Page 123 of Knotting the Firefighters
He called me his peace.
How am I supposed to maintain emotional distance when he says things like that?
"And my peace is right here." The declaration is simple, absolute, carrying no room for argument. "With you, in this ridiculous small town, probably running café and chasing kittens and arguing with stubborn fire captains who need someone to challenge their authority."
We share a look—an extended moment where communication happens beneath words, where understanding forms through attention rather than explanation, where I see my own feelings reflected in his eyes and can't pretend anymore that this is casual, temporary, reversible.
He loves me.
Actually loves me.
Not what I provide or how I make him look or what status I bring.
Just... me.
The broken, complicated, disaster of a woman who keeps finding new ways to nearly die.
"I'm going to be sick with this Hallmark shit." Aidric's voice cuts through the moment like a blade through silk, disgust evident in every syllable.
Right.
Audience.
We have an audience witnessing this extremely personal moment.
I turn toward him, defensive instinct activating.
"Just because you're emotionally constipated doesn't mean the rest of us can't express feelings like functional adults."
His scowl deepens—storm-gray eyes promising retribution for the jab.
Calder adds fuel to the fire, unable to resist:
"Maybe if you dealt with your unresolved feelings instead of repressing everything like an emotionally stunted teenager, you wouldn't find genuine affection so nauseating."
Aidric's growl rumbles through the room—a genuine Alpha threat vocalization that should probably intimidate me, but just makes me want to poke him further.
He's so easy to rile.
And watching him lose composure is unexpectedly entertaining.
"You know what your problem is?" I ask with false sweetness, taking a step toward him despite the murder in his eyes.
"Besides being trapped with insufferable people who think bonding speeches are appropriate for living room discussions?" His response is sharp, defensive walls fully activated.
"You're terrified," I continue, ignoring his deflection. "Terrified of caring, terrified of vulnerability, terrified that if you let yourself feel anything genuine you'll get hurt the way you hurt before."
Direct hit.
Can see it in the way his expression shutters completely.
"You don't know shit about?—"
"I know you loved him." I gesture toward Calder, brutal honesty cutting through pretense. "Know that it ended badly enough that you both fled California to avoid each other. Know that you're convinced history will repeat if you allow yourself to care again."
Aidric opens his mouth—presumably to deny, deflect, or deliver a cutting response that maintains his emotional walls.
But I'm faster:
