Page 31 of The Smokejumper's Lady
A soft knock pulls me out of my spiral.
I turn toward the door, half expecting another nurse or maybe a chaplain ready to ask how I feel about God.
Instead, the door swings open and she’s standing right there. In front of my eyes.
“Clea…?”
Hair windblown. Eyes wide and red-rimmed. Still the most beautiful damn thing I’ve ever seen.
She doesn’t say a word, just rushes across the room and throws herself into my arms, careful not to crush the wires and tubes but clearly not giving a damn either.
I hold her like I’ve been waiting a lifetime.
“Jesus, Clea,” I whisper into her hair. “You’re really here.”
“I thought…” Her voice breaks as she pulls back just enough to look at me. “I thought I lost you.”
Tears track down her cheeks, and I brush them away with my fingers.
“You didn’t,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here.”
And then I kiss her. And she kisses me back, her lips warm and trembling against mine. I pull back after a while, tugging her into the bed with me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her like I never want to let go. Because I don’t.
“I missed you so damn much,” I murmur against her mouth.
She sniffles, laughing through tears. “I missed you too. I was so scared.”
“Shhh,” I say, tucking her into my chest. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’ve got you now.”
She curls into me, and for a while, we just breathe.
Then, I tilt her chin up so she has no choice but to look me in the eye.
“I love you,” I say quietly, holding my breath.
Her lips part, and I see the exact moment my words settle deep in her heart.
“I love you so much, Clea. I didn’t know it could feel like this, but fuck—I can’t imagine life without you now.”
She smiles, teary-eyed but radiant. “I feel the same.”
I grin, then wince when it stretches too much. “Ow.”
“Careful, smoke jumper.”
“Only if you promise not to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time in a long time, a quiet peace settles in my heart, the kind that only comes with finding your person.
Clea pulls back slowly, her hands drifting to my chest. I watch her eyes sweep over me like she’s checking for burns or missing limbs. Brows drawn tight in concentration. Her fingers brush along my jaw, then down to the monitor clipped to my finger, then to the IV taped to my arm. Her touch is soft, hesitant, like she’s scared I might disappear if she presses too hard.
“You’re really here,” she whispers. “You’re okay.”
I can’t help but smile. “I could get used to being fussed over like this.”
Her gaze snaps up, eyes narrowing playfully. “I’m serious.”
