This is a companion piece to Heartbeats. Same style, different POV, different allegory . . . . Although the first part takes place around the 4.13/5.01 mark, after that, the time frame is exclusively 5.05 through 5.11. I've broken up the story into two chapters to make for an easier read, but it's actually supposed to be one continuous piece. Both chapters are going up at the same time.

Thank you to those people who suggested continuing the first story. I hadn't really considered it until I read your comments. To everyone else, thanks so much (as always) for reading and for reviewing. Next up, I'm thinking about doing a lighter multi-chapter story. Time is a bit of an issue, but I'll try to post again soon.

Andy lifted her foot, preparing to take a tentative step forward. Then, as she'd done more than a few times already, she hesitated and dropped it back into place beside the other foot. It was only one step, but it was a big one, and she was afraid of what it meant—afraid of what that step and all that came after it would require of her. Ahead, the dense forest beckoned, charming her with its shadowy allure. The cool, mossy embankments and lush canopy of trees called out to her, tempting her with the mysteries that undoubtedly lurked behind every formidable tree trunk and gnarled bush.

As enticing as the forest seemed, she was well aware that it was also replete with untold dangers. Inside the leafy perimeter, the landscape was dotted with traps and pitfalls just waiting to ensnare unwary travelers. Very little light filtered through from above, and the prospect of not being able to clearly see what lay ahead was daunting. So Andy hesitated at the forest edge, worrying that the journey into its unknown depths might prove too much for her.

She looked back over her shoulder, questioning why she was even considering going forward alone. Behind her, a field of closely-cropped grass stretched all the way to the horizon and probably beyond. Above it, there were long stretches of gauzy, white clouds that allowed just enough sunlight through to provide the predictable warmth to which she'd become accustomed. To say that the field wasn't pretty would be doing it an injustice. After all, it was quite lovely to look at, and many people had said as much. It was reliable and consistent, and she knew it well. She wondered if it might be better to just stay where she was, secure in the field's grassy expanses.

On the other hand, as she swung her head back toward the forest, its rugged beauty compelled her forward in a way that was nearly impossible for her to resist. Instinctively, she felt that although navigating through its untamed recesses might prove precarious at times, the payoff at the end of her journey had the potential to be so much more rewarding than anything she'd ever known.

Andy felt pressure to make a quick decision as she hovered indecisively along the seam between field and forest. Should she stay or go? If she stayed, would the comfort and familiarity of the field ever be enough to fully satisfy her? Would she always look over at the forest edge and regret her decision to stay away?

Without any further thought, Andy took a decisive step into the forest. As the dried leaves crunched beneath her shoe, she felt a small burst of confidence. Her decision had been made.

"I love you. I love you. You're my story. Sam, you." The words tumbled off of Andy's tongue, and as terrifying as they were to her, there was also relief in hearing them said out loud. Her words were a formal acknowledgement of a secret she carried deep within her, and with its release, she immediately felt lighter . . . and heavier. As she kissed Sam on the forehead and ran her fingers through his hair, she clung to the desperate hope that those words weren't the last ones she'd ever say to him.

"Officer, you're gonna have to move back." As it turned out, the paramedic's directive would be a recurring theme during the twelve hours that followed. Other than those few harrowing hours at the diner, Andy spent most of her time lurking in the hallway near Sam's room experiencing an odd sort of companionship with the drab hospital walls and cold, hard chairs. She felt raw and stripped-down—like a tiny, hollowed-out version of herself. If Sam never came back to her, would she always be divided and incomplete?

Never, during the year they'd spent apart, had she considered what it might feel like to actually lose him—to know that he could be completely erased from her life, from her world, from her everything . . . . While she hovered in the hallway waiting to find out if he'd live or die, that realization smacked Andy over and over again, each time with a fresh intensity. Even if he wasn't with her, she'd assumed he would still be somewhere, and now, when faced with the truth, her entire body recoiled at the prospect of losing him altogether. She wasn't sure she could even exist in a world that didn't have Sam in it.

From somewhere on the other side of her fear that he wouldn't recover, Andy also wondered what would happen if he did pull through. Would they try again? Would he even want to go down that road with her? Was she equipped with what she needed to try and make things work a second time? Certainly, putting their shattered relationship back together wouldn't be without its challenges, and those challenges were enough to leave her feeling apprehensive about the prospect of them hurting each other all over again.

Of course, the takeaway from the past day was that life was too fragile not to seize every opportunity for happiness. In one day, Andy had seen three people get shot, and one of them had died. If there was a message in all of that, it wasn't subtle. Life was a gift, and they should be taking advantage of every moment they had to get it right. Even if Sam's shooting hadn't awakened her to that notion, the kids from the diner certainly would have. The image of Zack being carried out in a body bag was a poignant reminder that not everyone got a second chance. So Andy forced herself to acknowledge that all fears aside, she'd be an idiot not to try again with Sam if that's what he wanted.

When the nurse finally let her into his room, Andy took that as a good sign. It meant he was stable enough for visitors. So she readily relocated her silent vigil from the hallway to the chair beside Sam's bed, thankful for the visual confirmation that he was doing okay. Having him right in front of her, looking solid and very much alive, went a long way toward appeasing Andy's frayed nerves.

Before hustling off to deal with another patient, the nurse had offered a very vague prediction that Sam would probably wake up "soon," leaving Andy to wonder if that meant five minutes or five hours. As it turned out, "soon" wasn't very long at all. According to Andy's watch, it was seventeen minutes and twenty-four seconds exactly. Sam stirred, and the machine beside him beeped, confirming that something significant was happening. With sweaty palms and a racing pulse, Andy watched him exhale and open his eyes. She desperately needed to re-establish that connection between them so that she could feel whole again.

As Sam turned toward her, the recognition in his eyes shot straight through Andy, soothing the more restless parts of her soul and restoring a sense of balance to her world. Then he started talking, and she found herself clinging to every syllable. Each word was a fresh reassurance that he was still there with her.

When he told her what he wanted, she readily agreed with him. She didn't want to waste any more time either, and she certainly didn't want to be sad anymore. The second Ford's bullet had ripped through Sam, it tore open Andy's soul, ruthlessly exposing feelings and emotions that she'd been suppressing for more than a year. She could no longer deny—no longer wanted to deny—that she loved Sam beyond all reason. If he still had feelings for her, there was no way she wouldn't try to make things work with him. In spite of the doubt and fear she felt, she realized that moving into the unknown with him was better than going anywhere without him.

Several steps in and Andy surveyed her new environment cautiously, still hovering close to the relative safety and familiarity of the forest edge. She suspected that the woods ahead were only a means to an end. And what was on the other side? She had no idea, but she knew it was something she wanted, a thing of great value that would make her journey worth the effort. An unexplainable desire urged her forward, quietly assuring her that everything would be okay if she could only get going.

Andy looked ahead, noting with disappointment that there was no well-worn path to serve as her guide—only a tangled mass of fallen branches and underbrush beneath the thick foliage above her. As she hung back near the edge of the forest, she hoped she'd made the right decision. She was firm in her resolve not to turn back, but she was just as firm in her fear of the unknown. So even though she took a few steps here and there, they were sporadic and careful. Unfamiliar with the shady nooks and deceptive dips of the forest, she lacked the confidence required to adopt a faster pace. She was there in the forest and that was something, but still, she reminded herself of the need for caution.

Andy was angry, festering and resentful of the situation in which she suddenly found herself. She'd given Duncan every opportunity to succeed. Every chance to prove himself. Every shot at becoming something other than a screwup. She'd wanted all of those things for him and selfishly, she'd also wanted them for herself. After all, she was his training officer, which meant his failures were her failures. So she'd glossed over his rather comprehensive list of deficiencies in her reports, hoping that he'd suddenly turn things around and start acting like a real cop. And in the end, all that her efforts had earned her was a big, fat complaint filed by the very same screwup she was trying to protect.

Although she initially focused her ire on Duncan and the unfairness of the entire situation, eventually, she had to own that she was also incredibly frustrated with herself for creating such a colossal mess. Her own part—the part that only Andy knew—weighed heavily on her. Sticking her neck out for the rookie had been a huge mistake, a mistake that would likely cause everyone to question her judgment and her credibility when the truth came out.

Andy tried to keep her frustration buttoned up tightly, but inside, she was a churning mix of barely-concealed hostility and resentment that threatened to spill out every time she opened her mouth to speak. Working closely with Sam wasn't exactly easing her burden either. She couldn't seem to shake him off. No matter how surly or abrasive she got with him, he just kept coming back for more. Unlike most people she knew, he wasn't satisfied with a curt, "I'm fine," because he knew she wasn't.

Somehow, in the midst of her bitter ramblings and snide remarks, it occurred to Andy that Sam was working her over. How many times had she told him she didn't want to talk? And yet, he kept asking . . . . Worst of all, though, was that he seemed to be waiting, and she assumed he was just biding his time until she crumbled and told him exactly what was bothering her.

She really didn't want him to know about the omissions in her reports. Of all people, his opinion mattered most, and she just couldn't bring herself to make him privy to something that might tarnish that.

Initially, Sam's attempts at drawing her out had been limited to subtle inquiries that she was able to easily deflect. But then, he followed her to the kitchen and what happened there was something truly impressive. That's when he really started to push, maneuvering around her in a way that easily announced that he knew which buttons to press to get her to where she needed to be. As he systematically wore her down, she fired back at him with the hostility that had been brewing since she found out about Duncan's complaint. If she hadn't been so angry, even she might have cringed at how bitterly she said, "Okay. Thank you for sharing that. That's a great story—novel, even—but you might wanna reconsider how that's reassuring to me."

Seemingly unfazed by the venom suddenly aimed at him, Sam persisted, and she had to admit that he was right. Just because someone brought a frivolous claim against her didn't mean there was any merit to it. Of course, there was still the other part that he didn't know . . . .

So she finally gave up and told Sam the truth, and as she laid it all out in front of him she felt apprehensive but also relieved that he now shared her secret. Although he seemed concerned, what she read in his expression was mostly just simple acceptance. When she admitted that her goal was to try and make Duncan look better, he actually smiled, and she knew he was thinking about that part of her that, as he'd said, believed in people because she knew they could be better. Right then, as much as she despised that part of herself—hated that it was so deeply engrained in her psyche—she realized Sam didn't. She figured it was probably one of the things he appreciated about her the most. And that was when her anger finally started to fade.

As she stood at the kitchen counter shaking her head in mock frustration, she couldn't escape the thought that Sam cared about her enough to genuinely appreciate how each individual aspect of her personality came together to make up the whole person. He accepted who she was, and he understood her.

Without her even realizing it, he was gradually sliding the rug underneath her feet, reminding her that she could trust him and more importantly, that he was going to be there for her. As time passed, he was renewing her confidence in who they were as a couple and what they might become. Their progress was slow, but gradually, it was happening and Andy was starting to believe in them again.

Andy told herself that she really did need to start moving. She was wasting time, and she was being far too careful. Drawing in a breath, she forced her feet to take a series of definitive steps, each one carrying her deeper into the forest. With each new footfall, she looked down, cautiously examining the ground beneath her to be sure that it was solid enough to support her weight. Gradually, she felt more confident in her stride and began pushing herself a bit further until finally, she looked back and realized she could no longer see the edge of the forest behind her at all. Just like that, she'd committed to the journey. She'd taken that leap, knowing that she would either be consumed by the forest or safely reach the other side, having successfully navigated all of the challenges and pitfalls that presented themselves along the way.

As they drove back into Toronto, the truck was buzzing with nervous enthusiasm. With a slight tilt of her head, Andy eyed Sam from across the cab. When he caught her watching him and smiled, she grinned self-consciously and quickly turned away. Since Sam's confession about his father and everything that followed, the rest of the ride back from Milburn had been peppered with intense stares, furtive glances and suppressed smiles as swells of excitement and anticipation rippled and crashed between them. Not much was actually said, due in part to the fact that Andy didn't trust herself not to produce an embarrassing display of excited chatter that would only make her seem even more like the besotted idiot that she knew she was. As for Sam, he seemed happier and more at ease than Andy ever remembered seeing him.

When he whipped into the lot at 15, she looked down at her watch, marveling at how everything had changed for them in one afternoon.

"We should take more road trips," she remarked casually as Sam maneuvered the truck into a parking spot.

"You do love travel games."

"Well, yeah, there's that. But also, good things seem to happen for us on road trips."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You call losing a prisoner in the woods a good thing?"

"That wasn't the good part," she told him with an impatient smile. "The good part was that we really connected on that trip and got to know each other better."

"I still went home alone, though," he reminded her. "Not sure I'd call that good."

"Maybe you'll have better luck this time," she said coyly.

"Maybe?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Probably," she supplied with a laugh.

"McNally, I think the word you're looking for is 'definitely.'"

"Wow. Such confidence," Andy observed lightly. She unbuckled her seat belt and pushed open the door, sliding easily to the ground. "Meet you back here in ten?"

"I'll be here," he confirmed, settling back against the seat to wait. To anyone else he would have seemed casual and confident, but Andy could clearly see that he was feeling vulnerable, as if perhaps the sudden separation after all he'd told her had him worrying that she might change her mind about them.

"Ten minutes," she repeated, looking at him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she shut the door and headed into the station to change.

Andy walked quickly, keeping her eyes focused on the ground with the hope of avoiding anyone who might want to talk. Her plan was simple: get in, get changed and get out. The walk from door to locker took half the time it usually did. As she spun her combination and flung open the locker door, she urged herself into an even faster pace, hoping to pack her usual fifteen-minute changing ritual into a more condensed ten-minute version. She glanced around her, glad to see that the room was mostly empty. She didn't have the wherewithal to carry on an intelligible conversation about anything other than Sam, and even then, she couldn't trust herself not to sound like a babbling teenage girl gushing about some boy she really, really liked.

In her lifetime, Andy McNally had been told she was a lot of things—too trusting, moderately talented on the basketball court, loyal, even dogmatic. But never had anyone accused her of being a patient person. And that's because she wasn't. She was literally about to burst into flames. She was that ready to move things to the next level with Sam. As she thought of exactly how much she wanted him, she began moving even faster, whipping her T-shirt off and grabbing the plaid button-up out of her locker in one seamless movement. The tension between them had been building for a while, but since the kiss in his truck, it had become almost unbearable. Even worse was that they'd been there before, which meant Andy knew exactly what she was missing.

Button. Button. Button. Button. Andy's fingers moved feverishly up her blouse with only the slightest tremble. Beneath her flushed yet relatively relaxed exterior, she was a vibrating heap of raw emotions. There was anxiety, eagerness, hope and definitely excitement. As Andy pawed through her locker, she forced herself to take several calming breaths in an attempt to restore order to her mind and body.

By the time she moved to the mirror and dragged a brush through her hair she was insanely nervous, so as she scrutinized the face in front of her ruthlessly, she sternly muttered, "Andy McNally, pull yourself together." Four deep breaths and a definitive head nod later, and she was ready to go. Throwing her dirty uniform and a few essentials into her bag, she slammed her locker door shut and made quick strides toward the door.

As she exited the locker room, she stopped abruptly when she saw Sam leaning against the wall across from her.

"I thought you were meeting me at the truck," she said, making every effort to suppress a grin.

"Changed my mind." He pushed himself off of the wall and nudged her down the hallway toward the exit.

As he fell into step beside her, Andy watched him curiously, enjoying the fact that he'd come in to get her and wondering if he'd really done it because he was afraid she might not come back out. "Did you think I'd get lost?"

"You do have a pretty terrible sense of direction."

"I do not," she laughed.

Lowering his voice, he leaned in close to her. "That's okay. You're in denial. I get it. Sometimes it's hard to admit the truth to ourselves."

"You're impossible," she groaned, shaking her head at him.

"I ran into Oliver in the parking lot. I told him I was taking you home. Said you'd file your report in the morning."

In her haste to get in and out and on with their night, Andy acknowledged that she'd conveniently dismissed all thoughts of work. "Was he okay with that?"

"I think so," he said with a shrug. "He was on his way out anyway."

Casually, Sam reached over and took her hand, sliding his fingers between hers and tightening his grip. Automatically, she looked down at their joined hands before sweeping her gaze back up to his face. He was smiling, and she was powerless to do anything but mirror the gesture. Having his hand wrapped around hers felt amazing. It went a long way toward calming any anxiety she felt about the prospect of what was happening between them. Many times she felt tough and unbreakable, but on those rare occasions when she allowed herself to be truly vulnerable, she liked that she could rely on Sam to make her feel safe and protected. That was one of the things she'd missed most, because truly, he was at the top of a very short list of people who ever got to see that side of her.

As they passed through the outer door into the parking lot and Sam's truck loomed up ahead, she quietly said, "You were worried that I might not come back out, weren't you?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Maybe a little," he reluctantly admitted, opening the door to his truck for her.

Andy squeezed his hand, and met his eyes. In them, she saw a flicker of uncertainty that was quickly replaced by something lighter and more hopeful. "I really meant what I said," she assured him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Me either," he echoed, taking her elbow and urging her up into his truck.

When Andy was seated, he closed her door, lingering for a few seconds with his fingers on the handle. In the window, she saw two faces—his image and her reflection—perfectly aligned with each other. As she reached up and touched the outline of their faces on the glass, he smiled softly before stepping back and heading around to the driver's side. Andy dropped her head back against the seat, and her whole body sighed. Finally.