Things You Save in a Fire - Katherine Center Page 0,85
already answered his question. There was no sense in pretending.
So, very slowly, I just nodded.
“Was it a guy?”
I nodded again.
“Was it bad?”
I nodded again.
And then he knew. All the pieces clicked into place for him, and he just knew.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Good,” I said, wiping my cheeks with my palms.
In my whole life, there was nobody who knew, except maybe my old captain in Austin, and possibly—once they’d seen me beat the crap out of Heath Thompson—my old crew, and then, I guess, by extension, the entire ballroom of the city’s bravest who’d been in attendance that night.
Still, it felt like a milestone.
The rookie didn’t take his eyes off me. “Can I tell you something?”
“Okay.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Everybody hurts everybody,” I said, “eventually.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “I might do stupid things. I might forget to pick up milk at the grocery store, or step on your toe when I’m not looking, or do something I don’t even understand, like I just did tonight. But I’ll never be cruel to you. Not knowingly.”
No sense arguing. I knew that was true.
Then I did a crazy thing. I hugged him.
This wasn’t the first hug I’d initiated lately—I’d given quite a record number to Diana and Josie in the past few days—but it was the first hug I could remember in years that I wanted for myself. Something about the expanse of his chest, so close to where I was standing, looked so solid and reassuring—and like a place I just wanted to be. I leaned in to rest my head against it, and the rest of me just followed.
We leaned against the car like that for a good while. I listened to his heartbeat, and his breathing.
Then, through his chest, I heard his muffled voice. “And there’s one more thing.”
I lifted my head, stepped back a little to see his face.
He took a deep breath, like he wasn’t even sure where he was headed. Then he said, “I am in love with you.”
I don’t know what I was expecting—but I promise this wasn’t it.
He went on. “It’s bad. And that kiss that night—it only made things worse. That’s why I’m quitting—partly, anyway. It’s that bad. It’s made things kind of unbearable for me at the station. I suspect you’ve known all along. It must have made you so angry. You’re there to do a job—and you’ve got this house full of guys who underestimate you like every minute of the day—and the last thing you need is some rookie mooning over you.”
Now he was making me smile. “Mooning?”
“Pretty much.”
“Since when?”
He met my eyes. “Since the first day.”
“The first day?” I asked. “The first day at the station?”
He nodded.
“The day they sprayed you with the hose?”
He nodded again.
Holy shit.
He went on. “Nothing would ever happen. Of course. I wasn’t ever even going to tell you about it. Can you imagine the guys? If they even suspected—even if you didn’t condone it or even know—they’d give you endless shit about it. They’d make the firehouse a living hell. For both of us. Right?”
“Right,” I said.
“So I had to stamp it out. Or hide it so well nobody would ever guess.”
I kept my voice cool. “I did not guess.”
“I was doing okay,” he said. “I was really working on it.”
“Working on what?”
“Um,” he said. “On not letting myself talk to you except when absolutely necessary. Not touching you unless forced by the captain. Not following you around. Not asking for advice. Not, you know, staring at you longingly—or even stealing glances the way I might’ve if I were the only person at stake. And just basically trying not to even think about you.” He gave a little shrug. “Failing most of the time on that one, but genuinely trying.”
He looked down at his shoes. “But then—that kiss. It kind of broke everything. It made me wonder if maybe I wasn’t totally alone in all that stuff.”
Um, no. He was not totally alone. But I held still.
He went on. “So that’s why I’m telling you. Because I’m never sure, when you push me away, if you really want me to go.”
I took a step closer, and then another, until my body was right up against his, like it had just been—except this time, rather than curling down against his chest, I reached up, stretched against him, and brought my face close to his.