Gabriel’s mouth drops open. “I can’t believe you waited all night to tell me this.”
“I was processing. It’s a big deal.”
Now he’s grinning widely. “And you said?”
“I said I need to think about it.”
Gabriel tips my chin up, forcing my gaze onto his. “You should take it.”
“What about us? Our plans for a family? I know we wanted to have a few years to ourselves, but it’s been two years already. How can I take on an enormous responsibility like that, knowing I might have to pull back soon? And the money? Where will we get the money? That’s a huge loan. Transition is a prime time to lose patients. Those who were already thinking about stopping their therapy have the perfect excuse. And then what? I went to school to help people, not be a businesswoman. How do Irun a business? How do I make enough to pay business-related expenses? What if the business doesn’t make enough? When are you going to get to do what you want to do? You don’t want to be a firefighter anymore, and you shouldn’t have to do something you don’t want to do. And?—”
“Take a breath, baby. It’s all going to be ok.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
Gabriel backs away, and my arms fall to my sides. He holds up one finger, and I watch him walk into our bedroom. He picks up his phone from his nightstand and thumbs around on the screen as he walks back to me. Sliding the phone onto the counter, he taps it once and pulls me into his arms again.
A song fills the air. The Beach Boys.Don’t Worry, Baby.
He holds me, and I fold my head into his chest. He hums, and I experience it twice, both when his voice falls down around me and his chest vibrates my cheek.
Gabriel’s hands ghost my back, traveling lower. He lifts my oversized T-shirt, an old one of his that shrunk in the dryer, until it gathers at my waist.
His humming ceases, replaced by the sound of his kisses feathering my neck.
He lifts me, placing me on the counter. I tug his shorts down over his hips, using my foot to push them all the way to the ground. He hauls me to the counters’ edge. I bite into his shoulder when he enters me, loving every second of him. My sweet husband. My Gabriel.
“Look at me,” Gabriel says.
I open my eyes. He leans his forehead against mine, his arms keeping me steady on the counter. He is tender, but rough. I soak it up like the desiccated desert surrounding us.
The song ends.
But Gabriel and me? We keep going.
SESSION ELEVEN
DESERT FLOWER THERAPY
“You bought into the practice?”
I nod. “I did. I was terrified, but I did it. After all the fear of the unknown and failure subsided, I felt proud of myself.”
“It sounds like Gabriel supported you in the decision.”
I look down at my hands. “He was always very supportive of my career. If only I’d made his more of a priority.”
“You didn’t?”
“Not the way I should have. I let him continue in a job that did nothing for his soul. He was good at it, but it took too much from him. Emotionally.” Day by day, the light in Gabriel’s eyes slowly dimmed. I hate myself for not stepping in back then, for not turning myself inside out to stop it from happening. “I kept letting him sacrifice for us. For me.”
Dr. Ruben crosses an ankle over the opposite knee. “I’ve got news for you. Unless you’re threatening violence, you can’t force someone to sacrifice. He did that on his own.”
CHAPTER 14
Before I met Gabriel,I had no idea what a firefighter’s work schedule was like. Twenty-four hours on, forty-eight hours off sounds like a dream to me, if a person can get past the ‘awake for an entire day’ aspect of the job. They’re allowed to sleep on the job, but it’s rarely long, restful slumber. They are yanked from sleep, roused by the tones, and within minutes they arrive at the truck, turnout gear and game faces on.
I fear for Gabriel. For his safety, his life, his mental health. This worry drove me to seek blog posts written by the spouses and significant others of people who have dangerous jobs. There are tips and tricks, but the general consensus is that the people who do these jobs want to come home also, and they’re taking every precaution to make that happen.
