Dhillon wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head in between his shoulder and neck, and held her while she sobbed. Only Dhillon understood what had happened. Only Dhillon could comfort her. And it felt good to be in his arms again. He waited for her to settle down before pulling back enough so he could look at her. “You are many things, Riya-D, but weak is not one of them.”
“I have to go to Psych.”
He shrugged, like this was expected, normal. “Good.”
“Good? The guys are going to think—”
“Since when do you give a shit about what people think?” His arms were still around her. “This is the girl who has done what she thinks is right her whole life, people’s thoughts be damned. Don’t you remember when you came to the mandir still dressed in your soccer gear because there was no time to change?”
She chuckled through her tears. “Namrata Auntie was livid!” She did a mock Indian accent. “‘What kind of girl comes to temple, sweaty and dirty?’”
“Your mother was mortified. Your dad just shook his head. You did not care.” He pulled his arms away from around her and took her hand. “Remember what you said?”
She nodded. “‘My heart is clean. It shouldn’t matter if I’m sweaty.’”
“You impressed me, even then.” He wiped away her tears with his thumbs, resting his hands on her face.
She tamped down her excitement at the thought that Dhillon was impressed by her in any way. Past or present.
“And every year, you sneak out of the yearly remembrance without eating.” Dhillon spoke softly. “Everyone who attends, except our families, is certain of your disrespect.”
“But you know why?” Her watery eyes met his.
His voice was deep and soft and reassuring, cocooning her in its warmth. “Because you can’t stand to eat Samir’s favorite foods without him.”
His hand grazed her shoulder, soft and warm, sending oh-so-pleasant chills through her body. She looked up at him as he gasped, his eyes hooded over.
“I should get inside. Get some sleep.”
Dhillon snapped his gaze up and pocketed his hands. “Yes. You should.”
Neither one of them moved.
“Talk to the guys. Tell them what happened. They are good people. They’ll get it,” Dhillon said.
Riya shook her head. “I don’t know...”
“Yeah, you do.” Dhillon was firm. “You know what the right thing is here. You just have to let yourself be vulnerable enough to do it.”
It was almost a command. Dhillon had never commanded her a day in his life. She knew he still hated the idea of her being a firefighter, but here he was. He could have played on her fears and insecurities and encouraged her to quit. Tried to talk her back into being a paramedic. That was what he wanted: for her to be safe. Instead, there he stood, giving her sage advice about how to keep doing what she was doing and do it even better, his own fears be damned. “This is who you are. Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
This was why she loved him.
twenty-five
DHILLON
Dhillon returned to his house to find his mother in the kitchen. Didn’t anyone in this house sleep? She was in leggings and an oversize T-shirt, standing and staring out the window, almost in a trance, Scout in her arms.
“Mom?”
She started and turned toward him, and Scout wiggled free to get to Dhillon. She raised her arm to call him over, a small smile on her face.
“Why are you awake?” he asked, bending down to pet the puppy. Riya had asked them to take Scout when she was on the overnight shift, since her mother was still recovering. He came up next to her, trying to see what was so mesmerizing. “And why are you standing here?”
She shrugged. “Scout woke up when you left, and I couldn’t fall back asleep. I keep thinking about...” She shook her head.
Scout curled up at his feet. He rested his arm around his mother’s shoulders. “Dad? You’re thinking about Dad?” Must be something in the air. The past was seeping into everyone’s present.
