Page 4 of Falling for Red
He doesn’t say anything, just stands there, watching me. The firefighter is distracting in a way I don’t want to admit.
“You’re so stubborn,” he says, but there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.
“You have no idea.”
Pulling the door open again, my heart is still racing from the way he’s looking at me, the way he’stooclose.
Silently, I slide into my car, turning it on, refusing to make eye contact with him. I need to get to Gabby.
I step inside my home, a small, rented ranch-style place, closing the door quietly behind me. The smell of smoke is following me, embedded into my clothes. A reminder of the chaos from today. Everything from the fire, the panic, the noise—it’s hard to shake off. My hands are still trembling a little. Despite trying to play it like I wasn’t bothered by what happened, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with Gabby and forget this day ever happened. I especially want to forget that I wasn’t able to pick her up when she was sick.
Dropping my keys into the bowl, I see Gabby asleep on Aaron’s chest. Her brown hair is pushed to one side, and she’s in the same T-shirt dress and legging shorts from this morning.
At least she didn’t have a big spill today.
I look around the place, suddenly embarrassed about the clutter. Toys fill the living room floor, and some papers are piled on the kitchen counter, otherwise nothing too embarrassing. I would have tidied up if I knew someone was coming over.
I approach them slowly, not wanting to wake her.
“Let me check her temperature,” I whisper, seeing Gabby’s flushed face. Walking down the hall to her room, I grab the ear thermometer from the basket on her dresser. Her room is the only one that’s decorated. She wanted a forest theme, and we went all out with a gigantic tree wall sticker and a canopy over the chair in her reading corner. I smile, thinking back to doing this project with her, but then my mind races with what-if scenarios as I walk back to the living room. Delicately putting the thermometer in her ear, the number flashes after a few seconds. It’s still a fever, but a low one. Four years into motherhood, you’d think I’d have a thicker skin by now, but every time she’s sick, I’m a wreck.
I want to pick her up and hold her close. I want to feel her heartbeat against mine. But I smell like smoke and chemicals, and those toxins are absolutely not touching her.
“Go shower,” Aaron whispers, reading my mind.
I open my mouth to protest, but he chuckles.
“We’re comfortable here,” he says, looking down at Gabby. I’m grateful for Aaron. Since meeting him in January when I applied to work at High Five, he’s been nothing but nice and become the brother I never had.
“You don’t need to be nap-trapped. Could you put her down in her bed? Then you can get on with your evening.”
Aaron shifts carefully, his hand cradling Gabby’s head. She looks so small in his arms compared to when I carry her. He effortlessly stands with all thirty-nine pounds of her; I’m jealous. I usually groan when I stand with her in my arms.
“Want me to tell Sarah how good you are with Gabby?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
Aaron smiles. “She already has baby fever,” he whispers. “Keeps talking about how she’d turn one of the rooms in my house into a nursery and what she’d paint on the walls.”
“Well …” I nudge him with my elbow. “Wife her up and give her a baby, then.”
“In time,” he says with a wink.They would have the cutest kids, brunette with big eyes.Then Aaron’s expression changes. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
“I’m good. I just need a shower.”
Aaron disappears down the hall with Gabby, and I barely make it into the bathroom before the tears begin to well. Stripping off my clothes, I want to throw them away. I don’t ever want to be reminded of this day. Everything that’s happened hits me, and the tears fall.
I wasn’t there for Gabby. I wasn’t the one caring for her when she needed me. I was at the bar, fighting a fire.
Under the water, I fall apart. The hot stream washes away the grime, the smoke, whatever chemicals came out of the fire extinguisher—and I let myself sob. Hopefully Aaron is already gone. Hopefully no one can hear, but I can’t hold back my emotions anymore.
I don’t know how long I stand there, crying, but eventually, the water starts to calm me. I audibly exhale, feeling lighter with every loud breath.
“You got this,” I encourage myself.
After I dry off, I peek in on Gabby. She’s sound asleep in her toddler bed. We’ll likely both be up in the middle of the night with her going to bed so early. She didn’t have dinner. When was the last time she went to the bathroom? Should I wake her or let her keep sleeping?
I’ll let her sleep.
Carefully, I shut her door. The house is silent. Aaron must be gone. In my towel, I confirm, looking around the house, and he is nowhere to be found. I’ll have to get him a little something to thank him for all of his help today, I think, pacing to my room to get dressed.
