Page 82 of No Hope of Rescue

A half hour of mutual admiration stuff ensues between the men. There will be legal paperwork to sign later, and he’ll have to be bonded, but as Brock says, “You are a part of us now.”

Then the place devolves into silliness. At one point, Codie is laughing so hard Jace has to retrieve tissues twice. Soon, Devon and Luke pick up where we thought the visit would start: telling war stories of smoke jumping and catching up on their lives in Echo Bay. It turns out Luke is now a fire inspector, and Devon is the only female firefighter in the Saxton’s Bay Fire Department. Luke’s brother, Keller, is the chief.

I’ve never heard her backstory, though. I don’t think I knew she grew up in Echo Bay on the coast of Maine.

“Yeah,” Devon says, patting her husband’s leg. “And it was Keller that got me kicked off the boys’ soccer team in high school.” There’s a round of commiserating moans. She explains, “But it was all for good. He had his reasons,” she says with a glint in her eye. “This time, though, I have one on him—I’ll be taking leave soon.”

Carter hands her another cup of tea. Brock has already teased her about the herbal raspberry selection she seems to not be getting enough of.

“I’ve seen you knock back three espressos back-to-back,” he says, jutting a chin in the direction of her mug. “This is so sad.”

“Yes. Well. You know, I can’t have caffeine. It’s hard to climb a ladder in the third trimester. I’ll be on deskwork in six months.”

That’s when the decibels rise. Again.

“When are you due?”

“Boy or girl?”

“Do you have names picked out?”

“Do your sibs know?”

The questions come at them from all sides.

“Nugget” is all I hear as an answer to the name question. And “Nugget” seems perfect right now.

The excited chatter calms down, and Devon is soon lying on the sofa, wrapped in a throw with a multitude of pillows under her arms and legs. “This is a little overkill, don’t you guys think?”

Brock takes my hand in his. “No. Not at all,” he says and smiles, but I sense there’s some concern there—there’s something he’s not sure of.

΅

Later, much later, I ask him as we lie side by side in bed, “Are you not sure about having a child?”

“What?”

“You seemed pretty stunned by Luke and Devon’s announcement.”

He sighs in the dark. In shadow, I can’t read his face, but he slides closer to me, and my head bobbles slightly as his arm slides underneath. I lift my hair out of the way.

He nuzzles my hair. “I thought you were the one who didn’t want kids. You always said you’d never have one.”

I don’t say anything. How can I tell him that he’s made me brave enough to think about it. I used to be afraid I’d be a terrible mother—that there was no escaping my fate. Brock rescued me from my own history. He rescued me from seeing myself as becoming a person I never wanted to be. Could never be. My mother’s shadow, dark and malignant, was long, and kept parts of me in the dark. Until now. Until him.

“I might be softening,” is all I say for right now. “We’re talking about you, though.” I take his hand and kiss the top.

“I don’t know. I’ve always thought . . .”

“What?”

“I was devastated when my dad died. I honestly don’t know how my mom did it. We were a mess. I told myself I’d never put anyone through that.”

“You mean if you—”

“If I died, I didn’t want to leave my wife and children like that. I can’t be responsible for that kind of grief.” He pauses. “Saying it out loud sounds stupid and —”

I touch his lips. “No. It doesn’t.” Propped on one elbow, I lean over and kiss him.