Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Not yet,” Will says, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa from Fitz.
“When she gets home, tell her to grab a bottle of wine and come see me.”
Will chuckles. “Jesus, Fitz. Sounds like you were an awesome travel companion.”
I don’t look at Fitz. I don’t wait for his response. I can’t.
A little before ten, there are three knocks on my door. “Come in.” I set my book aside and sit up, leaning against the headboard.
Fitz opens the door, holding a coffee mug. He’s freshly showered, in sweats and a T-shirt. And, of course, he brought his clean, masculine scent with him. “Maren’s not coming home tonight. There was a weather delay. I thought it was too late for wine, so I made chamomile tea.” He shuts the door behind him.
“Where’s Will?”
“Hospital. His chief collapsed. They think he’s fine, but Will headed there to make sure.” He hands me the tea and sits on the edge of the bed. “Can I ask what you planned to talk to Maren about?”
“You can, but I’m not going to tell you.”
He runs a hand through his damp hair. “What do you need?”
“Need?” I sip my tea.
“If you tell Maren what happened, we might as well pack up our stuff. Is that what you want? It won’t change what happened. It won’t change the future. We’re not going to ride off into the sunset together. Are you thinking we’ll run our course for the next week or two? After that, I’ll spend every minute I can at work. By midsummer, you’ll move on to the next job. Is it worth finding a new place to live for a few months?”
“I love that you think this is about you. Maybe I have a lump in my breast. Maybe I want Maren to go shopping with me. Maybe I just want to catch up with her. Why does it have to be about you? Do you think my feminine heart is too fragile to handle a weekend between the sheets with you without picking out a wedding dress?”
“Why are you so angry?”
“I’m not angry!”
Fitz’s eyes widen.
“I’m not angry.” I slump, dropping my chin.
He rests his hand on my leg. “I’m not broken. I know that’s what Will and Maren want you to believe. I’m built differently. I’m not like most of the other firefighters, who take the risk of having it all. A job. A family. I don’t have a normal sense of self-preservation. I take risks without worrying about making someone a widow or leaving children without a father. It’s how I do my job. It’s the only way I can do my job.”
I lift my head. “People who say they’re ‘built differently’ are usually not built differently. They’re afraid to feel. And they don’t want to admit it. They don’t want anyone thinking something’s wrong with them. But not wanting to feel certain emotions only makes you human. It’s basically the definition of self-preservation.”
He doesn’t offer a response. And I can’t read his expression or his thoughts.
“But that’s okay, Fitz.” I rest my hand on his. “You’re right. There’s no reason to risk looking for new housing. I don’t know why you’re ‘built differently,’ and I don’t need to know. I chose to be a travel nurse to spread my wings. In fact, I’ve already applied for a temporary opening in California. Missoula’s just the beginning. And maybe you’re just the beginning.”
My mind does all the talking.
My heart? It’s confused.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?” I set my tea aside.
“It’s easier to live the single life when I have regular reminders that women are needy, hopeless romantics.”
He’s too much. I press my lips together to keep from grinning. “Now you’re being arrogant. It’s not a good look.”
“How am I being arrogant?”
“You’re assuming my lack of tears means I’m not a hopeless romantic—that I don’t need anyone. Maybe you should think of it like this . . . I am a hopeless romantic. I just don’t need you.” When the words leave my mouth, I want to dive into the air and take them back. In my head, it didn’t sound so cruel.
Tension burrows into his brow as he stares at my hand on his. Then he removes his hand from my leg. “That’s”—he stands, chest expanding on a deep inhale—“good.”
Good.
It’s not good. It’s sad. A little tragic. And a lie.
“I’m still your person. Right?” I ask.
It takes him a moment to bring his gaze to mine. He looks lost, like he didn’t hear what I said. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You’re my best person.”
When he says things like that, I can’t help but want to fix him. Can he be like the old table someone sets at the end of their driveway? Free to a good home. Can I fix him and keep him?
Chapter Twenty-One
CALVIN
Training is in full swing—six weeks of rigorous PT, drills, and tests. When I get a day off, I help Will tear off the old deck and siding for much-needed renovations.