Page 29 of The Flames Between Us

"Bullet dodged," Everly whispers, and we share the smile of battle-tested parents.

"Let me put her down," I offer. "You've been on duty all day."

Carefully, with the precision of disarming an explosive device, I lift Kate from Everly's chest. She's heavier than she was even a month ago, growing so fast it sometimes takes my breath away. I cradle her against my shoulder, inhaling the sweet baby smell that somehow cuts through even the smokiest day.

Kate's room is painted a soft green with a mural of a forest that Lewis painted as a baby shower gift. The crib that once seemed impossibly big now looks almost too small for our growing girl.

I lay her down gently, holding my breath as her little brow furrows momentarily before smoothing out again. I stand watching her for longer than necessary, mesmerized as always by the miracle of her existence.

When I return to the living room, Everly has stretched out on the couch, her feet tucked under a throw blanket. She looks tired but content, the slight shadows under her eyes testament to the juggling act she performs daily—running her private practice three days a week while caring for Kate the other two.

"Successful transfer," I report, lifting her feet to sit down and then placing them in my lap. My thumbs find the arch of her left foot, pressing in the way I know she likes after a long day.

"Mmm," she hums. "Keep that up and you might get lucky tonight, Chief Crawford."

I chuckle, continuing the impromptu foot massage. "Even covered in soot and smelling like disaster?"

"Especially then," she says with a playful smile. "You know I have a thing for heroic firefighters."

"Is that so, Dr. Crawford?" I tease back. Her decision to take my name when we married was unexpected—she'd built her professional reputation as Dr. Morgan, after all. But she said she wanted us to be a united front, a single family unit. Kate Morgan Crawford completed that unit thirteen months ago, arriving three weeks early but perfectly healthy.

Our path here wasn't without complications. The professional ethics committee had questions about the timing of our relationship, as we'd both anticipated. But Dr. Reynolds, who took over my case, provided documentation that our romantic relationship began after the formal transfer of care, and several character witnesses spoke to Everly's otherwise impeccable ethical record. In the end, she received a warning but retained her license and reputation intact.

"How was the big presentation?" I ask, referring to the workshop on first responder trauma she delivered through video call today.

"It went well," she says. "There was a lot of interest, especially from departments looking to implement better mental health protocols for their teams."

Pride swells in my chest. After everything that happened with us, Everly found a way to transform it into something positive—developing a specialized program for first responder departments that addresses trauma response without stigma. Cedar Falls Fire Department became her pilot program, with Chief Brock's enthusiastic support. The success has been so notable that departments across three states are now implementing her approach.

"Of course there was interest," I say. "You're revolutionizing how departments handle psychological trauma."

She smiles, a hint of color touching her cheeks. Even after two years together, she still blushes at direct praise.

"It's collaborative," she demurs. "I couldn't do it without the insights from you and the other first responders who've shared their experiences."

My thumb finds a particularly tight spot in her arch, and she groans. We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the TV providing gentle background noise.

"Lewis called while you were out on the brush fire," she mentions eventually. "He and Sarah set a date for the wedding. June 15th."

I nod, pleased but not surprised. My brother has been engaged to the lawyer he met last year, but they've been dragging their feet on actually picking a date.

"About time," I say. "Did he ask about—"

"Yes, he wants you as best man, of course," Everly confirms. "And Sarah asked if Kate could be the flower girl, which might be optimistic given she'll barely be walking by then."

The thought of our daughter todding down the aisle, likely veering off course and charming everyone in the process, makes me smile.

"We'll make it work," I say, sliding my hand up to massage Everly's calf. "We always do."

Her eyes meet mine, and I see in them what I've seen every day since that first afternoon in her office—understanding, acceptance, and a love that still takes my breath away.

"Do you ever think about how unlikely all this was?" she asks softly. "How many things had to align exactly right for us to be here now?"

I consider this. If Brock hadn't mandated therapy, if I hadn't been assigned to Everly specifically, if she hadn't helped me face my trauma, if we hadn't run into each other at Lou's that morning—any deviation in the sequence might have led us down entirely different paths.

"I think about it all the time," I admit. "But mostly I just feel grateful that whatever cosmic lottery brought us together, somehow we won it."

She sits up, moving closer until she's nestled against my side, heedless of the soot and grime still clinging to my clothes. "Even on the hard days? Even when Kate's teething and you're working overtime and I'm drowning in case files?"

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