Becca was sitting on the top step when I pulled up—clean, showered, hair pulled back, wearing one of Matt’s old flannel shirts over a huge pair of sweats. She looked smaller than she had on Aggie’s porch; her eyes found me the second I stepped out of the truck.
She stood.
I crossed the yard in four strides.
I didn’t speak. Just pulled her into me—hard, careful, arms around her back, face in her hair.
She wrapped both arms around my neck and held on like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go.
“I’m okay,” she whispered against my throat. “We’re okay.”
I exhaled and pressed my lips to the top of her head and held them there, breathing her in—smoke and something underneath it that was just her, still her, unmistakably her—and felt the iron thing in my chest begin, slowly, to loosen its grip.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, hands sliding from my back to my chest, her eyes moving across my face the way they did when she was checking something, taking inventory.
“You’re shaking,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Her hands came up to frame my face, warm and certain, thumbs brushing slow across my cheekbones, tracing the soot I hadn’t quite washed off in my rush to get to her. I felt the drag of it against my skin, the gentleness of the gesture, and something in me that had been clenched for hours threatened to come apart entirely.
I closed my eyes.
“I thought I was going to be too late,” I said. The words came out rough, scraped raw. “I thought I’d get there and you’d be—” I stopped. Swallowed against whatever was climbing my throat. “I thought I’d lose you. I thought I was going to pull up and you’d be—” I couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t put it into words, not even now, not with her warm and solid and here in my hands.
Her breath hitched. I felt it against my lips, felt her fingers tighten slightly against my jaw. “You didn’t,” she whispered.
“I know.” My voice cracked anyway, split clean down the middle, and I didn’t try to stop it. “But the whole drive. The whole call, every second of it—I had this image I couldn’t get rid of, and I kept thinking about everything I hadn’t said yet. Everything I still wanted—” I stopped myself. Pressed my lips together. Looked at her as tears filled my eyes.
She was right there, close enough that I could see the remnants of the evening in her face—the faint smudge at her temple, the redness at the edges of her eyes, the small covered marks at her collarbone that I was going to think about later when I had the capacity to be properly terrified. Right now, she was just Becca.
“There’s so much I still want to say to you,” I said quietly. “I just—I need you to know that.”
She made a soft sound, somewhere between a breath and something wordless, and leaned her forehead against my chest. Her hands slid back into my hair, fingers curling gently against my scalp, and I felt the tremor move through me again and stopped trying to hold it still.
“Then say it,” she murmured. “All of it. Whenever you’re ready.” Her thumb moved against my cheek, slow and deliberate. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I pulled her back in, arms wrapping around her, her face tucking against my neck, and held her the way I’d been needing to since the moment the call came through—close and careful and with everything I had.
“I know.” My voice cracked anyway. “But I thought I would. The whole drive. The whole call. Every second.”
“I thought I wasn’t getting out,” she whispered. “I thought I was going to leave you. The trailer caught fire so fast. I thought you’d have to go into Aggie’s and find…”
I tightened my hold, fingers pressing into her back like I could keep her anchored to me forever. “You didn’t leave me. You’re here. You’re breathing. You’re in my arms. And I’m never letting anything take you from me.”
She buried her face against my throat, breath hot and uneven against my skin. “I was so scared. Not just for Gerald. For you too. That you’d get there and I’d be gone. That I’d never get to tell you?—”
I cut her off gently, my lips brushing her forehead. “Tell me now. Tell me you love me, and I’ll say it back. Tell me, Becca, because I’m in love with you. More than I can ever put into words.”
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes—red-rimmed, shining, terrified, and fierce all at once. “I love you,” she said, voice breaking open. “I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember what it felt like before. And I was scared I’d never get to say it to you.”
My throat closed. I rested my forehead against hers, breathing her in, the words I’d held back for years finally rising to the surface.
“I love you too,” I whispered, raw and certain. “I’ve loved you since we were kids. I’ve loved you through every quiet year, every time you pulled away, and every time I let you. I’ve loved you when I didn’t know how to say it, and I love you now more than ever. And I’m not losing you. Not tonight. Not ever.”
She made a small, shattered sound and kissed me—desperate, trembling, tasting of smoke, tears, and everything we could have lost. I kissed her back with everything I had—slow, deep, pouring every unspoken promise into it.I’m here. I’m staying. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and nothing is taking that away.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard.
