Page 22 of Frosty in Flannel
She was quiet for a moment, and I could see her fighting some internal battle. Finally, she stepped back. “Come in.”
I followed her inside, closing the door behind me.
“Tell me what you’re thinking. Really thinking. No walls, no shutting me out. I need to know what’s going on in your head.”
I took a breath. Let it out slowly. “I’m thinking that I don’t deserve you. That you’re too good, too whole, too everything I’m not. And I’m terrified that one day you’re going to wake up and realize it.”
“And?”
“And I’m thinking that this morning was the best I’ve felt in years. Maybe ever. And the idea of losing that—losing you—scares me more than anything I’ve ever faced.”
Her expression softened slightly. “Beckett—”
“I’m not good at this,” I said roughly. “At talking about feelings or being vulnerable or any of that shit. But I need you to know—what we have, whatever this is—it’s real for me. You’re real for me.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “Do you want me to stay?”
“More than anything.”
“Then you need to let me in. All the way in. No more pushing me away when you get scared. No more shutting down.” She stepped closer. “I can handle your scars, Beckett. Your damage. Your ghosts. But I can’t handle being shut out.”
“I know.”
“So here’s what’s going to happen.” Her voice was firm now. “You’re going to tell me when you’re spiraling. You’re going totalk to me instead of withdrawing. And you’re going to trust that I’m not going anywhere unless you give me a reason to leave.”
I nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll talk to you. I’ll trust you.” I reached for her hand. “I’ll try, Libby. I swear to God, I’ll try.”
She looked at our joined hands, then back at my face. “I need you to understand something. I burned my last job to the ground because I cared too much. Because I couldn’t walk away when something mattered to me. And you?” Her voice cracked. “You matter to me. More than any job ever could.”
“Libby—”
“I love you,” she said, the words tumbling out. “I know it’s fast and probably crazy, but I love you. And if you can’t—if you don’t feel the same—”
I didn’t let her finish the sentence. It was all wrong. I loved her too.
I kissed her like she was oxygen, and I’d been drowning. Poured everything I couldn’t say into it—all the fear and want and desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work.
When I finally pulled back, her eyes were bright with tears.
“I love you,” I said. “I’m terrified of it, and I’m probably going to screw it up a dozen more times, but I love you. And I want you to stay. Not for the job. Not for Wildfire. For me. For us.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
She let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and threw her arms around my neck. I caught her, holding her tight.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured against her hair. “For today. For shutting you out. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know.” She pulled back to look at me. “Just don’t do it again.”
“I’ll try my damnedest not to.”
“Good.” She kissed me softly. “Because I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
