CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kit let out a breath and slumped back in her chair. She had an appointment with Gwen and Larry Thomas for marriage counseling. She couldn’t do anything about Dillon right now, and she would not be further distracted from the things she should be doing.
But she reached for her phone.
Being the very experienced and highly professional mental-health expert that she was, she realized she needed some therapy of her own. And everyone knew that a doctor should never diagnosis or treat herself.
“I need to talk,” she told Bree when her friend picked up.
“Where and what time?” Bree asked.
In spite of her churning emotions, Kit smiled at that. That was a true friend right there. And she knew Bree would be practically bouncing in excitement to get to give Kit advice for a change. Kit talked, but she was rarely the topic of conversation.
“A Bar,” she said. “How’s three o’clock?”
“Drinking at three in the afternoon?” Bree asked. “Count me in.”
“I just want to avoid a big crowd. You’re not on duty?” she asked her friend, one of Chance’s finest, and next in line for chief of police.
“I’m off at two.”
“Then let’s make it two,” Kit said. She didn’t have any appointments later that afternoon, and the research paper she was working on would never happen with her currently scattered thoughts. “You think Avery would be available?”
“I’ll make her available,” Bree promised before disconnecting.
Avery was the fire chief, but as long as she had her phone and didn’t drink, it wouldn’t be a problem for her to stop by A Bar for a little bit. At least, Kit hoped that it would take only a little bit to sort all of this out.
How long could it take? Kit was an expert at understanding human emotions and reactions to trauma and drama. There was just something that Avery and Bree had more experience in than Kit—being in love.
Well, okay, she was experienced at being in love with Dillon. From afar. Without his knowing. Without anyone knowing. Without him feeling the same way. And certainly without him sending her flowers and giving her just-for-her smiles in the hallways and locking her office door at lunch and making her lose her mind.
That thought made her heart pound and her throat thicken with emotions she couldn’t name. Because those lunchtime trysts weren’t just sex. They weren’t just hot. They meant something. They meant that . . . even her lunch breaks had changed. And she liked it.
God, was she happy or upset? She didn’t even know. But in that moment when Dillon had said, “I love you,” almost as if it were just a given, something he’d been saying to her forever, something they always said when they parted ways, she’d been hit by a giant wave of . . . want. Yep, that was what it was. She wanted that. She wanted him saying that as easily as he said “Have a good day” or “See you later.”
She knew that people sometimes felt that I love you was used too casually, that people said it without thinking. But there was a difference between proclaiming love for chocolate cake and love for Beyoncé and love for family. She didn’t think Dillon had said it casually, exactly. The fact that he’d said it easily was what had rocked her.
And the fact that he hadn’t said it again. As if he knew that she was adjusting and that it was big. But he’d sent the flowers with that card. The card he’d flipped onto her desk as he was leaving today. Reminding her of it, even without saying it. And that was something else she wanted—to know it. To just know it. No matter what.
Just like she wanted to know who she was, no matter what.
And the woman who had been late, and distracted, and easy to get along with, and unconcerned about Founder’s Day, and was now in charge of the roosters . . . that was not her. That was not her normal.
For years, her normal with Dillon was to not see him more than three or four times a year. Then, for the past six months, it had been to butt heads all day and then go home separately.
Now it was . . . She really didn’t know. She saw him throughout the day, all day, every day. Then they went home. Together. What had happened to the middle part where they were supposed to butt heads? That hadn’t happened for two weeks. And there was a new middle part—where they kissed and teased and flirted and . . . said I love you. Kind of.
Yeah, she had no idea what to do with all of this.
Which was why she was at A Bar fifteen minutes early for her therapy session with Bree and Avery.
“Hey, Kit,” Brenda, one of the twin sister owners of A Bar, greeted as Kit came in.
“Hi, Brenda.”
“So you and Dillon at your grandma’s house, huh?” Brenda said with a huge grin as she took a glass and filled it with iced tea, Kit’s go-to.
Kit realized she hadn’t seen Brenda since then. She’d been in A Bar a few times, but Brenda’s sister, Becky, had been manning the bar. “Uh, yeah,” Kit said with a shrug. “We went to check on Grandma and decided it was safer to stay till the storm was over. Because it was dark. And then the wind chill and all.” Kit took a drink of her tea so she would stop talking.
“Smart move,” Brenda said.
Kit nodded. “We thought so.”
“Then again, any move that results in being cuddled up with Dr. Alexander is a smart move in my book.” Brenda gave her a wink. “I woulda climbed on the back of his snowmobile, too.”
“Oh, it wasn’t—” But Kit bit off her protest. Her go-to reply was “It wasn’t like that,” but the thing was, it had been. She’d climbed on the back of that snowmobile because she trusted Dillon. And because she’d wanted to. She hadn’t known they’d end up stuck together, and lip-locked, and other-things-locked, but even if she had, she still would have climbed on his snowmobile.
“You’re already one drink in?”
Kit swiveled to find Bree and Avery coming through the door. “Iced tea,” she said, holding up her glass.
“Still, I’m gonna have to catch up,” Bree said with a wink. “Beer, please!” she called to Brenda.
“How about you, Avery?” Brenda asked.
“Soda. I’m on the clock,” Avery told her.
“Thanks for coming,” Kit said.
Avery lifted an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Kit sighed. She should probably be proud that her having an emotional meltdown was so unusual that it meant her friends would do anything to witness it.
They took a table toward the back of the main room. There was a party room with pool tables and dartboards, and even a dance floor behind them, but during the week, the main room was more than large enough to accommodate the lunch and drinks-after-a-long-day-of-work crowds.
“So tell us everything,” Avery said as Brenda set down their drinks, including a refill for Kit.
“Can I get a cheeseburger?” Bree asked Brenda. “And onion rings.”
Kit looked at her. “You didn’t have lunch?”
“I had lunch,” Bree said, as if that was a dumb question.
Kit had always marveled at the way her friend ate. Bree was trim and fit yet had a penchant for junk food, especially ice cream. Of course, she also ran and biked and mountain climbed, and a million other very physical activities. Not to mention that she had an energy about her that Kit had never seen in another person. She was quick to laugh, always seemed to be moving—whether she was bouncing a foot or drumming her fingers—
And was always ready to go, up for anything.
But as Bree slumped back in her chair, crossed an ankle over her knee, and tipped her beer back, Kit also realized that Bree seemed less animated lately. No, that wasn’t the right word. Bree was as upbeat and lively as always. She just seemed more—at ease. Or something. She still seemed happy, but she wasn’t fidgeting or on the edge of her seat.
“So what’s up?” Bree asked.
Kit sighed. “I’m in charge of roosters because I’m in love with Dillon.”
Avery just blinked at her. But Bree nodded, not seeming a bit surprised.
“Roosters?” Avery asked. “As in male chickens?”
Kit nodded. “Founder’s Day.”
“Why did you sign up for that?” Avery wanted to know.
“I didn’t. Exactly. I was distracted by Dillon and just agreed to it.”
“To roosters,” Avery said.
“Yes.”
Avery leaned in. “What is going on?”
Kit looked at her other friend. Avery, too, seemed different. She had always been quieter—though it wasn’t hard to be quieter than Bree—and more content to observe than participate in their girl talk. None of the women had been friends in high school. They’d all been far too different. While Kit had been leading everything from committees to the honor roll, with Dillon right on her heels, Bree had been sneaking out of school and studying only enough to get by. Avery had been the quiet, shy girl with a rough home life who had followed the rules but hadn’t participated in anything but classwork.
After they’d all ended up back in Chance, working jobs in major leadership positions—fire chief, psychiatrist, and police officer—they’d found a bond, though, and now Kit couldn’t imagine her life without these two women.
And there was a definite difference in them both since they’d fallen in love. “You and Jake used to drive each other crazy,” Kit said to Avery. “How is it now that you’re together?”
Bree and Max had always been friends, even before realizing they were in love. They’d traveled together and had seen each other once a month for their adrenaline adventures—skiing, rafting, hiking. Avery and Jake had definitely not been friends. They’d actually not been much of anything other than acquaintances and classmates, until graduation night when things had suddenly combusted between them. Then Jake had left town, and they’d spent ten years driving each other crazy whenever they saw each other. Until the tornado in June. They’d been stuck together in a shed, and . . . things hadn’t been the same since.
They’d been so much better.
“What do you mean?” Avery asked. “We still drive each other crazy.” She got a faint blush on her cheeks as she said it, and her smile was wide but soft.
Kit blew out a breath. “So it’s not different for you?” Dammit. Was she the only one who was having these crazy changes in habits and personality?
“It is different. But it’s also the same. I mean, everything that was there before is still there. All of those feelings haven’t gone away, but it’s different because we know where those feelings are coming from now,” Avery said. Then she frowned. “That sounds confusing, doesn’t it?”
“I just . . .” Kit sighed. “Before, Dillon and I fought all the time. About everything. But now that we’re together, I’m going soft. I’m late for things, I’m not going to meetings, I’m distracted. And Dillon is making stupid decisions about the free clinic. And who knows what else? I’m not sure how to be sweet and supportive and in love with him but also fight with him.”
“Well, first off,” Bree said, “you’re not going to be able to pull off sweet, so just stop trying. Second of all, there’s a very good reason that you and Dillon always fought. And that hasn’t changed.”
Kit knew the reason. She was enlightened enough to at least recognize a lot of her bickering with Dillon for what it was. “For a long time, it’s been my way of not showing how I really feel,” she admitted. “When he was with Abi, I couldn’t let on how I felt because he was spoken for.”
Bree nodded. “Okay, maybe. But what about before Abi? And after?”
“Before Abi?” Kit asked. “He started dating Abi when we were sophomores.”
“And you had no feelings for him then?” Bree asked. “Really? Because every other girl in school did.”
“You did?” Kit countered.
“A little bit,” Bree said with a grin. “He was always hanging out with Max, and Max was always hanging out with me, so I was around Dillon. He was awesome, even back then.”
Kit frowned, recognizing that being jealous about a crush that hadn’t turned into anything and had happened almost fifteen years ago was ridiculous. But she felt a little stab anyway.
“What is it really?” Bree pressed. “Why have you been afraid to admit your feelings, to let up on Dillon a little bit, to maybe even go for it when it’s so obvious there’s chemistry and major history between you?”
Kit took a long, deep breath and looked at her two closest friends. These women knew her. Had seen her at less than her best. And they cared about her anyway.
But as those thoughts went through her mind, she realized they weren’t her closest friends, actually.
That was Dillon.
He knew her, better than Bree and Avery even did. That was the thing about having a nemesis—you had to study him, learn his strengths and weaknesses, catalog his best and his worst moments. Dillon knew her. He’d seen her at her bitchiest, at her lowest, at her most embarrassed—because all those things had happened when she’d been up against him. But he’d also seen her shine, seen her succeed, seen her proud and happy.
And he’d said that he loved her.
In spite of it all.
“Because I was afraid of giving him that control,” she finally said. “He already made me feel out of control. He can stir up my emotions faster than anyone. And I always hated that he had that power. I guess I thought I had to keep fighting him. Fighting those emotions and everything.”
Bree and Avery both nodded.
“You think I’m right?” Kit asked.
“Listen,” Bree said. “Dillon and Jake and Max—they’re all kind of larger than life. They take over a room, a conversation . . . and yeah, your heart, when you let them. And that can be kind of scary. Until you realize one thing.”
Kit felt her heart hammering. Wow, being on the other side of advice was hard. “What’s that?”
“That none of them have ever done anything without the best intentions,” Bree said. “None of those guys are out for themselves. They want the people and the world around them to be better.”
Avery reached over and took Kit’s hand. “And that when they love, they do that with all of the passion and energy and heart with which they do everything else. They all came back to Chance, they helped rebuild this town, they started a resource and teaching center for other communities, they’re here for their families, and they are here for us. Being loved by those guys is overwhelming at times, but it’s so worth it.”
“It’s like a tornado,” Bree added with a grin. “It’ll get you all twisted and tangled up, but when you’re on the other side, you realize what’s truly important because it’s what you were clinging to while the storm was raging.”
Kit swallowed hard. She’d been clinging to Dillon—literally—during the tornado, just like Bree and Avery had been clinging to Max and Jake. And during the snowstorm, she’d been safe and happy because she’d been with Dillon.
She looked at her friends—two of the strongest, smartest, most confident women she knew—and took in their in-love smiles and the general air of contentment around them. But they were still kicking ass, doing their jobs, taking care of the things that were important to them.
“Except that I can’t do anything, evidently, by my own motivation and drive,” she said. “Dillon has to be challenging me and pushing me and making me mad for me to get off my butt and do something.”
“What are you talking about?” Avery asked.
“As soon as I admitted how I felt about Dillon, I went all soft, and now I’m blowing off commitments and passing up leadership roles and generally not getting anything done.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bree declared, signaling their waitress for a refill. “You’re fine. You’re amazing.” She ordered another beer and then three shots.
“I was late for an appointment the other day,” Kit said.
Bree lifted a brow. “And?”
“I’m never late for appointments.”
“And you were suddenly late because now that you’re having hot sex with Dr. Stud, you’ve lost the will to do anything else?” Bree asked.
Kit chewed her bottom lip.
Bree burst out laughing. “First, good for you. Second, give me a break.”
“I’m serious, Bree. I don’t know if I’ll ever accomplish anything else if Dillon is nice and sweet and . . . in my bed.”
“Oh my God.” Bree shoved a shot glass toward Kit. “As much as I’m enjoying you being a mess for a change, this has to stop. Dillon Alexander is not the reason that you’re accomplished and respected, Kit.”
“I said no to heading up Founder’s Day.”
“So what? You fucking do everything around here, and you always have. You deserve a break.”
“That is not the point. I’m losing my edge. I need to be challenged, and when we’re together and getting along and saying things like ‘I like you no matter what,’ then . . . I guess I stop caring about the other stuff.”
“Okay, Doc, listen up,” Bree said, leaning in to rest her elbow on the table. “Here’s the thing. Dillon didn’t make you a type A, overachieving, kick-ass chick. He made it okay for you to be a type A, overachieving, kick-ass chick.”
Kit looked at her friend. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Dillon being who he is didn’t make you do amazing things. Hell, he hasn’t even been here for ten years! He just made you realize that it was okay to do amazing things.”
Kit felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She picked up one of the shot glasses and tipped back the sweet-and-spicy cinnamon schnapps that was Bree’s go-to.
“And do you know why he’s the one who made you understand that?” Bree went on. “Because you’re the same person,” she said without waiting for a response from Kit. “He’s the same type A, save-the-world, be-on-top person you are. And he basically gave you permission to conquer the world . . . because he was doing it, too. You guys push each other, but more than that, you complement each other.” She sat back in her chair again and crossed her arms. “You would make anyone else fucking miserable.”
Kit stared at her friend. And thought about what she’d said. Crazy, adventurous, down-to-earth Bree McDermott had just psychoanalyzed her. And done a good job at it.
“You wouldn’t date Dillon?” Kit asked. “He’s adventurous. He could totally keep up with all your craziness.”
“Hell no,” Bree said with a laugh. “He might jump out of an airplane with me, but he’d be telling me everything I was doing wrong and wanting to prove that he was better at it than me. I’d smother him in his sleep. After the really amazing hot sex, of course,” she said with a wink.
That didn’t bother Kit a bit. Bree was madly in love with Max. No way did she have feelings, or even a true attraction, to Dillon.
She looked over at Avery. “You agree?”
“That Dillon would drive me bonkers if I were involved with him?” Avery asked. “Absolutely.”
“Jake’s completely cocky,” Kit pointed out. Max was, too, for that matter, but he more or less worshipped Bree. Jake liked to rile Avery up. “Doesn’t he ever rub you the wrong way?”
Avery laughed. “Of course. But he’s . . . Okay, he’s an overachiever, too, but it’s like . . . he can’t help it,” she said with a little frown. “That doesn’t make sense. I mean, Dillon obviously has tons of natural talent and intelligence and a natural leadership style. But he also tries and pushes.” She finally shrugged. “I think Jake is more content than Dillon is. Jake does his thing and, yes, gets cocky about it, but Dillon seems to always be looking for more.”
Kit nodded. That all made a lot of sense. And she got it in Dillon. That made the most sense. Bree was right. She understood Dillon because . . . she was just like him.
“So are we okay here?” Bree asked. “You okay to be in love with Dr. Save the World?”
Kit took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
Avery nodded. “That’s okay. You know that, right? You don’t have to be sure of everything all the time.”
“But you do have to be willing to take a chance,” Bree said.
Kit finally lifted her iced-tea glass and toasted her friends. “I’m glad you’ve been paying attention all of the times I’ve advised you. You’ve picked up some good stuff.”
Bree laughed and clinked her glass with Kit’s. “See? Even making our amazing advice about you. You’re perfect for Dillon.”
Kit opened her mouth to reply, but just then, the door opened, and three big, cocky, good-looking guys strode in. Jake led the way, followed by Max, then Dillon.
Jeez, she felt revved up just looking at him.
The guys took over the space and the conversation, just as Avery had said they did. Jake picked up Avery and took her chair, pulling her into his lap. Max grabbed two more chairs and shoved one at Dillon while he turned the other and straddled it, putting him right up next to Bree. Dillon dragged his chair over to Kit and sat, dropping his arm over the back of her chair and settling in. As if he’d been doing it forever.
The heat from his body soaked into her side, and she felt him toying with the ends of her hair as Jake launched into conversation as if the guys had been there all along.
“Just got word that five different communities will be attending our preparedness weekends in March and April,” he said with a huge grin.
“Awesome.” Bree leaned over and high-fived him. “I’ve got my manual almost done.”
Jake, Avery, Max, and Bree had been working on turning Chance into a living, working resource and training center for tornadoes and other emergency situations in rural areas. With Jake’s emergency-management background; Max’s construction and building experience, along with his expertise as a storm chaser; not to mention Bree and Avery being in major leadership roles in a small town that had been hit by a record number of EF4 tornadoes over the years, the training they could provide to other communities was unparalleled. Dillon’s experience in medical assessment and treatment after disasters, and Kit’s expertise in dealing with the emotional and psychological effects disasters could have on people, especially children, were also being tapped for the project. The six of them working together were certainly a force to be reckoned with, and Kit felt a familiar thrill at the amazing things she and her friends had, and would still, accomplish.
“So these towns will be sending their leaders—their mayor, fire- and police-department reps, contractors, doctors, whoever they think should be involved. We’ll run them through educational sessions, some hands-on training, have them observe all of us,” Jake went on. “Each group will get a weekend of their own, so we can really get down to what they specifically need and want to know. But they’ll be arriving Friday afternoon and leaving Sunday evening, so we have a lot to get done in about forty-eight hours.”
“We’ll be fine,” Avery said, wrapping her arm around Jake’s neck. “It’s the six of us. We can do anything.”
“Damn right,” Max agreed.
Bree linked her arm with Max’s. “You know how I get all tingly when you talk about weather,” she said. “I might not be able to sit through your sessions.”
Max took her chin in his hand and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “I’ll have you listen to me practice at home. Then we can take care of those tingles, no problem.”
Kit didn’t know if she should look away from the blatant PDA or study it. She would have never guessed tomboy, tough-girl Bree McDermott for the type to go all googly-eyed at her boyfriend or kiss in public, but there she was.
Same with Avery. Avery led a crew of men, ran into burning buildings, and argued with anyone who dared suggest cuts to any public-service programs, and yet there she was, sitting on Jake’s lap, his hand splayed possessively over her ass, smiling at him like he’d hung the moon.
The girls had definitely changed since falling in love. And that same thing would happen to Kit. She’d soften up and relax and . . . let Dillon have his way more because she wasn’t trying to keep him at arm’s length.
But . . . then who would she be? She’d always been Kit Derby—the crusader, the advocate, the one who didn’t back down from a fight—no matter what. The winner. She’d always been the one who came out on top. Okay, so maybe it was right behind Dillon some of the time, but still, striving to outdo him, to be better and do more . . . that was what put her up there. Without that competition, where would she be? Fifth? Tenth? Would it even matter? And if she was having amazing sex and he was kissing her in the conference room in the middle of the day, would she even care?
“You’re overthinking again,” a deep voice said in her ear.
She turned her head to look at Dillon, finding his mouth millimeters from hers. “Am I?”
“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears as you try to figure out whatever you’re figuring out,” he said. “Relax.” He settled his hand on her shoulder.
But instead of comforting, it felt heavy.
“I, um, need to go.” She pushed back from the table and stood.
Everyone looked up at her in surprise. “You have to go?” Bree asked. “Go where?”
“Back to my office,” Kit said, jerking her purse strap up onto her shoulder. “I have a research paper to work on.”
Bree didn’t looked convinced, Avery looked concerned, and Dillon looked . . . knowing.
Dammit, she hated when he looked knowing.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, stretching to his feet as well.
At least he wasn’t trying to talk her into staying. Or saying things like Relax. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” But he stepped back to let her pass in front of him, obviously fully intending to follow her out.
Well, whatever. She’d dealt with Dillon in the past when she hadn’t wanted to. Why would this be any different?
Because he loves you.
No. That should not make a difference. She should be the same person whether Dillon loved her or not. Hell, Dillon should love her for being that person.
Kit worked on her breathing as she headed for the door. She was overreacting. She knew that. But it really was so much easier to identify and rectify things like this in someone else.
When she got to the door, she felt his big hand wrap around her upper arm and steer her down the short hallway to the right. And directly into the storage room.
She turned to face Dillon. “Another storage room?”
“I’m not letting you leave without at least trying to talk about this,” he said, dropping his hold on her arm. He moved so that nothing was between her and the door.
She recognized that she had every opportunity to just go. He was giving her the choice to stay. She sighed. The adult, mature, healthy thing was to talk this out with someone who would understand and whom she could trust. If nothing else, Dillon fit those two qualifications.
“Fine,” she agreed.
“Then shut the door.”
“What?”
“Shut the door, Kit.”
And there was that low, firm voice that always stirred her. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“We always shut the door before we yell,” he said.
Now she turned to face him fully. “We’re going to yell?”
“We always yell. At least a little bit.”
“I just thought that maybe now that we’re sleeping together and . . . d-dating . . .” Yeah, okay, she tripped over the word a little. It was just a new one to be using with Dillon. His eyes had narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. “I just thought maybe we should try getting along.”
He moved swiftly to the door, shutting it firmly. It wasn’t quite a slam, but she had no doubt that anyone on the other side knew that he wasn’t happy. Even without that, no way in hell would anyone in A Bar come in here if they knew Kit and Dillon were in here together.
He turned on her then. “We’re not going to stop fighting just because we’re sleeping together.”
Kit knew both of her eyebrows were up. “You realize that sounds crazy, right? People who date and fight all the time are the types of people I counsel before they head to divorce court.”
“That’s them. This is us.” Only a couple of feet separated them, but he moved closer anyway. It felt like he was taking up all her oxygen, too. “We fight because we’re better that way.”
“We are?”
“Of course we are. My idea to shift the money from follow-ups to equipment in the free clinic? The one that you agreed with the other day during our meeting? That sucks. So now patients with new type 2 diabetes who can’t afford clinic visits are going to have to wait for a class and risk circulatory issues and possibly even amputation so that someone can get a knee brace for arthritis?”
This was exactly what Shelby had brought up. “Did you talk to Shelby today?” she asked.
He frowned. “No, why?”
Okay, so he’d come to this conclusion on his own. That was interesting. “Knee braces for arthritis aren’t important?” she asked.
“Of course they are! They’re also a fraction of the cost, and there are a number of other options,” he said. “If we have to make cuts, the funding should stay with medical care.”
“It was your idea, Dillon!” she exclaimed. “I was just trying to be supportive.”
“Well, don’t support me when I’m being a dumbass!” he shot back. “I count on you to keep me from doing that!”
She stared at him. Then her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I’m not on my game lately,” she admitted. “I’m beyond distracted.”
“Me, too,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
“I’ve been distracted for two weeks. I don’t want to do anything but be with you. That’s not fair to my patients or the town or the committees that count on me.”
“And I suggested we defund a medical program.”
“So if I’m supposed to be keeping you in check and not thinking about kissing you while in session with patients, maybe we need to—”
“Don’t say it.” His voice was husky as he took her face in his hands. Dillon’s mouth claimed hers in a deep, hot kiss. One hand slid around to cup the back of her head; the other palmed her hip, bringing her up against his body.
And Lord help her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and arched into him.
His tongue took possession of her mouth, and she responded to every stroke, nibble, and groan. She wanted him. She wanted all of this. The things he made her feel, the way he made her think. But she couldn’t lose herself in this.
Kit pulled back, breathing hard, and pushed against his chest. “I have to go.”
He took his hands off her, shoving them into his pockets, but his gaze wouldn’t let go. “After all this time, after everything, now you run?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“I mean, you’ve stood toe-to-toe with me, time after time after time. You’ve never backed down from something I’ve challenged you to do. Until now.”
“What are you challenging me to do?”
“Love me.”
Kit felt the air whoosh from her lungs.
“Be in love with me, Kit.” He took a deep breath. “Do this relationship thing, this forever thing with me.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. She felt the tears stinging. “I’m just . . . I don’t know how to do this with you. We’ve been a certain way for so long.”
“I want to keep being that way,” he said.
Kit could tell that he was battling to keep his hands in his pockets. He wanted to reach for her, he wanted to hold on to her, but he was giving her space.
She shook her head. “How do we do that? How do we fight in committee meetings and then get along at home?”
“We do it because we respect the fighting. We understand it. We need it. We’re both better when we’re pushing each other.”
“You really think we can sustain that?” she asked. “Because I’m not sure I can. When I’m with you, I’m softer. I’m sweeter. I want to cuddle in blanket forts and make out in conference rooms more than I want to fight about funding the free clinic. That’s not good. I want to be the woman who fights.” She grimaced. “I know that sounds bad. But what I like best about us”—she took a deep breath—“is that you’re my best opponent. No one makes me work as hard as you do. And that work matters to me. It’s important.”
He studied her face, as if trying to decide how sincere she was. She knew it sounded horrible, but she needed Dillon to fight with her. Maybe more than she needed him to love her.
He blew out a breath. “Neither of us has ever not gone for something we wanted. We’ve both failed, I’ll give you that. But not very often. And never together.”
“We’ve come up short,” she said softly. “The other day when Shelly said that we’d overreached on the clinic, I couldn’t help but think maybe we’re overreaching on this. Maybe we’re expecting too much.”
“Too much? Being together is too much?” Dillon thrust a frustrated hand through his hair. “We’re both here. We both want this. How can this be the wrong thing?”
“Because I don’t want to change!”
He frowned at her. “Change? Why would you change?”
“I’ve already changed! I’m ‘softer,’ I’m humming at work, I let you have your way in that meeting, I’m giving up committees, and I’m running late and forgetting things!” She was as frustrated as he was. She was the person people came to for answers, to work through emotional issues. But she wasn’t sure how to fix this one.
“I would never want you to be different, Kit,” Dillon said, his voice rough, his face miserable.
“But when you’re different with me, I am different,” she said, feeling just as miserable. “When you . . . love me, I’m different.”
Dillon dropped his hands to his side and blew out a breath. “So what do we do, Doc?” he asked. “Because this addiction to you might be a problem, but I don’t want to get over it.”
Her heart melted a little at that. She did love him. He loved her. She just wasn’t sure she’d be good at loving him. Or being loved.
“Just . . . give me some time,” she finally said. “I’m going to go. I’ll take a drive. I just need to think.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I’ll go. You need to be with your friends.” He gave her a sad smile. “That’s how this works, right? I upset you, and you go talk to Bree and Avery, and then you figure out how to kick ass again?”
She shook her head. “I don’t talk,” she said softly. “I make everyone else talk.”
“Well, then . . . go do your thing,” he finally said. “It’s been working all this time.”
She watched him turn and pull open the door, then disappear around the corner. And she slumped against the wall behind her.
Because “her thing”—ignoring how she felt about Dillon and not talking about it―had been working all this time. But, as usual, Dillon Alexander was making her rethink everything.