Page 69 of We Can Forever

“Of course.” She shuts off the light and tiptoes out of the room.

“Cynthia?”

“Yes?”

“Say hello to Katie?” I ask.

“Certainly. Sleep tight.”

The boards in the house creak as she walks across the living room and lets herself out the front door. Her headlights cut through my bedroom window, and I stare at the glass even after they’re gone.

It’s the second time in a week that I’ve been tucked into bed by a member of Michael’s family, and the guilt is heavy. This isn’t what any of them signed up for. One time is fine, but taking care of someone like me on a regular basis can quickly become exhausting.

Remembering that gives me more sympathy for my aunt. Her ability to hover now looks more like a superpower than an annoyance.

Have I made a mistake getting involved with Michael? Is our relationship proving to do more harm than good to him and his family?

And what about me? My worry today about Michael has caused a flare.

What happens when he’s in another fire? It’s not like I can turn off the part of me that’s concerned about him. Undoubtedly, I’ll flare again since emotional distress is a big trigger. And that will suck for both me and him—and his family.

Tears fill my eyes. I’ve changed so much of my life to make it fibromyalgia-friendly, but the cold, hard truth is that there are a lot of things that don’t fit into this lifestyle. Like teaching full time. Playing sports. Having more than one cocktail per weekend.

Or having a boyfriend who is a fire chief.

As long as Michael and I are together, I’ll worry about him. And I don’t think I can handle the emotional toil of loving someone who has such a dangerous job. Sure, I’ll have the comfort of our relationship, but I’ll also have the fear of losing him at any moment. I’ll be doing serious damage to my mental and physical health.

Is it really fair to put myself through that? To put Michael through that?

Tears slide down my face as I stare at the dark window, waiting for answers that never come.

Chapter Twenty-Five

MICHAEL

Checking my phone for probably the hundredth time this morning, I frown. Still no text from Hannah.

Is she not feeling well? Or just busy at the shop?

Hoping it’s the latter, I slide the phone into my pocket and leave the firehouse. The walk to Knit Happens is lined with scarecrows, inflatable ghosts, and pumpkins—a reminder that Halloween is on its way.

A smile pulls at my lips. Usually, I leave the dressing up to Katie, but I’d be down with a costume this year. Especially if Hannah would like to do some sort of cheesy couples costumes, where we match or play off each other.

I used to shake my head at that kind of thing, but now I look forward to it. More so after yesterday.

When I blacked out in the high school, I thought it was all over. That I’d never see my daughter or Hannah again. And there’s nothing that makes you get your priorities straight like staring death in the face.

I don’t want to waste any more time. I’ve told Hannah I love her, but that’s not enough. I’m tired of trying to make our crazy schedules sync so we can slip in an hour or two together, tired of coming home and not seeing her face.

It’s time to ask her to move in with me.

The thought fills my chest with butterflies, and I pick up the pace, crossing the street and opening the door to Knit Happens.

It’s not Hannah at the counter, though. It’s Flick.

I stop just inside the entrance, the door falling closed behind me. “Good morning. Is Hannah here?”

“Um.” Flick looks up from the yarn catalogue she’s flipping through. “She’s at home. Having a flare.”

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