“Has you,” she interrupts. “And other people who get it. Other firefighters’ families who understand. I’d be closer to school opportunities. Closer to you.” Her voice drops. “And I wouldn’t be alone with the fear.”
I’m staring at her, barely able to process what she’s offering.
“You’d really do that? Move into the Zone?”
The words scrape out rough because I know exactly what she’s giving up by saying them. The quiet, the mountains, the safety she built around herself one careful layer at a time. She’s not just choosing me—she’s choosing the noise, the rules, the scrutiny that comes with loving someone like me. And gods, the thought of her being willing to trade her peace for a life beside mine hits harder than any fire ever could.
“I’d do anything to be with you.” She’s crying again, but smiling. “I spent six days thinking I’d lost you. If you’ll still have me—yeah. I’ll move to the Zone. I’ll build a life with you instead of hiding from one.”
“Solarin.” The endearment comes out broken.
“I’m not giving up anything that matters.” She cups my face in her hands. “This cabin is just a place. You’re home. Wherever you are, that’s home.”
I kiss her then—desperate and disbelieving and so full of love I can barely breathe. She tastes of tears and courage and second chances.
She pulls back to look me in the eye. “I love you more than I love this mountain. More than I love safety. I choose you, Ryder. I choose us.”
“Tha’kar zahn, Solarin,” I whisper. “I choose you, too.”
We sit on the porch as the sun sets, not chasing perfection—just holding on to what’s real.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryder
“Come inside with me,” I murmur against her hair. “Let me love you properly.”
She pulls back to look at me, eyes still wet but shining with something that looks like hope. “I should let you rest. You’ve been fighting fires for six days—”
“I’ve been fighting forusfor six days.” I stand, pulling her up with me. “And now that I have you, now that you’ve chosen this—chosen us—I need to show you what that means to me.”
Inside, the cabin is warm from the fire burning in the fireplace, golden light spilling across the worn wooden floors. I lead her to the bedroom, each step deliberate, giving her time to change her mind.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she turns to face me, hands already reaching for the hem of my shirt. “Let me,” she whispers. “Let me take care of you first.”
“Laney—”
“You’ve been taking care of everyone else for six days. Let me take care of you.”
So I do. I let her undress me slowly, her hands gentle as they peel away smoke-stained clothes. She removes her own clothes and leads me to the shower. The water is hot, and her touch is gentle as she washes away days of ash and fear.
Her fingers trace over my body—checking for injuries, soothing sore muscles, memorizing every inch of green skin. When her hands slide lower, wrapping around my hardening length, I groan.
“Laney, I should—I need to—”
“Shhh.” She strokes me slowly, deliberately. “Let me.”
She drops to her knees in the shower spray, and the sight of her—this strong, brave woman looking up at me with love and desire through her water-spiked eyelashes—nearly undoes me.
What follows is reverent and healing. Her mouth on me, her hands gentle and sure, both of us affirming that we’re here, we’re together, we chose this.
When I’m clean and boneless with pleasure, she leads me to bed. I should be exhausted—Iamexhausted—but the sight of her, naked, still dripping rivulets of water, sends new energy flooding through me as we tumble onto the mattress together.
“Now you,” I growl, pulling her beneath me. “My turn to worship you.”
My hands roam her body, relearning every curve, every dip and hollow. She’s soft where I’m hard, warm where I’m hot, and absolutely flawless in my eyes. I take my time, kissing my way down her throat, pausing to suck gently at the pulse point that makes her gasp.
