Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
She pulls back just enough to look at me.
“You don’t protect yourself from loss by refusing to love,” she says. “You just guarantee you’re alone.”
The truth hits hard.
“You think I don’t see you packing and feel like my chest is splitting open?” I ask. “I’m thirty-seven,” I say. “You’re twenty-four.”
“And?”
“I’ve lived a whole life before you.”
“I’m not threatened by that.”
“I come with history.”
“So do I.”
“You deserve someone who doesn’t hesitate.”
“Then stop hesitating.”
The air between us crackles.
I look at her suitcase again.
At the reality of waking up tomorrow and her not being here.
Not hearing her laugh in the kitchen.
Not watching her braid Lacee’s hair at the counter.
The thought feels wrong.
Viscerally wrong.
“You walk out that door,” I say slowly, “and I lose the best thing that’s happened to me since the fire.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“Say it again.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in love with you.”
The words hit the room like thunder.
Silence.
Her lips part.
I don’t look away.
“I tried to cage it,” I admit. “Tried to control it. Tried to call it timing or guilt or age.”
My hand slides down her back, firm.
“But it’s not any of that.”
“What is it?” she breathes.
“It’s you.”
Her hand trembles against my chest.
“You’re not my almost,” I say again, lower now. “You’re the woman I want to build with.”
Her eyes gloss—but she doesn’t cry.
“You’re choosing me?” she asks carefully.
“Yes.”
“Not because you’re afraid I’ll leave.”
“No.”
“Not because Lacee loves me.”
“No.”
“Because you want me.”
“Because I can’t imagine this house without you in it.”
Her breath shudders. “You won’t hide me?”
“Never.”
“You won’t retreat when it gets real?”
“I won’t.”
Her fingers grip my shirt tighter. “And if you do?”
“Then you call me on it.”
Her lips tremble slightly. “You’re sure?”
I slide my hand to her jaw, tilting her face up.
“I’ve never been more sure.”
The weight shifts.
The suitcase between us no longer feels like an exit. It feels like something we just survived.
“You scared me,” I murmur.
“You scared me first.”
I almost smile. “Fair.”
Her hands slide from my chest to my shoulders. “If I stay,” she says quietly, “you don’t get to use my age as a shield.”
“That one might take practice.”
She gives me a look.
“I’ll try harder.”
Silence softens. The tension shifts from sharp to charged.
“You were really going to leave,” I murmur. My hand slides down her spine, pulling her closer. “I can’t lose you,” I say against her temple.
“You won’t,” she whispers. “Not if you stop letting fear drive.”
I pull back just enough to see her. “I don’t want to just survive anymore.”
“Then don’t.”
My hand cups the back of her neck. Hers slide into my hair and I kiss her. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers.
“You unpack,” I say quietly.
She smiles faintly.
“Bossy.”
“Decisive.”
She studies me one last time.
Then she reaches past me, grabs the zipper of the suitcase, and slowly unzips it.
The sound feels like a promise.
I take her face in my hands.
“I’m done losing things I love because I’m afraid of what happens next.”
Her eyes shine.
“Good,” she whispers.
Chapter 12
Tessa
The call comes just after dinner the following night.
We’re halfway through clearing the table when Sawyer’s radio crackles sharp and urgent on the counter. Lacee startles. I freeze.
Sawyer doesn’t.
He moves.
Chair back. Radio in hand. Eyes already shifting into that controlled, locked-in focus I’ve learned to recognize.
“Structure fire. East ridge,” the dispatcher says.
His jaw tightens.
“I’ve got it,” he answers, already heading for the door.
He pauses only long enough to look at Lacee. “I’ll be back before you wake up.”
She nods, brave like she’s practiced it.
He doesn’t look at me.
The door shuts behind him and the finality of it makes my heart ache.
The house instantly feels colder.
Sirens wail through town twenty minutes later.
Lacee pretends not to hear them.
I tuck her into bed early. Read two extra chapters of her book. Sit on the edge of her bed until her breathing evens out.
Then I walk to the porch.
The sky over Devil’s Peak glows faint orange in the distance.
I hug my arms around myself.
He told me he wasn’t bracing anymore.
But the second that radio went off, I saw it.
The armor.
He comes home just after two in the morning.
The truck door slams harder than usual.
I’m still awake on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, pretending to watch late-night reruns.
The front door opens.
Smoke follows him in.
He looks wrecked.
Soot streaked across his jaw. Shirt clinging damp to his chest. Eyes dark—not tired. Haunted.
“You’re up,” he says.
“You smell like smoke.”
“Hazard of the job.”
His voice is flat.
He drops his duffel bag near the stairs. Doesn’t move toward me.
Doesn’t touch me.
Something’s wrong.
I stand.
“How bad?”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “Contained.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His gaze snaps to mine. A beat of silence stretches tight between us.
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
“Don’t what?”
“Dig.”
I step closer anyway. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
His jaw flexes. “You weren’t there, Tessa.”
“No,” I say evenly. “But I’m here now.”
The air changes. He exhales hard and turns away, pacing once across the living room.