I took a breath that hurt my smoke-raw lungs.
"I want to be your choice."
Cal was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, painfully, he pushed himself upright. The movement made him wince, the IV line pulling taut. I started to tell him to stop, to lie back down, but he was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
"Cal, what are you?—"
He crossed the space between our beds. Three steps, maybe four, though each one clearly cost him. And then he was there, beside me, lowering himself onto the edge of my mattress, cupping my face in his hands.
His palms were rough against my cheeks. Calloused from years of handling hoses and axes and whatever else firefighters handled. Gentle in a way that made my heart ache.
"You are," he said.
I blinked in disbelief. "What?"
"My choice. You are my choice." His thumbs brushed away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "The promise was how it started, but Lucy, it stoppedbeing about the promise a long time ago. I would choose you even if Mateo had never asked."
His forehead dropped to touch mine.
"I love you," he said. "Not because he asked me to. Not because I owe it to him. Not because of guilt or duty or anything else. I love you because you're you. Because your laugh is the best sound I've ever heard. Because watching you with Gabrielle makes me believe in things I'd given up on. Because for the first time in three years, I can imagine a future, and you're in every part of it."
His breath was warm on my lips.
"I choose you," he whispered. "Every day. Every moment. I choose you."
I kissed him.
I didn't think about it, didn't plan it, didn't give myself time to be afraid. I just leaned forward, closed the impossible distance between us, and pressed my mouth to his.
His hands were still on my face, and they tightened, pulled me closer, held me like I was something precious he'd been waiting for his whole life. I tasted smoke and salt and something sweeter underneath, something that felt like coming home.
The kiss was gentle at first. Tentative. Two people who had spent so long holding back, finally letting go. But then his fingers slid into my hair, and mine gripped the front of his hospital gown, and gentle became something else. Something hungry. Something that had been building for months, maybe years, finally breaking free.
The monitors beeped faster. I didn't care. His mouth moved against mine, and his hands held me steady, and three years of grief transformed into something new. Not erased, never erased, but changed. Made room for what was growing alongside it.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, his eyes closed, his thumb still tracing the curve of my jaw.
"I love you," he said.
"I know." I managed a shaky smile. "I love you too."
He laughed, low and rough and perfect.
"We should probably stop," I said. "I'm pretty sure my heart rate monitor is going to bring a nurse in here any second."
"Let them come." He kissed me again, lighter this time, a promise. "I've waited a lot of months for this. I can handle a little embarrassment."
I laughed against his mouth, and the sound surprised me. Real laughter. The kind I'd forgotten I was capable of.
We stayed like that, foreheads touching, hands tangled, monitors beeping their steady rhythm, until a nurse came in. She took one look at us and raised an eyebrow that said she'd seen the way he positioned the beds before and would see it again.
"Mr. Bennett," her voice came with a dry tone. "You're supposed to be in your own bed."
"Yes, ma'am," Cal seemed to agree, but he didn't move.
The nurse sighed, checked my vitals, checked his, and left with a muttered comment about firefighters being impossible.
Cal laughed, so did I.
