Page 113 of Ablaze

I get that he’s just been through something most people can’t even imagine. That the loss of the deputy chief, along with waking up, not knowing if something happened to his friends, likely catapulted him into that same place he was in when Zander died. That he’s tired and recovering and needs to rest.

I get all that. Really, I do.

But something about the way he’s turned himself away from me–the way he hasn’t been able to meet my gaze without his own filling with agony–doesn’t sit well with me.

And while I should give him the space he’s clearly asking for and not push the subject right this second, I can’t help but think that walking out of the door right now will only strengthen his belief that he’s doing the right thing for us.

Which he’s not. He’s absolutely fucking not.

And if he thinks I’ll allow him to create an even bigger cavernous pit between us and keep us apart even a day longer–after I’ve spent the last nine fucking years without being able to call him mine–he must not know me very well.

Wrapping my palms over his stubbled jaw–his scruff longer than usual and in need of a trim–I turn his face back to me. “Dean, look at me.”

I wait for his eyes to meet mine and when they do, I see the same misery from earlier intensify inside them. But I also see something like desperation and self-torture, like he just needs someone to save him from himself.

And God, that gives me hope. That gives me so much hope.

“I know you. I know you better than anyone else. I know the depth of your love and the strength of your fears. I know your overwhelming need to protect me and everyone else around you and the lengths you will go–the years you will abstain–to torture yourself because you think you’re doing the right thing.” I slide a thumb over his cheekbone. “But right now, the only person you need to protect is yourself from letting that fear take over.”

His voice is strangled, as if every word weighs heavily on his tongue. “I wish I could. I’m just . . .” He drops his head back into the pillow with an agonizing sigh. “Fuck!”

“Talk to me, Dean. Let me in. Tell me what you’re scared of.”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, but when he opens them again, they’re hazy. Tormented.

“This. Us, here in this hospital. Your worry and pain.” He takes a trembling breath. “This wasn’t the first time I’ve been caught in something that could have ended my life, Mala. And it won’t be the last, either. Who knows if I’ll make it out alive the next time . . .”

His mouth curves into a downward half-moon. “It’s not fair for you to have to suffer because of my decisions. It’s not fair for you to be in a state of constant stress, even when I might be on a routine call, thinking I might not come back. You deserve more–”

“No, Dean.” My watery gaze bounces between his. My incredible, big-hearted, beautiful man. How can I convince him how much I love him? “I deserve you. I’ve waited my whole life for you. Don’t you see that?” I take a calming breath, trying to string my words together. “It doesn’t matter to me if we get one more day, one more month, or one more year together, because, in every moment I have with you, I plan to live out a lifetime.”

“Mala–”

“Listen to me, Dean, and listen to me good.” I bring my face closer to his so he can see the resolve in my eyes. “Fire has taken a lot away from me, too. I know exactly what it’s capable of, and yet, I’ve been forged from it, stronger because of it. Will I worry about you, my brother, and my friends? Yes, I’ll always worry. But I’ll be damned if I let my fear taint another moment we spend together.”

I press my lips to his, feeling the tension in his shoulders release under me, and he sighs into my mouth, his hands running up the sides of my torso.

Lifting up, I look at him again. “There’s not a single person on this planet that could replace you, Dean. So whether you choose to walk away from me today or you’re taken from me tomorrow, you’ll leave me in pieces either way.”

My nose tingles as a tear breaks over my bottom lid and I whisper, “Because you, Dean Emerson Meyer, have owned every one of my heartbeats from the day you walked into my life, eating a burned, penis-shaped dog biscuit, and that will never change. Never.”

His hand tightens behind my head and his eyes burn with an intensity that leaves me breathless. He pulls me down to his lips again and his tongue sweeps over the seam, urging my mouth open to let him in. A shiver runs down my spine as our kiss deepens, our mouths exploring each other again. My hands travel up his biceps, and I carefully avoid putting weight on his chest, even though my own feels like it’s going to burst.

The moment is so palpable and all-encompassing that I release a sobbing moan into his mouth, hoping to express exactly how I feel about him through my kiss alone.

“I love you, Mala. I love you so goddamn much,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’m so fucking sorry I made you feel like I could walk away from this. I thought I’d be doing it for you. So that you could find someone you could rely on to be there day in and day out. But the truth is . . .” his voice shudders before he reins in his emotions with a clench of his jaw, “the truth is that I’d die every moment apart from you. I couldn’t bear the sight of you with anyone else. Because the only one I belong to–the only one I’ve ever belonged to–is you.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

DEAN

All I want to do is hold her.

With my arms wrapped around her, my hand splayed on her bare stomach, under my T-shirt she’s claimed for herself, I hold her against me. My nose is where it loves to be, at the curve of her shoulder and neck, drawing in puffs of her lemon scent, and my lips are pressed against her silken skin.

This. This right here is what life is about.

Being alive isn’t something I’ve ever taken for granted. It’s a luxury, a blessing, and a bounty you fight for each day in my world. But there’s a difference between being alive and actually living, and that difference is her.

---