Page 78 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
when inside I was dying.
And is it sadder than fuck that right now I’m out here at Miner’s when every part of me wants to text Dylan back and say screw the damn pancakes, I only want her.
But I didn’t. Not even I’m that much of an asshole.
If I went home and did what I wanted to do to her to ease my own fucked-up head, I’d be using her. Using her to make it through the next day. The next night. The next everything.
The kicker? We both know she’d give it to me. It’s the kind of beautiful she is. But then what? She leaves and feels more used than Jett made her feel, and I’m left needing more, still broken, still spiraling.
I start the truck and pull out of the airfield, telling myself I’m going to hit the gym and work out until Brody’s first day is over so I can check on him and see how it went. But for some reason, my truck doesn’t head there. Instead, my hands take the familiar turns back to my house. Left on Hollister. Right on Danville. Left on Prosperity. And then the long drive to my house.
I sit in the truck and stare at it for the longest of time. What would it be like to come home every day to the same woman? To Dylan?
To have a family. A little boy like Brody with inquisitive eyes and a quiet smile. Or one like Luke, who’s loud and rowdy and likes to cause trouble but has a good heart. What would it be like to come home every day after shift and have them run and jump in my arms like we used to with my dad?
Christ. What the fuck am I thinking?
I shift in my seat and feel the stretch of my scarred skin on my back and know that’s the crazy talking. The crazy that will never be. Can’t be.
Could I really put a wife and kids through what Shelby and Brody go through every day?
No.
Does lightning strike twice? What are the odds of walking into a fire and being hurt twice?
Slim.
Christ. I repeat what seems to be my word of the day and sigh.
Then I get out of the truck and head inside. I have every intention of walking in, heading for the shower, and crashing. While we didn’t have any fires last night, we did keep busy with non-stop medical calls, and I’m exhausted.
But when I open the door, Dylan’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes wide, smile soft.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” I take a seat on one of the kitchen chairs and without another word, pull her into me. I rest my forehead against her abdomen and squeeze my hands on her hips.
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t ask. She just threads her fingers through my hair and rubs my scalp as I take whatever it is I need from her without her needing to know why.
We remain like this for some time, with me breathing her in, and Dylan selflessly giving me the comfort I need.
“It was Brody’s first day of school.”
“Hmm.”
“I played the part of dad.” My voice is barely audible, but the kiss she presses to the top of my head says she heard me.
“I saw you,” she murmurs, and her confession surprises the hell out of me. “I was wandering, wasting time until you texted me back . . . I saw you guys. You broke my heart and made it whole all in one fell swoop. I owe you an apology. You’re nothing like my dad. You’re a good man, Grady Malone. A damn good man.”
“Not hardly.”
“Maybe if I say it enough times, you’ll start to believe it.”
That means you’ll have to stick around.
The thought ghosts through my mind, and I realize I want her to stay. For so many reasons.
But all of those reasons are overshadowed by what I had to do today.
