Page 75 of Worth the Fight

His body jars beside me. “At least you’re honest when everyone else tries to beat around the fucking bush.”

“So?”

“I wanted to go in. Fires are few and far between in Sunnyville, so it isn’t like there’s a fire every week to test me . . . but when there is, it screws with my head. Every part of me wants to run in and do my job, and then I hear Drew screaming, feel the flames as they try to eat me alive, and I have a full-blown panic attack.”

I’m shocked by his honesty, so I give him some right back. “Having a panic attack would seem like a completely logical reaction, Grady.”

He hangs his head for a beat. “My dad used to say that bravery was being scared to death and suiting up anyway.”

The correlation he’s drawing is instantaneous to me. He doesn’t feel like he’s brave anymore. And yet, I will not refute him. Such a thing will fall on deaf ears, so I try another angle.

“Does this have anything to do with why you insisted I go to the station the other day?”

He crosses his arms on his knees and rests his forehead on them. I give him the time he needs and stare at the many moths flying through the light while I wait. “It was a company meeting. A we’re-not-sure–if-you’d-have-our-backs-in-a-fire meeting.” There’s hurt in his voice, but more importantly, there’s fight left too.

“They don’t blame you, you know,” I say when every part of me knows he thinks they do.

“I know they don’t,” he lies.

“No one does, Grady.”

He grunts as his shoulders heave up and down, but he doesn’t look up, and he doesn’t speak.

“Is there anything anyone can do to make the transition easier for you? This is what you love, it has to be crippling you not to participate in what you live for.”

“Stop talking about it. There’s a start. Stop whispering behind my back. Stop staring at me like I’m going to fucking break. I’m already broken, Dylan. That’s what they don’t get.”

“Grady . . . there has to be something⁠—”

“How about this? I’ll step into the fire when you decide you’re going to sing your own songs yourself instead of wasting all your talent and ability on people who take you for granted like Jett does.”

It’s my turn to have my feathers ruffled, and they definitely are.

“What’s wrong, Dylan?” he asks. “You don’t like having ultimatums thrown at you? Aren’t you the one who told me you’d take off your cover-up if I took off my shirt? Well, guess what? I took off my shirt. Now, I’ve upped the ante.”

I stare at him through the dim light and hate that we are both letting our fear get in the way but have no idea how to get past it. Neither of us do.

“Don’t turn this on me, Grady.”

“It’s a complicated fucking mess, isn’t it?” he says as he finally turns his head to face me.

“It is.” My voice is barely a whisper because in the split second of time, we’re face to face, our lips inches apart.

My breath hitches as the air around us shifts and changes, charges with the instantaneous chemistry between us. His eyes flicker to my lips and then back to my eyes as he leans forward.

And then he kisses me.

It’s a tender brush of lips, but it’s one of those kisses I can feel so deep in my bones that my body wants to sigh with satisfaction. And when it ends, he leans his forehead against mine and we sit like that, neither of us moving away nor denying the connection we share.

“What are we doing here, Grady?” It isn’t exactly the best time to ask the question, and yet, I can’t help but ask it. Because when his lips are on mine, it feels like whatever this is, is real. Then, when they’re not and he’s acting like we’re roomies, it’s confusing as hell. I’ve had enough confusion.

“We’re sitting in the dark on the porch,” he says.

Another brush of his lips to mine. A lift of his hand to cup my neck and deepen the kiss, his tongue licking against mine and then gently retreating. Our foreheads resting against each other’s, his hand still on my neck.

“I mean what is this? What are we doing here?”

“We’re kissing.” He chuckles and then kisses me again.