Page 62 of Love Again

I keep my arms around her, rocking her gently from side to side. It takes a long fifteen minutes before her breathing is even in the careful, metered rhythm of exhausted sleep.

I could hold her like this forever.

There’s a throw her mother made on the back of the sofa. Careful not to make too much movement, I pull it over both of us. Her heart flutters against my chest like a bird’s. Her small weight on my stomach and pelvis makes my cock stiffen, but all I do is hold her through the night.

Chapter Sixteen

Devon

When I wake, my legs are nestled between Luke’s and my body is on top of his. I’m a little sweaty under the crocheted quilt Mom stitched. It’s a black-and-multicolored affair that everyone agrees wasn’t her best effort, but I adore it because it was her first. She tried hard to make one for everyone, but with five kids, the younger ones got a little left out. At some point, I’m going to give this to Travis.

Luke has one arm over my back, his hand resting between my shoulder blades. His other arm has dropped to the floor, and his breathing is slow and even. I close my eyes, realizing I’m breathing in sync with him. His heart thuds solid and persistent under my ear.

Last night’s dream was awful. Instead of water accidents or lost and found scenarios, this hit very close to home. Two fires—one with Claire, one with Travis, and I had to choose which one to save. It was awful, and when I would try to run toward one building, it would shrink on the horizon, growing farther and farther away. Then I would turn around and try to run to the other one.

It was like a horrible special effect, and in the end, both were going to perish. I was on my knees, sobbing. And then in the middle of all this, in the middle of the roaring flames and the heat, I heard a voice saying, You’re asleep. This isn’t real.

It was like I was lucid dreaming, but it was lucid reality leaking in. And it was a nightmare, not a dream.

I listened hard and I heard the voice say it over and over again. Then I understood it was Luke’s voice. That’s when I woke up.

I nudge my cold nose into his shirt a little and he stirs. Lazily, he starts rubbing my back, and his other hand comes up and rests on my ass.

I think his body has cooled, and whatever fever he had is gone.

What I know for sure is, I could stay like this forever. The fact I know this, the fact that I’m so happy in his arms, reminds me what makes our love so dangerous.

I try to put these thoughts out of my mind, but it’s hard.

Tipping my head slightly, I watch him resting. I want to believe him. I want to believe we’ll be able to negotiate this. That we will be able to make good decisions in a crisis.

Slowly, carefully, I extract myself from him. As I stand, I tuck the blanket around him, knowing my sudden vacancy could leave him chilled. Quietly, I fill the coffeepot, relieved the coffee is already pulverized in the grinder. There’s enough for four cups. As I flip the switch, he wakes.

“You’re so beautiful. Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this moment?”

I turn and smile. “You’ve never seen my apartment, so I don’t know how you could.”

Luke is sitting up now, one arm on the back of the sofa, the sunlight catching in his stubble. His cotton shirt is open around the neck, and his skin is bathed in the orange light of sunrise.

“It doesn’t matter where we are. I’ve imagined this a hundred times. That we’re sitting, talking, having coffee—together.”

I turn away and get out the half and half.

“Devon, you have to trust us. Learn to receive. Nobody is an island, and I’m the first to admit it. We’re not meant to live our lives alone. I love you, and I told you—I’m going into forensics. I’ll never be on a live site once I leave here. Does that make a difference?”

He says this now, but I know him. He’ll get bored. In a year, after carefully working on a full recovery, he’ll be back at the front.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” I say. I really don’t want to. He’s also only focused on firefighting. I’m thinking of all the other perils that come up in my dreams. I’m not sure I can handle one more person—that I can love and protect one more person.

“That coffee smells good.”

“Black?”

“Thanks. Maple syrup?” He starts to rise.

“I got it. It’s fine. You rescued me last night, so the least I can do is get you some coffee.”

I sit down next to him and hand him the mug, and it’s lovely. His leg presses against mine. He’s got an arm around me, the smell of coffee is in our mouths, and then he leans forward and kisses me on the nape of the neck. His lips are warm from the coffee and his breath is mocha. “I’m glad I was around.”