have.
“C’mere,” Street said finally, stepping up alongside her and wrapping a solid and reassuring arm around Chris for her to lean on. And maybe the day’s events had shaken her up more than she thought, because it was all she could do not to curl into the warm embrace of his arms and bury her face against his chest, inhaling the scent she could ID as his with her eyes closed, clean laundry and bike leathers and gunpowder and metal. Instead, Chris looped her arm across Street’s shoulders and leant on him as he helped her walk into the sunlight, trying not to think about how naturally her body fit against his.
As they make slow progress down the dusty main street, Chris took stock of the others, relieved to see Deacon talking with Hondo, not looking anywhere near as rough as she did. Tan was helping the HCP officer to the chopper for medical treatment. And Miguel was sat at the edge of the street. Thanks to S.W.A.T. he would live another day to see his wife and son.
A gentle squeeze from Street sent Chris’s heart thudding against her ribs, and she glanced sideways at him in shock. He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes fixed determinedly ahead of them, but his hand held her waist, pulling her close against him for just a second in a secret hug that only they could see.
“I’m really glad you’re OK,” he said quietly, so only she could hear. Vaguely, over the rush of blood in her ears, Chris heard Hondo calling her name and Street released her. Stepping carefully away so her leg didn’t give way without his support, he strode off to help Tan. Hondo took one look at Chris’s shellshocked expression and mistook it for pain, calling an EMT over stat and helping her avoid any awkward questions.
Once they’d wrapped up the scene, Tan arranged for Deacon and Chris to ride to the nearest hospital in the helicopter with Miguel and the HCP officer. The guys would hitch a ride with a patrol car back to LA. Chris pushed down the twinge of disappointment that rose at the thought of being separated from Street again so soon. She was already missing the warmth of his body alongside hers, even in the dry, dusty heat of the desert.
That’s no t S.W.A.T. behaviour. C ut it out.
Deacon put an arm around her shoulders to help her walk to the helicopter, and Chris felt herself tense, fighting the sudden urge to shrug him off. Because right now it didn’t feel right to have anyone’s hands on her but Street’s.
I need to get this under control.
But, as they shuffled towards the waiting helicopter, Chris couldn’t help herself. She glanced back over her free shoulder and her eyes found with Street’s. Hondo and Tan were already getting into the patrol car ready to head back to LA, but Street was rooted to the spot, watching her go. Chris shot him an expression that was half-smile, half-regret, but it didn’t feel like enough. A glance, a smile, a grimace of commiseration – they never felt like enough to tell him all the things she wished she could say aloud.
Luca wasn’t wrong when he talked about her putting her guard up as soon as she got to work. Chris had gotten so good at erecting walls around her heart that she no longer know how to bring them down again. But right now the one thing she knew for sure was that it went against every instinct in her body to be walking away from the one person who could knock down nearly every wall she had.
One hour earlier
Street had never gotten into his gear and into the chopper so fast. Logically he knew they were making good progress, but they might as well be walking to Langford for how slow it felt. It helped that they were on the move now rather than just spinning their wheels at HQ, but every minute they spent in the air was one more minute that Chris and Deacon were without backup.
Adrenaline was flowing through his veins now instead of blood, but Street dug deep for the practised neutral expression he’d perfected over the last few years so Tan and Hondo didn’t see how on edge he was. He forced his body to remain still and actively stopped himself from drumming his hands or feet nervously as the helicopter swooped through the bright blue sky towards Langford.
Chris knows what she’s doing. She’s tough as nails. She’ll be OK.
Street kept repeating these three sentences to himself in time with the whir of the helicopter blades and the frantic hammering of his heart beneath his skin. The fear that they might be too late wound its way through his chest constricting every breath, but he refused to accept it, refused to acknowledge its icy touch, and let the wind whistling past the helicopter sting his eyes and blur his vision instead.
Finally, an old Western-style town appeared in the distance, tiny figures in the dust like some old cowboy shoot-out playing out below them. Street tensed, his palms clamming up with anticipation, and saw Hondo and Tan leaning forward too as they all strained for any sight of Chris or Deac among the group. They didn’t have long – as soon as the cartel heard the helicopter approaching they’d lose the element of surprise. So the chopper swooped in rapidly, heading for the earth as Hondo fired on the cartel from his position up front.
They landed with a bump, and as soon the blades had slowed Tan’s boots touched the ground, and he led the charge into the abandoned town. As they fanned out through the town Street lengthened his stride, jogging through the dust, checking every window and door for any sign of movement. The others were forgotten as soon as he passed them. As much as he wanted Deacon to be OK, there was only one person he was looking for right now.
Then he saw her.
Chris emerged from the shadows of a saloon bar, gun at the ready, fatigue and pain etched across her face. She was covered in dust and limping, but gratitude washed hot and heavy through Street at the sight of her. And, for just a split second, he saw relief to match his own on her face as she recognised him.
“Good to see you,” she called, so casual, like she and Deacon hadn’t spent the last few hours facing off against a drug cartel.
“Got here as fast as we could,” Street told her as they finally stood face to face, eyes sweeping her from head to toe as he memorised every inch of her all over again. He could tell from the death grip she had on her gun how much today had rattled her, but didn’t let on. If there was one thing Chris hated, it was other people thinking she was weak. Street reached for the gun and gently unwrapped Chris's fingers from around the handle, scanning her body for injuries, mentally cataloguing everything he could see. Dried blood from a split lip, that leg injury, and another small cut on the left side of her face. Other than that she looked in pretty decent shape, and Street sent a silent prayer of thanks up to the god he thought he’d stopped believing in the day his father died. It was all he could do not to brush his thumb over her lip and rub the dried blood away, to lean in close and rest his forehead to hers and just feel her breath on his skin. It was all he could do not to kiss her right now in sheer relief that she was safe. Instead he took a breath, forcing back all the words he wanted to say.
I was worried about you.
I’m glad you’re OK.
I couldn’t have coped with losing you.
I love you.
It killed him not to even being able to wrap her up in his arms and hug it out. They used to be able to, way back when he first joined S.W.A.T. No one thought twice of it then. But they didn’t dare risk it now. Since Erika died, Street was aware that the barriers he thought he’d perfected putting up when they were at work were at risk of crumbling altogether. And, to be honest, he was done pretending. He wasn’t about to jeopardise their careers over it or put any kind of pressure on Chris, but he also wasn’t going to lie to himself or her anymore. And, for all that he struggled to understand Chris’s feelings, he was fairly sure he knew what could happen if they let ourselves get too close, even for just a minute. Someone would find them out, and all the sacrifices they’d made by not being together would be worthless. So he dug deep once more for restraint, for the thin veneer of professionalism that was always seconds from shattering around Chris.
“C’mere,” Street said finally, sliding an arm around Chris and taking her weight so she could take the pressure off her injured leg. She draped an arm around his shoulders and Street felt her lean into him, just slightly, as they stumbled together back towards the others.
Tan had found the CHP officer, bleeding badly from a gunshot wound to his left arm but still conscious, and was helping him to the helicopter. Hondo was with Deacon, who was dusty but still in one piece, and Miguel sat on an upturned barrel with his head in his hands. For just a few seconds, no one was looking at them or paying them any attention. So, just before they drew level with Hondo and Deacon, Street squeezed Chris gently with the hand wrapped around her back and waist, holding her close to him for just a few beats.
“I’m really glad you’re OK,” he murmured. He hadn’t expected a response, but he did feel her eyes burning into him as Hondo caught sight of them and called to Chris, heading their way. Knowing that to meet Chris’s gaze would give himself away, Street let her go and moved to help Tan with the CHP officer instead.
The Highway Patrol agreed to run Hondo, Tan and Street back to LA, so Deacon offered his arm to Chris and they made slow progress towards the chopper, Hondo clapping her on the shoulder as they passed. Deacon stopped briefly and made a joke that Street barely heard. Chris put her arm back across Deacon's shoulders and they kept walking towards the chopper as Tan and Hondo laughed and headed for the patrol car. But Street couldn’t quite bring myself to follow them yet. Instead, he drank in the sight of Chris alive and safe, and tried to tamp down the urge to stride after them, shove Deacon aside and lift Chris into his arms to carry her the rest of the way to the chopper himself.
Almost as if she could tell he was thinking about her, Chris glanced back over her shoulder and her eyes met Street’s. She held his gaze for one, two steps, then twisted away from him. Her expression was half-smile, half-regret, and Street’s heart thumped painfully in his chest as he watched her go, surprised at how much it hurt to watch her walking away from him. With a sigh, he climbed into the back of the car after Tan and Hondo.
*
Luca wanted all the details when Street got home that night. He was bummed to have missed out on all the action, but he’d been taking a day trip along PCH with his dad and no phone service, so missed Hondo’s call. Street gave him the lowdown in the most neutral tone he could manage, then disappeared into the kitchen to wash up and avoid any extra questioning. He fired off a quick text to Chris – Hope you’re doing OK. Have they let you out of hospital yet? – and buried himself up to the elbows in suds. He was just finishing up when he heard Luca on the phone in the living room.
“Hey, Chris! How are you? Street was giving me all the deets from today. Hope Deacon’s getting you danger pay and double time for this!”
The call was a good distraction, and Street took advantage of it to slip past Luca with a wave and head for bed before he could ask him anything else. They were back in early tomorrow, so he had an excuse to get away. At least, that’s what he told himself. He also didn’t want to stand there straining to hear Chris’s side of the phone conversation, wondering why she’d gone to the effort to call up Luca but not bothered to reply to his text.
In the welcome darkness of his room, Street lay back on the bed with his hands folded behind his head, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. This is exactly why he’d had to take that step back a few months back. Just being in close proximity to Chris screwed with his head and heart too much. He couldn’t keep second guessing her actions like this. For all that he hoped she felt the same way he did, he’d never had confirmation of it. She’d come close to saying it, once.
“Chris, you’ve got to let this go, this is not your problem.”
“It is my problem. You’re my problem!”
“What does that mean?”
“Remember when you told me that if you lost me you’d never recover, because…because of how you felt? I can’t lose you either.”
But neither of them had ever said the words aloud.
Maybe he just imagined feelings on her side that weren’t there. Maybe all this time he’d just been projecting his own feelings onto her and hoping that they matched up. Maybe he’d just been kidding myself all along and it was time to let go and try to move on.
With a sigh, Street had just resolved to close his eyes and try and get some sleep when a white glow lit up the room and his phone started vibrating across the bedside table. Rolling onto his side, Street squinted at the screen and his stomach lurched. Chris.
Street scooped the phone up and pressed it to his ear as he sat up, all thoughts of sleep abandoned.
*
Chris had been quiet all evening. From the chopper ride to the hospital and back to her apartment she’d barely said a word, her mind still turning over events in Langford that afternoon. But the call from Luca had loosened her tongue, and now she was restless. Knowing that she’d been talking to Luca while Street was in the same house, maybe even the same room, made her want to step right through the phone line and into their living room. As she paced from the kitchen to her bedroom, she realised she was missing him like she had when she and Luca spent the summer in Germany. Texting Street, and the few phone calls they’d managed to fit in around schedules and time differences, had been the motivation that kept her going through tough days and homesickness. He had made her smile, soothed her worries and made her feel a little less alone when they were thousands of miles and an ocean away from each other. Now they were only a couple of miles apart, but she had that same urge to be in contact with him again, to hear his voice and feel anchored after a stormy day. Replying to his text wouldn’t cut it. She had to hear his voice.
Chris’s fingers danced across the screen before she could stop herself, and she sank carefully onto her bed and listened to the phone ring, hoping he was still awake and would pick up.
“Hey,” Street’s voice was laced with concern when he answered. “You OK?”
“Hey. Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, I’m good.”
She’d started this conversation, she ought to be honest with him.
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” she admitted quietly. As she waited for his answer, she flipped her bedroom light off and leant back against the wall nervously.
“Hell of a day,” Street said finally, letting her comment pass, and Chris couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed.
“Yeah. Luca called me up wanting to hear all about it once he’d spoken to you.”
“Ah, sorry ’bout that. I thought I’d given him enough gory details that he wouldn’t bother you.”
“That’s OK. I’m sorry I didn’t text back, I know it’s late.”
“That’s OK, I wasn’t asleep anyway.” He paused, and Chris could hear his bed creaking at the other end of the phone as he got comfortable. “So how are you doing?”
“Doctor signed me off active duty for the next couple of weeks. Deacon too, while his shoulder heals.”
“That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. But you know what, after today I’m just glad to be here to complain about it.” Chris hesitated, threading the edge of the comforter between her fingers, then voiced what had been on her mind for the last few hours. “For a while there today I thought that we might not make it out.”
Street was quiet for so long that she thought he might have fallen asleep.
“If anyone was going to make it, it was you,” he said eventually. His voice dropped, softer and more uncertain. “But I was scared too.”
Chris’s heart thumped against her chest as Street kept talking.
“The whole ride out there, I was trying to tell myself that we’d get there in time and we wouldn’t be too late. I can’t tell you how glad I was to see you.”
The catch in his voice tugged on her heart and made her want to throw everything to hell and tell him to come over right now. She took a deep breath and resisted, but her defences were weakening by the minute.
“I don’t know how we got so lucky,” she said instead, her voice wavering with a hint of emotion.
“Never bet against S.W.A.T.,” Street said, his voice stronger and more certain now. “One S.W.A.T. officer on their own is dangerous enough, but two or more? Formidable.”
Chris laughed without much humour in it.
“I didn’t feel formidable this afternoon. Deacon and I were two against six, and we were both injured. If you hadn’t shown up…”
“But we did,” Street interrupted, his voice reassuring. “And we always will. It’s what we do. And I know you have a hard time trusting that,” he added, pre-empting Chris with a hint of amusement in his voice, “or believing in people, but it’s true. Do you remember when you were poisoned by that VX four years ago?”
Chris felt the ghost of a burn in her throat at his words, the memory of her airway closing up and her body shutting down alarmingly quickly as the toxin worked its way through her system. The panic rising as her lungs struggled to take in air and sparks started to dance in front of her eyes.
“Yeah,” she said simply instead. “It’s not the sort of thing that’s easy to forget.”
“Hondo carried you out of that hotel, and Deac and Luca raced across town to get you the antidote in time.”
“And you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Street said dismissively. “If anything I got in the way - I had to get Tan to stop me losing it and beating the guy who dosed you to a pulp.”
“No, you did more than that,” Chris insisted. “You held my hand and kept repeating my name. You told me to stay with you.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line.
“I didn’t know you remembered that,” Street said quietly.
“You were the only thing keeping me conscious, Street. Your hand, your voice…it was my lifeline. I couldn’t see you, but I could hear you, and that was what I hung onto when I thought I was dying.”
She listened, waiting for a reaction, but it didn’t come. He was putting up his walls against her for a change.
“I’ll add ‘professional lifeline’ to my resume,” Street joked, deflecting again and switching back on topic. “My point is, 20 Squad will always be there for you. We’re a family. Better family than I’ve ever known, that’s for sure. And no matter where you are or what trouble you’re in, we’ll always come looking for you to bail you out.”
They fell into easier conversation then, covering the hospital visit and the uneventful drive back to LA. When they finally fell silent again, Chris braced herself and steered the conversation back to dangerous territory.
“Miguel asked me earlier if I think of my tía and tío in dangerous situations like we had today. And he asked me if I think about what they’d do without me.”
“See, that’s not something I have to think about anymore.” Street sighed at the other end of the line. “With my mom gone, I’m the only family that’s going to miss me.”
“Los cojones. Who was just talking about 20 Squad being a family? You’re a part of that family too, Street, don’t you go forgetting it!”
“Oh I don’t,” he said, with an edge to his voice. “The squad is the reason we…never mind. What were you saying?”
Chris winced at the implication. 20 Squad was the only reason they weren’t together. If they weren’t so bonded to their team then one of them would have moved squads, or left S.W.A.T. altogether, and they might be together right now. Scrambling to reassemble her thoughts, Chris carried on.
“I told Miguel that I don’t let myself think about that. But I lied.” She paused, then clarified. “Well, I do think about my aunt and uncle. It’s just not the whole truth. Because there’s someone else I think about too. And when it looked like everything was going to hell today, I was thinking about them…but I was thinking about you too.”
Street’s breath caught at the other end of the line, and Chris was simultaneously grateful and regretful that they weren’t in the same room so she could see the expression on his face. But when he replied, she decided she was glad she wasn’t there.
“What are you saying, Chris?” Street asked, his voice tense and strained. “Because I can’t keep going back and forth like this. I lo…you know how I feel about you, but I can’t keep putting myself out there again and again and getting hurt every time.”
Chris bit her lip, wincing as the action tugged at the split in the corner of her mouth.
“You know I’ll always be here for you, Chris. But I can’t keep doing this, hoping that we’re going to be something that we’re not. It hurts too much.”
Chris’s heart wrenched at his words. For a split second she regretted ever picking up the phone and considered giving up altogether. But that was the old Chris, the reserved Chris. And after today, she was trying to change. She had to learn to be more vulnerable, more open with Street. Because he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and emotions came so easily to him in a way they never could for her. But she had to try. She owed him that.
“I thought I was going to die today,” she said, her voice a little unsteady with nerves. “And you know what my biggest regret was?”
“Probably that you didn’t have a gun in your hand so you could go down fighting,” Street replied dryly, and Chris laughed.
“That too. But today I was kneeling in the dust, thinking that maybe all our options had finally run out, and all I could think about was you. And how I wish I’d had the courage to tell you how I feel before it was too late.”
She took a breath, licking her dry lips and summoning her courage.
“And how do you feel?” Street asked softly.
“Are you going to make me spell it out?” Chris asked, laughing again with a mix of nerves and frustration.
“I don’t know if I’ll believe it unless you do.”
“It’s not ideal, over the phone.” She paused, weighing her options. “Can I come over? I can’t drive, but I can take a cab.”
“You’re not going anywhere. I’ll come to you. I can be at yours in 15 minutes on my bike.” He paused. “You sure about this?”
Chris wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to let down her walls. But there was no one else she wanted to try doing it for.
“When I got home to an empty apartment tonight I realised I didn’t want to see anyone – not my aunt or uncle, or the team – but I needed to see you and hear your voice, and I needed to know I could do it again tomorrow, and the next day. I don’t know how to live without you, Street.”
She thought she heard another sharp intake of breath from his end of the line, but dismissed it when she heard a jangle of keys and soft footsteps padding towards the front door. Chris held her breath, waiting for the sound of Luca’s voice to slow him down, but he must have gone to bed because the next thing she heard was the sound of the front door closing quietly behind Street.
“I’m not going to be able to talk while I’m riding over,” he said.
“That’s OK. Call me when you get here.”
“The second I turn off the engine. And Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“For the record, I don't know how to live without you either.”
Chris hung up, butterflies crashing through her battered body, and slowly levered herself to her feet. She had a crutch abandoned in the kitchen that the doctor recommended she use, but she’d ignored it so far in favour of leaning on walls and hopping when the pain in her left leg got too much to bear. By the time she’d made it back to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, her nerves were jangling at an all-time high.
What had she been thinking? Was this all a huge mistake? They had careers to think of. Street had fought his way back into S.W.A.T. after Hondo kicked him out, and she had been fighting since the day she submitted her application to earn her place. She had never committed to anything else like she’d committed to S.W.A.T., and now she was risking it all for someone. A person. People couldn’t be relied on. Couldn’t be trusted not to let you down.
But this was Street. Her best friend. Her partner. The one person she trusted above anyone else. She trusted him with her life already, did it every day without a second thought. Was it so different to hand over her heart into his care too?
Her phone buzzed on the worktop beside her, and her stomach turned over at the sight of Street’s name flashing up on the screen. Time to be brave.
“Hey,” she said as she answered, her voice unsteady.
“I’m here.”
Chris started limping towards her apartment door as she heard him lock the bike, heard his footsteps heading towards her building.
“Haven’t changed your mind in the time it took me to ride over here, have you?”
Street was nervous too, she could hear it in his voice. She answered him with a question.
“Remember how I said that you were the one thing I was starting to feel more sure of?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sure.” She paused. “You haven’t changed your mind have you?”
Street laughed softly.
“I’ve been sure since the first time I kissed you. I mean, I think I knew before then too, I just didn’t let myself acknowledge it.”
Chris heard his footsteps come to a stop outside her apartment. She stared at the door, imagining Street on the other side, staring back.
“Are you going to open the door?” Street asked her after a moment, his voice half-amusement and half-fear.
“I’m scared,” Chris whispered.
She had never let herself admit to being afraid of anything since she was a teenager. But now, with Street just the other side of the door, she realised she’d been scared every day since they met. Scared of the depth of the feelings that this man managed to provoke in her, how he had crept into every part of her life and made it better. And she knew now that he had already taken custody of her heart without her even knowing. Maybe since the first time they kissed, drunk on whiskey and each other. Or the first time she’d realised that he was just a good guy with a troubled past, someone who came from the most broken background imaginable, but refused to let it corrupt him and instead used it to make himself stronger. He had become one of the bravest, kindest men she had ever met, and she was crazy about him. Had been for years. And after today? She was done pretending.
“I’m scared too,” Street admitted, bringing her back to the present. “But you know what they say, ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ and all that.”
“I’m not sure this what they meant when they were talking about that,” Chris laughed, her voice strained. She let out a fast breath and bounced her shoulders, loosening up tight muscles and steeling herself. At the last moment, she closed her eyes.
“I love you, Street.”
The words were almost a whisper, but she knew he heard her. Down the phone, through the door, she heard an exhalation, imagined him closing his eyes and slumping forward where he stood.
“Open the door.”
It was an order and Chris fumbled to obey, turning the handle and pulling the door ajar as she stuffed her phone into her pocket. Her heart thumped to see Street there, in his t-shirt and sweats with a leather jacket hastily thrown over the top. He held his motorcycle helmet loosely in one hand, his phone still pressed to his ear with his other hand. As he saw her, he lowered that hand and ended the call, pocketing his phone without looking at it, his gaze locked on her.
“Say it again,” Street said quietly. “Please.”
She saw the desperation in his eyes, heard it in every syllable. Chris swallowed, licked her lips nervously and squared her shoulders, summoning her courage. She kept her eyes fixed on Street’s and took a deep breath.
“I love you, Street.”
Those four words shattered the invisible barrier between them for good, as the smile that lit up Street's face made Chris's heart sing and made every second of fear worthwhile.
"Finally," he sighed, and he closed the gap between them in one stride, sweeping her into his arms and pulling her flush against him. “I love you too, Chris,” he murmured, before his lips covered hers.