Lilli…

I’d stared at the text message on my screen and chewed my lip for the better part of an hour. I’d missed the text by two. I sighed and bowed my head, feeling so uncertain as to how to respond to something so profound. Something I didn’t deserve.

“Call him again,” Veronica urged, not for the first time, and I stared down at the phone in my hand and hedged.

“He’s probably out on a call,” I said. “He’ll call me when he gets – “

My phone, buzzing insistently, the photo of us together in front of the Liberty Bell lighting up the screen, cut me off. Veronica made an annoyed sound. I answered the call, self-conscious.

“Hi,” I said lamely ‒ and the voice on the other end wasn’t Backdraft.

“Lil?”

“Yes?” I felt the color drain from my face and my mouth go dry in sheer terror.

“It’s Brody.”

“Oh, my God, what’s happened?” I felt tears spring to my eyes in a rush of emotion as I thought to myself, Please no, not this, I can’t take anymore.

“Oh, shit! No! It’s not like that. He’s fine – er, physically fine, unharmed…” he trailed off and let out a frustrated breath. “Look, it was a bad call, Lil. A real bad one. With what’s going on with you, he’s not taking it well. He doesn’t even know I’ve called you. Angel and Lind are downstairs to smuggle you out. Can you meet them in your lobby?”

I turned to Veronica, who looked at me like I was being dumb. I smiled weakly and said into the phone, “Absolutely, Brody. I’ll be right down.”

He let out a rush of breath and said, “Good, that’s great, we’ll see you soon.”

We ended the call and Veronica, who was standing close enough to hear everything said, “Smuggle you out how?”

Turns out, it was "in the back of an ambulance as a patient from the garage level," as was the building’s protocol. The paparazzi didn’t even stir, which was a plus for us and as soon as we reached the firehouse, they backed into one of the bays and shut the doors before letting me out. Lind gave me a helping hand out of the back, and I spied Backdraft’s bike parked at the back wall.

“Where is he?” I asked, and the Captain waded through the guys gathered around and sighed.

“We are breaking so many rules, right now. He’s in the showers; we’ll stay out here. Don’t rat us out to the brass, girly.”

“I would never,” I said, and took off my jacket, laying it and my purse over the back of his motorcycle seat. One of the guys held a tiny kitten, rubbing over its head with his thumb.

“What happened?” I asked, frowning at the sight. Something was totally off about how somber everyone was being, and how reverent they were towards the little tabby kitten with white feet. Angel answered me.

“Little girl,” he said with a sniff. “Maybe five or six. Kitten lived, she didn’t. Backdraft was the one to pull them out.”

I felt my shoulders drop at the unfairness of it, and my eyes drifted back to the tiny cat.

“What are you going to do with him?” I asked.

“Seems to me he’d make a good mouser. We’ve been in need of a good housecat,” the Captain said and smiles broke out among the crew. I nodded. Jaspar and Marigold would have been pissed, but I would have taken him if they said he was going to a shelter. Poor tiny thing.

I turned to the locker-room doors and squared my shoulders, unsure of what I would find inside, scared that maybe they were putting entirely too much faith in me. At the same time, any and all embarrassment had fled in the face of knowing Backdraft was in pain and that I needed to try and fix what I could of it, even though I might be a majority of the root cause of it.

Sorrow welled fresh out of the laceration on my soul that the media shitstorm the lies of Backdraft’s ex had inflicted. While Mark wasn’t precisely a liar about our relationship, he was totally lying about the mechanics of it. I hadn’t known about her. I hadn’t even suspected. God what a mess.

I took a deep breath at the locker-room door, and let it out slow before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Steamy vapor hung low on the air, and through it I could see his muscled back. The shower was going full blast, but he wasn’t really using it. Instead, his forehead was pressed to the tile and his massive shoulders shook. Every line of his body echoed the overwhelming weight of that little girl’s death bearing down on those shoulders, and tears immediately sprang to my eyes.

I didn’t stop to think, I didn’t care about my clothes or the water, or anything but doing something, anything at all, to make it even just a little bit better. I went to him and wrapped my arms around him, hugging myself to his back as the water from the shower soaked through my sweater and I cried with him. I couldn’t not.

He jerked, startled, and, realizing who it was, settled again, one of his massive hands engulfing both of mine over his stomach as he tried to pull it all together.

“Don’t,” I said. “You don’t have to. Not with me, not ever.”

I felt the tension in him leak out and he turned in the circle of my arms and looked down at me, the water hitting his back, dripping off his nose, hiding his tears, but for the redness around his eyes which could have just as easily been from the smoke. The acrid smell of it hung on the steam and clung to the back of my throat.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice unsteady. “It’d only been a couple of days but…”

“I missed you, too, Backdraft, but I – I’m not good for you,” I said, unhappily.

“Bullshit,” he said harshly. “You’re everything I need, and this proves it.”

His mouth crushed down over mine and I honestly couldn’t resist him even if I wanted to, which ‒ I didn’t. I fell gratefully into his kiss and let him pick me up, his arms around me in a tight hug, my arms around him like I could never let him go, either.

I don’t remember my clothes coming off, but they did, flung into a soggy heap near the entrance to the showers. He backed me up against the cool tile wall but I couldn’t care. I needed something to quench the fire in my blood and the cool tile and warm water were helping. What I really needed was Backdraft inside of me, though.

Our mouths locked in desperation as he held me aloft. We weren’t quite lining up, with our height disparity, and to do so we would lose our ability to kiss as easily as this, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but having this man inside me. I was fevered and flushed and he was pretty much the only cure I could think of. He lowered me enough and slid his cock along the lips of my sex and I moaned, writhing against him, drawing in a sharp breath when the head of his dick penetrated me, slipping just inside. I groaned and he eased all the way in, hitching me up, shaking with the effort before pressing me back into the wall and thrusting up into me with a satisfied grunt.

It was the first time we fucked rather than made love and I think it was precisely what we needed in that moment. With every hard thrust, he grunted and I panted. The illicitness of it seemed to work out some of our mutual frustrations at the current circumstances we found ourselves in that were wholly beyond our control. At least, it did for me. I didn’t know if it was helping him at all, but I certainly hoped it was.

He bowed his forehead to mine and squeezed his eyes shut, just concentrating on the feel of me and I ran my fingers through his hair, slicking it back from his forehead, thin runnels of gray water seeping from it and running down his face. He hadn’t really scrubbed clean from the fire and my heart broke for him all over again.

I tipped my head back and gasped, overcome by the feel of him running over that spot inside me, the heavy weight of orgasm taking up residence low in my body, just waiting to drop and take me plummeting with it. I held off, tried to make this last, wishing that I could stay like this forever, but alas… all good things must come to an end, right?

I loved how in tune with my body he was. He knew just as surely as I did how close I was and when I tightened around him, he moaned and said, “That’s it, baby, come on,” as he eased his way in and out of me, expending the effort to keep the pace that’d brought me to the brink in the first place. I pressed my mouth to his skin and bit gently but firmly as my last vestiges of control were ripped away and I was sent hurtling out into the ether. I was vaguely aware of him making a triumphant noise, before burying himself into me completely.

“Hold onto me, baby. That’s it. Hang on tight.”

I clung to him, locking my legs around his lean hips as he carefully lowered us both to the shower floor, sitting with me in his lap as the water beat down on us both. He laughed slightly and I smiled at how he seemed lighter, whatever weight of sadness he’d borne when I’d arrived lessened, but not completely gone.

He brought my forehead to his as we panted in the shower spray, and closed his eyes, like he was silently communing with me, absorbing my essence as if it would be the last time for a long time that he would be in my presence.

I instantly felt guilty. I’d walked away from him, disappeared. I always did that when I was wounded or hurt. I locked myself away to internalize it all and suffer alone and in silence because that was the way things should be. You didn’t share your problems. You didn’t spread your misery around to poison the lives of the ones you loved. You handled your shit. On your own. Like an adult. Right?

“I’m gonna fix this, babe. I’m gonna fix it, I promise you,” he panted against my skin and I leaned back, capturing his face between my hands.

“There’s nothing for you to fix, Backdraft. These are my problems, this is my mess, and I need to clean it up. Not you. I’m just so sorry you were dragged into it.”

“No way baby, this is our mess and I’ll help deal with it. You aren’t doing it all alone anymore. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

I felt my shoulders drop under the weight of what he was consigning himself to and I couldn’t let him do it. The urge to protect him and nurture him entirely too strong.

I felt my expression fracture and shatter into lines of pain. I couldn’t stop it. I just hurt so badly for the both of us and I needed to put a stop to his crazy talk.

“I don’t want to fight about this,” I whispered, scratching my nails gently along his scalp as I smoothed back his hair. He closed his eyes and melted a little under that touch and I smiled faintly, loving that I could bring him even a tiny amount of peace while the storm raged all around us.

“Then don’t fight me,” he said pointedly, opening his eyes and fixing me with a somber stare.

I shook my head and sighed.

“The PR firm is handling it. They’ve advised me to take a break. I shouldn’t even be here but I couldn’t stay away…” I closed my eyes as he took one of my hands and reverently kissed the palm.

“Let’s get cleaned up and you some clothes, and talk about this with our clothes on?” he said and I smiled.

“I kind of like having the home-field advantage here,” I said rolling my hips a little, even though he’d gone soft some time ago and he’d slipped out of me.

“Yeah, well, we know it can’t last forever, I guess,” he said and it held a bitter edge.

“I hate living there now.” I blurted the confession unexpectedly, even to me, and some of the burden I carried lifted; the tightness in my chest loosening slightly.

“Ah, shit, yeah,” he muttered and gathered me close. “I could literally kill a motherfucker for that.” His words, though all bravado and we both knew it, were still comforting. There was nothing more violating than being photographed in your own bedroom by someone outside it. That was something I didn’t think could or would happen to me, let alone on the forty-fourth floor. I mean, did no one believe in privacy anymore?

I clung to Backdraft and took the shelter he offered, knowing it was fleeting and that all too soon I would have to go back to reality. He got up, helping me up, and we showered for real with soap and shampoo. He bundled me up in a large towel and I wrapped my hair in a second. He dressed in a clean uniform from his locker, kissed me soundly, and took my wet clothing out of the room in search for something dry for me to put on.

I blushed furiously, knowing that I was bound for yet another walk of shame through his coworkers. Although, compared to the last one? This was going to be a cakewalk.

I sat hunched on the end of one of the benches in front of the locker banks outside of the showers and felt my anxiety rise the longer Backdraft was away from me. I was slightly frustrated but not surprised at how much I had grown to rely on him in such a short amount of time. My mother had pretty much raised me to be co-dependent and though I usually had a better handle on it than this, with recent events, I honestly just wanted to find a better adult, an adultier-adult than I was to just fix the situation.

That’s why you hired lawyers and PR people, dipshit. I thought at myself savagely. I wasn’t completely helpless, I just felt that way. I had reminded myself of this no less than a dozen times when Backdraft came back.

“Sorry about that,” he said, setting a pile of clothes beside me. “Took me a minute to find things that might actually fit you but I wanted to load your clothes into the dryer first. These are Angel’s, but they’re the closest thing we’ve got to fit you.” I smiled and blushed a bit but he’d already propped one of my feet on his knee. He unrolled a ball of socks and I laughed. They were huge.

“These, unfortunately, are mine. Just going to have to deal.”

“I don’t mind,” I said softly, in a bit of wonder, as he rolled one down on itself and slipped it over my toes and over my foot. He was actually kneeling, at my feet, dressing me. I shook my head to dispel some of that wonder and said, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he replied gruffly, and I could see it was somehow important to him, taking care of me right now, so I let it go. I mean, I knew I was perfectly capable of dressing myself, but this was really nice. I’d never had anyone do anything like this for me before.

He continued administering his sexy brand of care and I let him, confessing quietly, “You’re really turning me on, right now.” He laughed and it was genuine. The icy layer of bereft sadness cracked, some of it falling away. Somehow, despite how awful his night had started out, his heart was already on the mend.

I wished I could be half so remarkably resilient and vowed at some point, to try and learn his secret.

He didn’t stop with the socks, either. He dressed the rest of me with the same level of care, occasionally pausing to press a light butterfly kiss to various points on my body, finding erogenous zones I didn’t even know I had. Each time he elicited a reaction a tiny smile raised the corners of his mouth, as if he were carefully taking notes. I marveled at him in disbelief, that there could be a man as perfect, as heartfelt and soulful as one of the heroes in one of my books. Not only that he was real, but that he’d found me and wanted me, despite the awful cloud of bad luck that seemed to follow me.

“Talk to me, baby,” he murmured and I shot a look to the locker-room door. He sighed, nodding and said, “No one’s listening. It’s just you and me, and I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Take me somewhere,” I begged quietly. “Somewhere where it’s just you and me and no one else.” I hated how it sounded like I was pleading, like I was begging for something unfathomable.

“Captain is going to send me home anyways. A guy has a rough call like that, this close to the end of his tour, it ain’t no thing to do it. I have plenty of time-off built up to cover a few hours. Let me grab your clothes in a bag and we can get out of here.”

“You’re sure?” I asked, barely wanting to breathe.

“I’m sure. I think you need me as much as I need you right now.”

I nodded and he slipped back out, only this time, it was with my hand in his and me following. I wasn’t about to let him face anything else alone tonight. I mean, I’d come here to comfort him and instead, here he was taking care of me… or maybe you’re doing something new. You know, like acting as one half of a healthy relationship. Maybe you’re taking care of each other.

Wasn’t that a thought?

I called Veronica and told her I was going somewhere with Backdraft while he talked with his Captain and a few of the guys. She was on the fence and I felt instantly bad about putting her in such a precarious position.

“On the one hand,” she said with a long-suffering sigh, “I’m glad you guys are doing you, and getting some time together.”

“On the other?” I asked, slightly amused, knowing what she was going to say.

“Don’t get caught by the media, please?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Where are you going?”

“His place, I think. Lord knows, I really don’t want to be in mine.”

“I hear that. Good lord, the only place I feel safe changing is in the bathroom, now.” She sounded as creeped-out as I felt, and I sighed.

“I hear you. I want you to put the condo up for sale.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, stunned.

“I have had nothing but rotten luck since moving into that obsidian tower.” I shivered. “I’m sure, and no, I don’t know where I want to go. Maybe something subterranean like a hobbit hole or something.”

She laughed. “You need windows,” she said flatly.

“You’re right, I do, with lots of light.”

“Come to New York,” she begged, and I stared from where I leaned against one of the trucks up into the loft where Backdraft talked with the rest of his crew.

I shook my head, realized she couldn’t see it, and said to her, “Indigo City is my home now, and I won’t be run out of it completely. Besides, New York is great for a visit, but would drive me even more nuts than I already am.”

“You’re not as crazy as you think you are,” she said softly. My personal assistant was gone, my best friend was in residence. “You’ve just been through a lot. I don’t think anyone would be taking any of this well.”

“Feed Jaspar and Marigold for me?”

“Do you one better, I’ll give them lots of love from their momma.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, you be careful.”

“I will.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I ended the call and when I looked back up, Backdraft was gone and there were a whole bunch of curious and sympathetic stares in my direction. I felt my face flush, but the loud sound of boots hitting concrete made me jump. I turned and Backdraft was striding in my direction from the brass fire-pole.

“Ready to go?” he asked and I nodded. I put on my jacket, and braced for a cold ride. A bunch of the guys came down and the garage doors started to go up.

“Hang on, they’re going to run interference with the trucks and sirens,” Backdraft said.

“They have a call?”

“Naw, grocery run.”

“This late at night?”

“Welcome to the city, baby. Got twenty-four hour just about everything.”

I huddled against his back and put my arms around his waist, trying to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible. I winced as the lights and siren started on the rig nearest us, the blare of the horn going off as Backdraft started his bike. The trucks drowned out the sound of the bike starting up and when they turned out of the driveway we hid behind them and turned the opposite direction.

I realized, belatedly, that I’d actually never seen Backdraft’s place and I had no idea where it was or what it was like. I smiled and held on, looking forward to seeing this new piece of his life.

He took several turns to get us going in the right direction and wove through city streets. It wasn’t a very long ride, even with the added turns to get on the proper track. He pulled off to the side and signaled for me to jump down. I did and stood on the curb in front of a stretch of old brownstones as he backed the bike into a space between two cars just big enough to fit the bike and leave them ample room to get out without hurting it.

I’m not going to lie. I was really hoping that it was one of the old brownstones that he lived in, rather than the rundown, tired old apartment tenement across the street. He reached out and took my hand, the bag of my still-soggy clothes, that he’d pulled from one of his saddlebag storage-things on the bike, in his other one.

“Which one is it?” I asked and he grinned.

“Don’t get too excited,” he said. “It’s that one up there.” He pointed.

“You really live in an antique brownstone?” I asked.

“Yeah, restoring it myself, outside has a lot more curb appeal than the inside, babe. I’m almost embarrassed to bring you inside.”

“Really? Why?”

“You’ll see.”

He stuck the key in the lock of the weathered front door and twisted. I wanted inside and off the sidewalk before we were caught, before we were seen and I am afraid I may have crowded him a little. He depressed the latch and swung the door in and let me go through where I stopped.

“Oh, wow…”

It was like a literal bomb had gone off in here. Holes in the walls revealing the skeleton of the building, insulation dripping from them like ticking from a stuffed bear. There was no rhyme or reason to any of the wallpaper or paint that still clung to the walls and the wood floors were in dire need of sanding.

“Is that even legal?” I asked, but I couldn’t help but smile. He followed my gaze toward the ceiling and the exposed electrical dribbling out of it where a light fixture used to be.

He laughed and said, “First story has no power running to it currently.”

“How long has it been like this?” I asked, but my eyes were no longer seeing what was but rather what could be.

“I’ve owned it around two years, started on the third floor and am working my way down.” His voice was soft, careful, and I dropped my eyes to his face.

“It has so much potential,” I said. “What are you going to do with it?”

His smile broke out across his face and was so infectious I felt an answering one of my own blossom out of my awe at the place. He drew me closer by the hips and considered me a moment, his expression growing serious, the smile he had fading.

“I want you to do me a favor,” he said.

“Of course,” I murmured.

He stood aside and looked around and said, “I want you to tell me what you see for this place.”

I swallowed hard and asked, “How do you mean?”

He swallowed hard and searched my face in the dark, but the streetlights shining through the windows was plenty to see by. I saw him lose his nerve and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him to and I didn’t want to second guess everything. I wouldn’t. I mentally punched my mother and the way she raised me in the face and grabbed onto the moment with both hands, clinging to it for dear life.

I put a hand on his chest and asked for him, “You mean if I were to live here? Like, our future together?”

He smiled and it was different. So timid and shy for him and I realized just how precarious we were, how fragile this moment was and I ached so fiercely. Like we were back to being ‘just friends’ when I honestly hated it. I didn’t want ‘just friends’. I wanted him and a chance to explore a life with him and what that would be like. I didn’t want these assholes or my neurotic mess of anxiety to win, and so I sighed and put my imagination to good use.

“Give me the tour, let me see the whole thing.”

“Bottom to top?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He took my hand and led me gently up the hall to a door and opened it: the stairs leading down to the basement. I smiled and he took out his phone and used the flashlight function. I went down the stairs to the first landing and looked out over the wide-open space down here. He went all the way down to a nook behind the stairs and I heard him open a dryer. I drifted down all the way, until my boots settled on the gritty concrete of the basement floor.

“Man-cave,” I said and he laughed.

“Seriously?”

“Oh, for sure! A bar over there, a pool table over there with the red felt, not green, and a big-screen TV for all the sportsball your manly hearts could desire.”

He straightened and twisted the knob on the dryer and hit the button. It started to tumble and he came back to me, drawing me back against his chest.

“What do you think?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling. “Finish the beams or just drywall it?”

“Mm-mm, neither! What about pressed tin or copper? Like the old-time saloons?”

“Expensive shit,” he said.

“Not if you know where to look, and plus, if we’re pretending that I’m doing this with you, money isn’t exactly an object. I’ve invested carefully. Even if my career goes down like the Hindenburg at this point, I could sustain us beyond these remodels. Plus, I was making fairly decent money as a transcriptionist in the medical field before I turned full-time author.”

“I never knew what you did,” he said thoughtfully. “You know, before Timber.” I sighed and leaned back into him, holding his arms around me.

“There’s still so much we don’t know about each other,” I said unhappily.

He kissed the top of my head and whispered into my hair, “Got nothing but time, babes. That’s the only remedy for that.”

I twisted in the circle of his arms and looked up into his face, searching it. All I could find was love and commitment there, and I would be damned if I would let my fear of pain, for him or for me, torpedo this before it got started.

“I am so scared for you,” I confessed and he touched the side of my face.

“Now, we’re getting somewhere,” he murmured.

I bit my lips together and rolled them out, smoothing them against each other and came clean.

“I’m terrified, actually, that something like this or even worse than this is going to happen and you’ll be so hurt or get so sick of me and leave.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes. It was too hard when I was baring the darkest fears and parts of my soul. Everyone disappointed you or left eventually; I’d grown up abandoned by anyone and everyone that made a difference to me ‒ my father, my grandparents, my own mother. I was naturally skittish from a childhood filled with false constructs of relationships, paper thin, yet so starved for love it was all I could seem to find as an adult ‒ more of the same.

Until now. I felt it down to the very bottom of my heart that this, with Backdraft, was something different. The old myths of soulmates, that I’d made so much money writing about, were suddenly very real. I didn’t want to let go of that.

He gently touched the side of my face, the light from his phone’s flashlight illuminating things from where he’d rested it on the banister around the little landing. I looked up into his eyes which were just dark down here, the light leeching all the color away from them. Still, the one thing that it couldn’t take or steal was the sentiment in them. The resolve he looked at me with made more of my insecurities fall away.

“I told you. I’m not going anywhere, Lil. You don’t find this shit every day, babe, and I know it’s moving at warp speed, but none of what is happening to us makes me feel any less about you. Makes me feel a whole lot less about the world in general, but I still love you, and I still want a shot with you. I’m not letting those assholes take that away.”

“You really think that, don’t you?” I asked, my voice faint with wonder.

“What?” he asked.

“Us. That this is happening to us. Not you or me, but us.”

“Damn straight.”

He smoothed a thumb back and forth along my cheek and I closed my eyes and swore, “Fuck.” He burst out laughing.

“What?” I demanded, but I was smiling, too. I couldn’t help it. His laugh had that effect on me.

“I’ve never heard you swear so hardcore before!”

“Shut up!” I said laughing, smacking him lightly in the arm. “I swear!”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” he said getting it together. “What was that for?”

I sighed and told the truth, “This whole time, the last few days, I’ve been taking this all on myself. Like it’s all me. My fault, my problem, ‘my’. ‘My.’ ‘MY.’ When it’s not. I’ve been shutting you out, and I feel really bad about it now.”

“Don’t,” he said leaning back to look at me. “You’ve been all alone, on your own, for a real long time, Lil. That’s a tough habit to break. This is all still real new.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I breathed and he frowned.

“Stop that, you’re long overdue for someone to take care of you instead of the other way around, babe. Now I’m here to do that, so relax for me, okay?”

I pressed my lips together and nodded, the tension easing from my body. I thought to myself, Dear god, I need therapy, and made a mental note that maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, that maybe I needed to look into getting some.

“Show me the rest of the house,” I murmured, and he grinned and nodded.

The second floor was still as much a disaster as the basement and first floor, but the third floor was like stepping into another world.

“Oh, my god, this is beautiful!” I said and he flipped on a light. The classic light fixture hanging from the high ceiling cast a warm golden glow over the room. It was spartanly furnished, just a bed and tired old dresser but everything else looked smooth, polished, and brand new.

“You like it?” he asked, and I turned in wonder.

“You did this all yourself?”

“Yeah, had some help here and there from a bunch of the guys.”

“Fire or Indigo Knights?” I asked.

He smiled and said, “Both.”

“They did you proud,” I said softly.

There was a fireplace up here, and the room was all white and full of light. Pristine in a modern yet classic sort of way.

The bathroom was huge; the tub, an old clawfoot; the shower, glassed-in and modern, with a dual his-and-hers sinktop made of the same stone as the shower stall’s tiles. The floors were a white marble or granite and reminded me of a white sand beach.

Still, the bedroom and bathroom both, while beautiful, looked mostly unused and unfinished somehow. I realized there was no art on the walls. Nothing personal. As if it were finished, and a beautiful house, but had yet to be made into a home.

“You need a bigger bed,” I said softly and he grinned.

“I think your king would look better in here, don’t you?”

I debated telling him I put the condo up for sale tonight but finally decided against it. Scared that it would seem like I was moving myself right in here, which wasn’t what we were doing, I mean, right?

“I think you’re right,” I said, a little breathy when he moved back into my space and hooked his fingers into the hem of the borrowed Indigo City Fire Dept. tee shirt I was wearing, lifting it up, over my head. I raised my arms and let him have it, saying, “I think this room needs a king.”

“Hmm,” he said, smiling, the sound a slight laugh, like he found me cute. I was okay with that, the whole ‘him finding me cute’. He kissed me, his warm hands sliding against my skin and I closed my eyes, grateful that my mind was going into that pleasant, blank place of just feeling rather than thinking. By this point, I think I was thought-out, and yeah, even felt-out a little bit, mentally and emotionally wrung-out from this crazy yo-yo, this insane back-and-forth along my heart strings from everything. The media, his ex, Mark, the lawyers, the paparazzi, the readers and publishers, and movie producers, and, and, and, and, and…

It was too much, and I shoved it all away, off my mental desk and onto my mental floor so Backdraft could put me on it and give me the only fuck I cared about right now.

Bless him and his never-ending patience with me.