“I’m sorry,” I murmur, raising my eyes to hers. My voice is rougher than intended, and I clear my throat. Those damn gray eyes are like my own personal kryptonite.
She waves one hand, shrugging. The shirt hanging off one shoulder slips just a little further down her arm, revealing a hint of the side curve of her bra-clad breast. My fingers tighten around my own beer as I lift it to my lips.
“Gah, don’t be. I wasn’t comfortable feeding her yet anyway, and I have enough milk stored in the freezer to get through the apocalypse if needed.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Well, I’m glad you had fun. I’msure you three could get into some trouble on your own.” She smiles coyly behind the beer bottle at her lips and that mischievous grin does me in completely. I like having her in my space. She brightens it, makes it feel warmer, almost. I need to do something to make it more welcoming in here. I want her here more often. “I’ve known Violette since she was a kid. Her twin brother was on my crew.”
“That’s right. I forget sometimes how integrated you all are as a unit,” she murmurs, that smile fading. “She doesn’t talk about that much, but I know Jacob and Rowan were best friends.”
I nod. “We lost Jacob the same year we lost my dad,” I explain around a bite of the grilled vegetables.
“Your dad was a hotshot, too, right?” she asks quietly. Her fingernails pick at the label on the beer.
“Sure was. He was the superintendent before myself. We worked together for almost fifteen years before we lost him.” The pain and guilt that tears through me is as acute as it was six years ago. They say grief never truly fades; it just hits less often. Fuck, when it hits though, its like a sucker punch to the center of the chest.
“I remember Cal talking about that. I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her dark blonde brows pulling low over her silver-gray eyes.
I nod, dropping my eyes to the food on my plate. I push the steak around with the tines of my fork. “He shouldn’t have even been in that fire.”
“I’m sorry, Xander. We don’t have to talk about it. I know I don’t like talking about the night Logan—" She cuts off her words abruptly, straightening her shoulders, then slides the beer away from her. It’s only half empty. She heaves a breath in and smiles over at me, though I know it’s forced. Her lower lip wobbles just the slightest, like she’s trying her best to hold ittogether. Fuck, I just want to hold her. “There’s some things in life we never really get over, huh?”
A painfully tight knot lodges itself in my chest. I don’t know if it’s grief or guilt or jealousy or a strange combination of all three. I feel like a dick all over again. The woman is still grieving over her dead husband, she’s got her fucking hands full with three kids, and I’m sitting here ogling her with a chubby in my pants.
What would it be like to have the love of a woman like Teddy? That kind of devotion that follows even after a tragedy like what she’s faced?
She rises from her seat and I push to stand, but she rushes to say, “No, don’t get up. Finish your dinner, Xander. Thank you for the beer.” I sink back into my chair and watch as she flees. But then she stops at the slider door and looks back at me, those gray eyes crinkling at the corners slightly. “I’m really glad you’re back safe.”
Then she’s gone, slipping out of the back patio door and sliding it shut behind her. And I’m left with this ache in my chest and an empty, barely lived in house that just for a few minutes had seemed not quite so lonely.
After arguing with Colleen and Kent about sleeping arrangements, I’d finally convinced them to stay in my bedroom while I sleep on the couch. They’re my guests, after all, and the sofa doesn’t pull out into a bed, so it just doesn’t make any sense for them to move from the queen-sized bed to a small couch. I have Bea’s bassinet set up next to me, and I’m comfortable with an extra pillow and a soft blanket. It’s just for one night, anyway, I’d argued.
Besides, I’m so keyed up from my encounter with Xander I can’t sleep. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour. Scrolling through my phone. Listening to the sounds outside the slider door I’d kept cracked open.
It’s late. Bea’s already woken for her late feeding and is now down for the night, and I know she won’t wake again until close to five or six in the morning. I should be sleeping. But I can’t.
I’m angry at myself, at Colleen for pushing, at Xander for being so goddamn perfect and handsome and kind. I’m angry at Logan for leaving us, for putting me in this situation. And then the anger at myself starts all over again, because Logan didn’tleave us… I sent him out on that call and he died because of it. I sent him out and he never got to come home.
But the truth of it is, he’s not here. He’s never going to come home. The life I had imagined for myself is gone.
The most terrifying thing? Sitting there with Xander, drinking a beer and laughing and flirting—yes, I was flirting—I’d seen what a new life could look like… If only there weren’t so many things in our way. So many obstacles that will make any kind of future together impossible.
He’s a hotshot. He has one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, and he loves his job, I can tell just by the way he talks about it. It’s in his blood, his soul, his heart. Every heartbeat is for his job, his crew, his passion…
And mine is for my kids.
How selfish would I be to put any of us through that kind of hell again? To start anything with someone that at any second may not come back to us?
Throwing my arm over my eyes, I groan as silently as possible so I don’t wake Bea sleeping next to me. But God, why is he so perfect? He’s thoughtful and kind and so damn good with my kids it’s not fair. Why couldn’t he be a boring accountant and the worst possible thing that could happen is a papercut?
My breath stalls in my chest when I hear the telltale swish of a glass slider door, followed by the slight rattle of the screen being pushed open, then closed. A creak and metallic groan drift through the darkened night beyond my own patio doors, and I can imagine him sinking into that old, weathered folding chair that looks like it’s straight from the nineties. The pop of a bottle top is all that my straining ears can make out.
As silently as I can, I climb off the couch, checking to make sure Bea stays sleeping. I’m dressed in short sleeper shorts and a nursing tank top in deference to the ever-present late summer heat that hasn’t abated yet. But I pull my flimsy robe up my arms, tying it around my waist, and then slip out the patio door.
Rounding the little partition, I see Xander sitting in that chair, bare chested and wearing only a pair of gym shorts. He’s got a bottle of beer in one hand, the other hand wrapped around the back of his neck, kneading the muscles there. The moon filtering through the trees above casts a silvery glow on everything, casting his face into sharp relief and deep shadows. His gaze seems nearly electric as he stares at me from where I stopped.
“Can’t sleep either?” I ask quietly, my voice nearly a whisper. He continues staring at me and I shift on my bare feet. I nod toward where he’s still massaging the muscles of his shoulder. “Is that still bothering you?”
He smiles ruefully and nods. “It’ll be fine. You should go back to bed, Teddy.”
