Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Chapter 13
Tessa
Idon’t breathe when he says the words.
“I just want to love you.” The words don’t explode. They don’t echo. They don’t shatter the room.
For a second I just stare at him. At the man who has been bracing against me for months. At the firefighter who runs toward flames but has been running from this.
His hand is still at my jaw, thumb warm against my cheek. His eyes aren’t wild. They’re steady.
Terrified.
But steady.
“You’re choosing me?” I ask, because I need to hear it in every possible way.
“Yes.” He steps closer. Not hesitant. Not pulling back this time. “I tried to do what was right,” he says, voice low and rough. “Tried to convince myself you deserved someone easier. Younger. Uncomplicated.”
I lift my chin. “You think love is supposed to be easy?”
“No.” His thumb drags slowly along my cheekbone. “I think it’s supposed to be real.”
The heat between us shifts. It’s no longer tension straining at a leash.
“I’ve built a life that didn’t have space for this.”
“This?” I press.
“You.”
My pulse stutters.
“You think that makes this wrong?” I ask.
He exhales through his nose, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “I thought maybe it did.”
“And now?”
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers spreading, firm and possessive in a way that makes my knees go soft.
“Now I think letting you walk out that door would be the only thing wrong.”
The words hit like heat against bare skin.
“You don’t get to keep me because you’re afraid to be alone,” I say quietly.
“I’m not afraid to be alone.”
“You’ve been alone for almost a decade.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s worse.”
Silence hums.
He steps in closer until there’s no space left between us. “You think I don’t know what I’m asking?” he says softly. “You think I don’t understand what it means to let you in?”
“I think you’re finally admitting you want to.”
His eyes darken. “I don’t just want you.” The words vibrate low in his chest. “I choose you. You’re not a replacement,” he continues, voice steady but thick. “You’re not a distraction. You’re not some temporary thing that showed up because I was lonely.”
“I know that.”
“I need you to hear it anyway.”
My throat tightens.
“I love you,” he says again, slower this time. “Not because you healed me. Not because Lacee loves you. Not because you make the house warm.” His hand slides to my waist. “I love you because when you look at me, I feel alive.” The words knock the breath out of me. “You brought light back to my ashes,” he whispers, and it doesn’t sound poetic. It sounds like confession.
My fingers curl into his shirt.
“I never wanted to fix you,” I say. “I just wanted to stand next to you.”
His mouth hovers inches from mine. “I don’t want fixing.”
“Good.”
“I want you.”
The air between us turns electric. His palm presses against the small of my back, steadying me. His forehead rests against mine.
“You sure?” he murmurs.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He studies my face like he’s memorizing it.
“You’re young,” he says quietly.
“I’m grown.”
“You could have anyone.”
“I don’t want anyone.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You don’t know what the next ten years look like.”
“I know what they feel like standing here.”
That stops him.
“You don’t get to decide what I’m capable of loving,” I continue. “And you don’t get to shrink yourself because you’re afraid I’ll regret it.”
His grip tightens slightly. “You won’t?”
“No.”
“You won’t wake up one day and decide this was a mistake?”
I slide my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair. “If I wake up one day and regret something, it won’t be loving you.”
The words settle into him. The resistance is gone.
He kisses me.
His mouth moves slow and deliberate, one hand firm at my waist, the other cradling my jaw. I answer him without holding back. He exhales against my lips, low and rough.
“That’s what I’ve been holding back,” he murmurs.
“Then stop holding.”
A flicker of heat flashes in his eyes. “You sure you want to say that to me?”
“Yes.”
His mouth curves slightly. “Careful.”
I slide my hands down his chest again, testing. “You’re the one who said you’re done bracing.”
His gaze drops to where my fingers linger. “I am.”
“Then show me.”
His hand moves, slow and deliberate, from my waist up my spine, settling at the back of my neck again.
“You don’t get to challenge me like that and expect me to stay calm,” he says quietly.
“Who said I want you calm?”
His breath roughens. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I’m not playing.”
That does it.
He shifts, lifting me just enough to sit me on the edge of the dresser behind me, his body stepping between my knees. His hands stay respectful. Controlled.
But firm.
“I’m not choosing you halfway,” he says, voice low. “If we do this, we do it fully.”