A/N: This chapter's a bit longer, but it's the final one in this little installment. :) I actually wish this one was in Jamie's POV, but it's good to get Eddie's too. I'm itching to write in Jamie's again, so count on something else from me in the near future. Thank you for your thoughtful reviews! They're the best motivation. Enjoy!

"Your mom has a room just for wrapping presents." Jamie says it matter-of-factly as he trails me back out into the hallway.

"Well it's a craft room," I explain. "Craft room-slash-gift wrapping room."

He laughs. "Interesting."

"Are you mocking her crafts?"

"Never."

I sigh and lead him to the door at the top of the stairs. "You get lonely when your husband's in prison."

He stays quiet and I glance back at him. "Now for the last stop on our tour," I announce. "Follow me." When I pass through the doorway to my old bedroom, I present it unceremoniously. "Very exciting."

I watch Jamie as he steps into the room and lifts his gaze to assess his surroundings: the coastal teal walls decorated with a collection of frames, from old pictures of friends, to certificates and awards from high school. He steps closer to them and I take a seat on my plush white comforter, letting the quiet linger over us.

He peers up and moves further along the wall. "You have quite the collection here." Then he stops and points at the red and blue UPenn pennant pinned to the wall. "You and your Philly roots. That explains so much."

"It explains why I'm so refined and brilliant."

He groans softly with a shake of his head. "Give me a break."

I feel the curve of a smile gradually lift my cheek as I lean back and watch him. "This room is like, frozen in time. It's crazy."

"Wait a minute here." As he approaches a bookcase, he leans closer. "Who… is that?"

I squint across the room and see him studying another framed picture on the shelf. I push myself up and make my way to peer over his shoulder. "Oh jeez."

"Is that you?"

"I was a lifeguard."

He picks up the frame and examines it closer. "You definitely were."

"Don't be gross, Reagan."

"Can I keep this?"

A laugh bursts out of me and I attempt to snatch the frame from him, but he twists away.

"How old were you in this picture?"

I shake my head. "Probably 18."

Jamie lets out a playful low whistle, then glances at it once more before he raises his arm out of my reach. "It's like all my teenage Baywatch fantasies are coming to the surface." He laughs and finally hands over the picture frame.

Giving him a shove on the arm, I have to bite my lip as I look down to remember the photo. "You're a punk."

"I didn't know you were a lifeguard."

"Every summer since I was 16 'til I graduated college."

He eases his head back and blinks in surprise. "Damn."

"Camp Cayuga in the Poconos."

He cuts me a look and a cute little smirk curves on his lips. "I definitely would have done some fake drowning."

With a bump of my hip, I knock him off his balance a step as I look once more at the picture: me leaning up against a lifeguard stand in my red one-piece swimsuit, whistle around my neck and aviator sunglasses, posing next to two guys I worked with, their rescue tubes at their sides.

I reach over to replace the frame on the shelf, then turn toward my bed.

He takes a thoughtful moment as if to ponder it. "So… grew up a lifeguard, business major at UPenn. When was the decision to become a cop?"

Pulling my feet up, I sit cross-legged on the bed and inhale a deep breath. "I was supposed to go into finance. Like my father," I start. "I never felt a calling for it. You know? It just felt… like this all-consuming disregard for people. For humanity." I let out this sad little laugh. "And that's great if that's your thing. It was a very driven, ambitious world."

Jamie exhales softly in amusement and approaches the bed. "Sounds like Harvard."

I offer him a smile and scoot over, making room for him and pat the comforter beside me. "That's not to say I'm not ambitious. But… I knew I was meant to do something more."

He nods as he slides onto the bed beside me, propping himself against the headboard.

"Did you feel that way?" I wonder.

"Yeah."

"I realized there's bad guys and good guys, but sometimes the bad guys don't have to turn out that way," I explain. "It doesn't have to be their destiny. I guess… I wanted a stake in society that would let me intercept them." I pause and, pressing my lips together, glance over at him to see him just watching me talk so I continue. "And I know that sounds like rookie idealism. I know some bad guys, most bad guys, are just bad guys. And I can't put the blame for them on my shoulders or I'll go crazy. You taught me that."

The gradual smile on his face makes his eyes glow in that warm way that I love. "Your idealism is one of my favorite things about riding with you. Don't ever lose it."

I can't resist the tilt of my head as I groan, "Aww, sport."

"Shut up," he mutters.

Laughing softly, I adjust down onto the pillows, propping up on one elbow to face him. "So anyway. I decided to take out my ruthless ambition on the bad guys instead of Wall Street. And look at me now," I tease wistfully.

Resting his head back on the headboard, he turns to glance down at me and we let a quiet moment hang there. "I'm glad you did."

"I'm glad you ditched fancy lawyer life," I tell him. "Did you ever practice?"

He nods. "For about a year."

"I always thought the cool thing about being a lawyer would be eating Chinese food straight from the takeout box with chopsticks while wearing a disheveled suit, late at the office," I muse. "I always thought that was sexy."

He sputters a laugh and tilts his head against the headboard shaking it slowly in amusement. "What?"

"I feel like they were always doing that on Ally McBeal."

He laughs harder, one of his quiet laughs that just shakes his shoulders the more he thinks about it and eventually slides down beside me. "Oh my god," he groans. "You would think that. That makes perfect sense."

I flick his arm. "But you know what I'm talking about."

"Nothing about being an attorney is sexy, I'm here to tell you."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Not like your days at Camp Cayuga."

My palm flattens on his chest and I playfully shove him back. "I should have known you were still thinking about that."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs.

"If you want to take that picture home so that you can have some alone time with it, I understand."

He laughs and then cocks one eyebrow as if he's considering it. "I might just do that."

A tease of a smile threatens my lips and I narrow my eyes at him. "I know your weakness. Now I know how I'm going to surprise you next Halloween. Show up at your apartment in that red bathing suit, carrying a life preserver."

"Oh hell yeah." Furrowing his brow, he nods in appreciation.

Amused, I affect this faux flirtatious voice and lean closer to him. "Twirl my whistle around my fingers…"

"This is having an effect on me I wasn't expecting."

I crack up and fall against him, my forehead on his shoulder. "Alright, I'm stopping."

"Yes," he laughs. "You need to stop. Although…" And with a climactic pause, one eyebrow jumps. "Maybe I'll show up in a disheveled suit with some Chinese food, if we're talking sexy weaknesses."

"Ugh!" I let out a loud moan and fall onto my back. "That's rude. I'd be so into that."

He shakes his head and we let our collective amusement taper off in the otherwise quiet room until he speaks up again. "I can't decide if I know way too much about you. Or if I need to know more."

With a soft giggle, I turn my head to glance up at him. "I have plenty of secrets you haven't discovered yet."

"Yeah? Like your rap sheet?"

"No comment."

"What'd you do?"

"I'm an upstanding citizen," I insist. "You can look me up in the database."

He just blinks, and waits patiently for a confession, his face all enticing planes and angles. If I look at him for too long, my chest gets hot and I have to find a deep breath.

"I stole a golf cart when I was 15," I admit.

A grin breaks out on his face and he shifts onto his back with a hearty chuckle. "What the hell, Janko?"

"I didn't think it was like, actual theft!"

He just laughs harder and gives me that judgmental shake of his head.

"But apparently it's like stealing a car." I shrug. "Those things are actually licensed to people. Whatever, I was just trying to be cool and the boy I had a crush on was a caddy at the country club." My explanation just sort of morphs into amusement beside him.

"Of course he was." Jamie rests his arms back behind his head. "Was he impressed?"

"No," I laugh. "But I learned my lesson and the cop gave me a break."

"Ah ha."

"See? A positive run-in with the police can change a kid's whole perception of them."

"Or that cop just didn't want to deal with you."

Quickly, I jab my elbow into his side. "You hush."

"Well... I'm happy you straightened out your life."

"What about you, huh?" I wonder, narrowing my gaze at him in suspicion. "There's no way you're one hundred percent Boy Scout."

"Do you know my family?" He argues. "I couldn't get away with shit."

I simply look at him, arching an eyebrow while I wait, the same way he does to me until finally his head turns my way.

"I used to smoke in law school."

With a dramatic gasp and I feel my eyes light up as I swiftly turn onto my side. "Reagan!"

Pressing his lips together, he shoots me this look like he's a kid who's just been caught. Then he laughs at himself. "It wasn't that bad."

I turn my head, cutting him a glare in disbelief. "Just when you think you know a guy."

"Hey, I quit when I was a 3L," he explains. "I didn't even like it, I just…" And then he shrugs. "That place sort of brought out the worst in me sometimes."

I have to smile at that being Jamie's most offensive scandal. "Well. If smoking was the worst in you, I think you're gonna be okay. We won't tell the Boy Scouts, I doubt they'll revoke your membership."

With a swift jerk, he nudges me in the leg with his knee. "You criminal," he mutters.

The bass of his voice seems to vibrate inside of me when he's laying this close. I catch myself holding my breath. When I realize it, it throbs inside of me for a moment before I manage a heavy exhale.

"Would it be stupid to take a nap right now?" I wonder. The afternoon sun filtered through sheer white curtains gives the room this sleepy glow against the cool bedding.

Jamie adjusts onto his side once more to mirror my position, resting his head on the pillow. "No. That's probably smart."

"I'm just thinking about how long we have to work tonight."

He nods and I feel my gaze flit down to the curve of his lips. There's this gravity about him when we're this close, it's like I can't back out of it. "Let's try to get some sleep then," he murmurs.

In my head, I'm telling myself to turn over, to face away from him, but I just sort of nod instead and appreciate that even though he took a shower in my house and smells like my soap, his t-shirt still smells like him. And the familiar sensation only draws me in closer.

"Do you want me to go sleep in the gift wrapping room?" He asks.

With a soft laugh, I shake my head. "No, stay." And then I gather the determination to adjust, and flip over onto my other side. Before I do, I prop myself up, then point to the bed and with my index finger, draw an imaginary line down the length of his body, between his and mine. "Line in the sand, remember." I arch a meaningful brow, then quickly settle onto my side away from him.

I want so badly to fit myself against him, to feel him behind me. My entire body buzzes for it. I make myself close my eyes and manage a steady exhale, but my breath shakes.

My focus stills on the soft sounds of him adjusting on the bed, then my own, skin on cotton bedding. The only noise is the ceiling fan and Jamie's soft breathing. His chest expands behind me with each breath and he's so close, I sense it. Without touching, I still feel it.

I tell myself it's unintentional when my back arches slightly in a stretch, tilting my hips back in front of him. But when I do, I feel the curve there just barely graze him and he reacts with a sharp inhale that we both pretend we didn't notice.

There's no way I can sleep with my heart pounding this fast. I'm so aware of him and the heat in my chest and the ache that I have for him that won't let me unwind.

Then I feel his hand in my hair, he threads his fingers through it and flips it over my shoulder. In confusion, I shift up to look back at him.

With a sleepy voice, he explains, "Your hair's on my side of the line."

I tease him with an impatient huff, and grumbling to appease him, I sweep all of my hair over the shoulder I'm laying on and situate myself back on the pillow. "There. Can we sleep now?"

And as if he can sense this need I have for him, his hand goes to my hip and with a tug, he pulls me back against him and drapes his arm around my waist. "Yes. Goodnight," he murmurs.

It feels perfect and it's like all the nerves that were flitting through my body just melt at the contact. Under different circumstances, this might have made those nerves, that desire worse, winding me up tighter. But my body gives in to the need I have for rest in the stillness that surrounds us. And soon enough, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against my back eases me to sleep.

The End.

Thanks again! I hope to write more in this little universe. Because, I mean... let's be real. There's something unresolved here. ;)

I appreciate the support!