“I did it, Jocey,” Corey said in my ear.
He set me down, and I playfully punched his shoulder. “Did you ever doubt it?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Never.”
“Exactly.”
That was how he tackled everything in life. This would be no different. Corey could handle this setback, even if it took him some time to adjust. Mama and I would be there to help him.
My breathing hitched when the door to the waiting room pushed open, and another person stormed in. As they moved toward the vending machine, I made out the Williamsport Fire Department uniform.
“I should’ve fucking been there,” they muttered.
Though his back was to me, I knew instantly who that voice belonged to.
“Son of a bitch,” Don said, punching the side of the vending machine.
I gasped, causing him to turn in my direction. His eyes widened, noticing for the first time that he wasn’t alone.
We regarded one another for a long while.
He opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out.
“That’s going to leave a mark,” I said once the silence had become too loud. He furrowed his eyebrows, and I dipped my head toward his hand.
He stared at the hand he’d punched the vending machine with as if seeing it for the first time in his life.
“Yeah,” he finally said.
His voice didn’t sound right; the typical hint of humor and teasing wasn’t there. Instead, he sounded tortured. As if a handful of broken glass resided in his throat, and he’d had to fight to get that one syllable out.
“Yeah,” I repeated.
Then I didn’t know how it happened. One moment, I was leaned against the counter. The next, I’d wrapped my arms around Don’s broad shoulders.
When I realized what I was doing, I half-expected him to push me away. In my experience, firefighters weren’t the type to display their vulnerable side or openly receive comfort from others. I justknewDon would tell me he was fine and didn’t need a damn hug.
Instead, I felt his strong arms—the very arms I knew had helped carry my brother out of that burning and collapsing building—band around my waist, pulling me into his body.
A sigh fell from my lips, and I nuzzled the crook of his neck. I didn’t know what possessed me to inhale as deeply as I did, but it felt good. He smelled fresh, like that Irish soap they used at the fire station, and smoke. Even a shower couldn’t hide the smoldering smell of the smoke that clung to his skin.
It smelled familiar.
I inhaled again, remembering this exact scent from my childhood. My father’s uniform had often smelled like this on the nights he’d come home late after a shift. Corey, too, once he’d walked in our father’s footsteps.
There was something different about the way Don smelled, though. Underneath the soap and smoke was a woodsy aroma that neither my brother nor my father had. It had to be Don’s natural scent.
I tightened my arms around his shoulders and nuzzled even deeper. His hold on me tightened, as if we both needed the comfort. I inhaled a third time, and the coldness inside my body began to thaw.
What the hell are you doing?
The question from the sane part of my brain startled me back into reality.
I pulled back and blinked. Don appeared almost as surprised as I was.
“You look like you needed that,” I said, stepping out of his embrace.
Before he could respond, the door opened, and we both looked to see who entered.
