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“Oh, my God,” she murmured.“That’swhy you hate the rules so much, isn’t it?”
He was helpless against his smile. Of course, she’d connect the dots. “It’s one reason. My ADHD doesn’t exactly allow for the best impulse control, so that’s another. But bucking authority is actually what led me to realize that I wanted to be a firefighter, so in the end, it kind of worked out for me.”
“Okay.” Lucy stretched the word into a question, but Sam just pointed to his chest with both index fingers and gave her a look that translated tocome on, now.
“Adrenaline junkie,” he reminded her.
“Ah, right.” She laughed. “You climbed the ivy trellis at school.”
He’d done it three times, actually, but he’d only gotten caught once. “Yep. It takes a special kind of fear management—not to mention a shitload of brass—to be a firefighter. I’ve always had both. The only time I’ve been able to think clearly is in fight or flight situations. There’s no time to get snagged in too many thoughts when you’re relying on instinct, you know? Of course, training has a lot to do with honing those instincts and making the best choice for the situation, but it’s far easier for me to trust my gut than my head.”
“No wonder you chose squad,” Lucy said, and here, Sam shrugged.
“I think it was more like squad chose me. I knew I couldn’t go to Harvard and follow in my father’s footsteps without being miserable, so I started looking at careers I thought I could manage. I visited a fire house on a flyer—I figured why the hell not, you know? The all-call went off when I was about twenty minutes into my tour. As soon as I saw those firefighters haul out of there, ready to stare down whatever they had to, I was fuckinghooked.”
Lucy grinned, and God, she was beautiful. “Now that part, I get.”
“I knew right then and there that I wanted to be a firefighter,” Sam said, the memory as clear as if it had been thirteen minutes ago rather than thirteen years. “Naturally, my father said I was being ridiculous. Impulsive. Childish. We Fauriers don’t dothosekinds of jobs. But I had to trust my gut, no matter how imperfect my head is.”
She stilled, her stare snapping to his. “Your head isn’t imperfect, Sam.”
His laugh came out with very little joy, because even through he’d put all of his issues with his father in his rearview—thank you, therapy—this, he still knew.
“Of course it is. Even though I manage my ADHD with meds now, I still have to swim upstream against my own damn head a lot of the time. There are days when I’m so restless that I’m at the gym for hours. I start things I don’t finish. I lose track of time,allthe time. And now, when I need to be able to concentrate more than ever so I can help find the asshole who tried to hurt you and burn down an entire warehouse, my head feels like it’s a radio with every single station playing at once. There’s music and news and static, and I can’t tune in to just one thing. All I hear is noise, and the harder I try, the louder it all gets. So, yes, Lucy. My brain is definitely fucked up.”
“No.” She spoke the word with so much certainty that Sam had no choice but to listen. “Your brain works differently than most people’s. I’m not denying your frustration for a second,” she added quickly, “but the job is hard enough. Yet you trained for it—for squad, no less—even though you knew your ADHD would make it twice as challenging. You practiced so often that you learned rescue responses instinctively, and you trust your gut, every time. I cannot even imagine the amount of work and effort it took for you to become the firefighter you are, yet you did.”
Lucy reached up to cup his face between her palms, and even though Sam knew she saw his faults and flaws now more than ever, her gaze was steady. “I meant it when I said you are an exceptional firefighter, Sam. But you’re so much more than that. You’re passionate and brave and kind. You’re not fucked up because your brain works the way it does.”
She brushed her lips over his, and even though it was only the barest hint of a kiss, Sam felt the power of it in every part of his body.
“Your brain is what makes you perfectlyyou,Sam, and I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
“But—”
“No,” Lucy insisted again, so damn sure of herself that it made Sam’s heart hurt. “You’re a good man, exactly as you are.”
Christ, how he’d wanted to believe that for so long. And while he might not be able to convince himself it was true, when Lucy told him he was a good man, worthy and smart, he believed her.
No. It was more than that. Sam didn’t just believe her.
He was falling in love with her.
24
Lucy acted on pure instinct. Pressing up to her toes, she angled her mouth over Sam’s, pouring everything she felt into the kiss. Her lips pressed against his—you are not damaged—the contact certain and strong. She swept a path over the seam of his mouth with her tongue—to me, you are perfect—and he opened for her so readily, her heart pounded. Cupping his face, Lucy kissed him as if it were the last time she ever would. She moved slowly at first, her tongue touching his, gliding and seeking and promising—I’ve got you, I’ve got you—but then, just like always when it came to Sam, she couldn’t wait. He made her feel reckless, and rather than scaring her like it damn well should, it made her feel bold. Brave. Right.
Without words, she reached for his hand, leading him through the kitchen and past the foyer toward the shadowed hallway leading to his bedroom. He followed without question, and that trust sent another bolt of emotion into Lucy’s chest. She crossed the threshold into the darkened room, the only light coming in from the streetlamps beyond the blinds and the thin golden strains filtering in from down the hallway. That was fine, though. Lucy didn’t need to see for this. She wanted Sam to know how she felt even if hecouldn’tsee her.
She wanted to give him everything.
“Sam,” she whispered, stopping only once they’d reached the bed. She’d made it neatly this morning while he’d teased her for old habits, but then he’d padded over to help, carefully tucking the sheets in on the side where she’d slept as she’d done the same on his side. Now, Lucy pulled back the comforter, turning toward him with certainty.
“Let me show you how good you are.”
There was only the softest bit of light in the room, and if his eyes hadn’t flashed with so much emotion, Lucy probably would’ve missed it. But she could feel the tension in his body, the unraveling of his breath as he let out a shaky exhale and nodded—yes—and nothing in the world could tear her away from her purpose. Cradling Sam’s face between her palms, she pressed a kiss over his mouth like a promise, lingering for only a moment before letting her hands and mouth explore. She threaded her fingers in his hair, holding him close as she trailed her mouth over his face, his jawline, peppered with just enough stubble to make her lips tingle, his ear. He shivered then, and Lucy’s smile bloomed against his skin at the secret she’d uncovered. She kissed the spot behind his earlobe, where his skin was shockingly soft, then closed her lips around his earlobe, sucking just hard enough to raise a growl from his throat.
“Lucy.”
