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I’d like to think my love for Trevor would outweigh any of this, but I’m not sure it would, and I don’t know how to move forward without hurting him. I’ve tried to think about all the wonderful times we’ve had together over the years—and particularly more recently—but it only reinforces what I already know: I love Trevor, and it would kill me if something happened to him.
I’m just not sure how I walk away from this taste of his love with my heart intact. I’m pretty sure the answer is I don’t. But I also don’t know how to move forward. What I do know is I have a decision to make, a decision that will impact my life as well as Trevor’s, and I have to make sure we’re not only on the same page, but that I’m giving him everything I have to offer. As it stands right now, I’m not sure that’s much.
How am I supposed to give someone my whole heart when that heart is weighed down by so much dread?
I’m thinking about what I should do and what I shouldn’t, trying to work it all out in my head, when I see a familiar figure walking down the road. It’s dark out, but the lights from the streetlamps and emergency vehicles provides enough luminescence, and what I see takes my breath away.
Trevor.
Milo wakes up when I lift her from my lap. I hand her to Mo and step out of the truck to watch him. His helmet dangles from his fingertips, his coat is draped over his arm, and his straps are hanging beside his hips. His hair sticks up in a hundred different directions, and he looks exhausted.
In this moment, my heart fills with so much joy and love, pushing away all of my fear and insecurities, and I take a step forward. The movement much catch Trevor’s attention, because his head snaps up, and he stops in the middle of the road.
He stands there, unmoving, as I take another step and then another and another, and before I know it, I’m running full speed, slamming into his chest, and he catches me, because Trevor will always catch me. His arms circle around me in a tight band. I don’t care that he’s black from soot and smells of smoke, I hold on to him and don’t let go.
“I was so worried about you,” I breathe into his neck.
“I told you I’d be home.”
I nod, unable to get any words out because
of the thickness in my throat and the heaviness in my heart. It feels surreal to have him in my arms again, and I’m saddened all over again because I know I have some choices to make. Choices I don’t want to make, because I love him, and I want him, and I this is why I have to get my shit together. But I don’t think I can.
Trevor makes no move to let me go. He seems content to stand here holding me for as long as I need, but when a car pulls up behind us and honks, I reluctantly step back.
With my hand wrapped in his, Trevor pulls me toward Mo and Rhett’s trucks. They get out when they see us approaching.
“What are you guys doing here?” Trevor asks, stopping at the back of Rhett’s truck. “It’s late.”
“Someone insisted we come here,” Rhett says, hooking a thumb in my direction.
Trevor’s hand tightens on mine. “Come on, baby, let’s get you home.”
This is it.
I tug his hand when he tries to lead me away. “Rhett, Mo, give us a second, will ya?”
They exchange glances, and then Rhett’s eyes linger on mine. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave his brother, but I’m not doing this in front of him.
Trevor watches my silent exchange with his brother and then pulls his bunker gear down his body, bunching it over his boots. He steps out and tosses it in the back of Rhett’s truck.
“I’m parked two blocks over. Can you toss this in the bed of my truck and bring back my shoes?”
“Yeah, no problem. Come on, Mo.” Rhett opens the door for Mo, and we watch them pull away.
Trevor pulls Mo’s tailgate down and leans against it. Despite the bunker gear, his clothes are filthy, and my heart flips over in my chest at what a wonderful, brave man he is, which makes what I have to do that much harder.
Milo is awake now, and she must sense Trevor’s presence, because I see her tiny head bopping in the window. She’s trying to get his attention, but Trevor can’t see her.
“Come here.” I take his outstretched hand and sit next to him on the tailgate. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“I feel like I should be asking you that.”
Trevor looks back at the mess behind us—the strung-out hoses, pile of rubble where the building used to sit—and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. He’s lucky to be alive.
“I’m fine,” he says. “I promise.”
I know he is—I know it, but I’m not fine. Far from it.
