Page 285 of Her Reluctant Hero
She took a moment to find her voice, professionalism grappling with shock. “He’s fine, sir. He’ll be fine.”
The older man’s shoulders relaxed. She was struck by how human he appeared, just like any of the other firefighters out here awaiting word. Had he been here all night too? “What happened up there?” he asked.
She pushed her hair back from her face wearily, not wanting to think about what had happened on the mountain, the terror, the race, the suffocating shelter. Gabe’s hatred of answering questions, of reliving a situation no one should have to live through in the first place, made sense to her now.
Worst of all, if anything had gone wrong, it was her fault. She gathered herself, pushed the thoughts out of her head, stopping herself before she collapsed at the feet of the leader of the free world.
“He almost died,” she said quietly. “He almost died trying to bring me back down.”
And God, if she hadn’t been up there, he wouldn’t have gone up the mountain. Could she have forgiven herself if he hadn’t made it?
Foolish. He would have gone as long as someone was in danger, if not this time, another. Of course it was dangerous. Otherwise it wouldn’t hold the same appeal. He lived for the fire, the danger.
If she held him back, he was miserable. If she let him go, she was miserable. Who needed it? And here she was standing in the presence of the president feeling sorry for herself.
“I’m sorry, sir. He’s-he’s fine. He’s in a room just down the hall, room 411. If you’ll excuse me.” She turned to walk away.
“He was going crazy trying to get to you,” the president said to her back, his voice gentle, fatherly. “He saw you from the plane and damn near jumped without a parachute to get to you. I don’t think he would have done it for just anyone.”
Peyton turned around, her heart squeezing. “I know he loves me. But I’m through with firefighting. And firefighters.”
“Peyton.”
He closed his hand over her arm to draw her into an alcove, into a seat. The man sat beside her, glancing at his Secret Service men long enough to signal them to back off a bit, before he turned those warm brown eyes to her. The same brown eyes she’d seen flashing with anger and determination on her television at home.
“Your man inspires loyalty. He’s a hero. So why are you walking away?”
So she, Peyton Michaels, spilled her guts—and her tears—to the president of the United States. She told him about Dan, told him her reason for writing these articles, about her sister. She told him her fear of losing Gabe for good.
“And walking away from him isn’t going to accomplish that?” the president asked, incredulous.
“It will show me whether or not I can live without him. I have to bet I can.”
“Let me tell you something, little girl,” he said, his voice stern as he shifted in his seat, and she got a much better picture of the man who could intimidate Congress. “There are people who live with these fears every day. Their husbands or wives are cops or soldiers or firefighters. They kiss them goodbye every day and don’t know if they will see them again. But they do it because that person is the most important person in the world to them, and they can’t imagine what it’s like living without them.”
“That’s right, sir,” Peyton said softly, rising, realizing it was a tremendous gaffe. She just couldn’t listen to him right now. She had to protect herself, and the only way she could was to walk away. “But I’ve made that sacrifice once. I can’t do it again.”
