Page 56 of Uxpectedly Ever After

"He put a lightning bolt mobile over the baby’s crib," I say after a long silence, my voice sounding weird and echoey to own ears. "In the nursery at the new house. Because of the storm."

Navy gives me a soft smile. "The night you finally did something about your mutual pining?"

I nod, my throat suddenly too tight to speak.

"That's some romantic shit right there," she says. "He's good for you, you know. Has been since day one, even when you were too stubborn to see it."

"I see it now," I whisper, and it's the most honest I've been with myself in months, maybe years. "I'm just afraid it's too late."

"It's not," Navy says with a confidence I wish I could bottle and drink. "He'll be back. And when he is, you need to tell himexactly how you feel. No more stupid walls. No more pretending you don't need anyone."

The news anchor's voice rises with renewed urgency, drawing our attention back to the TV. "We're getting reports that part of the structure has collapsed, possibly trapping firefighters inside. Emergency crews are working to—"

I stop breathing. Literally just... stop. Like my lungs have forgotten how to function. The room spins around me as images flash across the screen—a building crumbling in on itself, firefighters running toward the collapse, the chaos of emergency vehicles and flashing lights. A vise clamps around my chest, squeezing tighter with every second that passes without news of Banks. My vision tunnels until all I can see is the fire on the screen, consuming everything in its path, possibly including the man I love.

"He's okay," Navy says, but the confidence in her voice has wavered. "Banks is too smart to get caught in something like that."

But isn't that exactly what he does? Run into burning buildings? Risk his life to save others? Didn't he tell me about the building collapse that left him with nightmares, pinned under rubble for hours?

My stomach lurches, and for a horrifying moment, I think I might throw up right here on my living room rug. I press my hand against my mouth and force the nausea down, my eyes never leaving the TV screen.

"I can't lose him," I whisper, the admission torn from some part of me I've kept locked away but that key Banks handed me earlier apparently unlocked more than the front door of our house. "I can't."

"You won't," Navy says, but we both know she can't promise that. No one can.

The next several hours stretch into eternity. Navy makes more tea. I ignore it. She orders food. I can't eat it. We sit in silence, watching the news as the fire is finally, gradually, brought under control. But there's no word about Banks, no list of injured firefighters, nothing but the terrible waiting.

Until my door opens without a knock.

He's standing there, still in his uniform pants and a clean PFD t-shirt he must have changed into at the station when he ditched his gear, though his face is still streaked with soot and his hair wet with sweat. His eyes find mine, and the relief in them mirrors what must be on my face.

He didn’t even stop to shower, just came straight home to me.

"Banks." His name escapes my lips in a breathless rush, like all the air I've been holding in my lungs for hours leaves all at once. My body moves on instinct, my feet carrying me across the room before my brain can catch up. The relief is so powerful it’s almost painful, making my chest ache and my knees weak as I throw myself at him.

He catches me in those strong arms of his, lifting me off my feet. I bury my face in his neck, breathing in the smell of smoke and sweat and that underlying scent that's just him, and I don't care that he's filthy or that I'm getting soot and ash all over my clothes.

He's alive. He's here. He came back to me.

Tous.

"I'm okay," he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough like he's been breathing smoke for hours. Which he sort of has. "I'm sorry I couldn't call. It all happened so fast."

"Why’d you have to go?" I pull back just enough to see his face, my hands framing his jaw like he did to me at the house. Mypalms rub against his stubble. "You weren't even on shift. You could have stayed away. Been safe."

Something shifts in his expression—a hardness that appears for just a second before softening again. "They called for all available personnel. I couldn't just sit it out, Freckles. They needed help."

"You could have died." My voice breaks, all the fear of the past hours hitting me at once with enough force my legs actually buckle. His grip on me only tightens. "There was a collapse. They said on the news—"

"That was the back of the Mexican restaurant," he explains, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. "I was in the front, helping with the search."

I'm suddenly aware that Navy has slipped out without a word, leaving us alone. Part of me wants to be mad at her for abandoning me, but most of me is grateful for the privacy.

"You scared the hell out of me," I whisper, pressing my forehead against his chest. "Kasen wasn't answering his phone. I didn't know if either of you were okay."

"Kasen's fine. I checked on him first before coming here. I knew you’d be worried about him." His hand slides up to cradle the back of my neck. "He wasn't at the brewery when it started.”

"I know. He finally texted me back." I pull away and wipe at my face, embarrassed to realize I'm crying. Again. These stupid pregnancy hormones are ruining my reputation. I wrinkle my nose. "You need a shower. You smell like a bonfire."

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