Chapter 44

The breath in my lungs finally releases when I see her standing outside her building. That woman is a gorgeous sight with her glossy ginger-blonde hair, face fresh, and all those freckles I love on display. She’s wearing a sweater and jeans, like it’s any other night, which is a bit dreamlike. Was it really just this morning we got off the mountain? Time is bizarre.

I exit the truck to open her door, rounding the front, and help her up into the passenger seat. After closing the door, I can’t help but let my eyes stray to the faulty structure she lives in. If the outside is dilapidated, what the hell does the inside look like?

We pull away from the curb in silence. Thankfully, the burger joint isn’t too busy on a Tuesday night, and we get a perfect parking spot right in front. She groans, taking my hand as she climbs out of the cab.

Inside, the diner is mostly empty, and we find an open booth, both of us moving slower than usual. As soon as we sit, the server is handing us a couple of menus.

“The soup today is chicken and rice,” the server announces with a soft expression.

Scottie and I stare at each other .

After a beat, I gape at her in mock surprise. “Did you hear that, honey? Soup. Chicken and rice, your favorite .”

“Would you like me to put an order?—”

“No thank you!” She practically shouts, then bites into her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

The server glances between us suspiciously. “I’ll… give you a minute to look over the menu.”

“Thank you,” Scottie replies with a smile, then aims a glare in my direction.

Opening the menu, I mutter, “Well, I know what I’m not getting.”

“I want a cheeseburger with extra pickles.”

Atta girl.

“And a garden salad…”

I smirk at her over the top of my menu.

“And a cookies n’ cream milkshake.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” I fold up my menu and set it on the table. “I’ll get the same.”

She places her menu on top of mine and folds her hands in her lap.

“So…”

“So…” she echoes. The smile slips from her face. “Jonathan and I spoke this afternoon...”

My breath stalls while I wait for her to continue.

“We talked for a long while. About our relationship. About what we need from each other.”

“And what did you need?”

She focuses on the rolled silverware in front of her, straightening it so it’s perpendicular to the table, then folds her hands in her lap.

“I asked for a divorce.”

I exhale. My head bows briefly before I slump back against the vinyl upholstered booth. Thank Christ. She shudders a breath, and I reach for her. Her palm nestles in my open one, and I squeeze.

“How did he react?” It’s taking everything in me not to pepper her with all the questions flooding my thoughts since I left her in that parking lot this morning.

She shrugs. “About as expected, but how do you tell the person you care about that you want a divorce without hurting them? It’s not that he couldn't see it coming. I made it pretty clear by leaving. However, I think it hit him today that we’re really done and we have to part ways in order to live our own lives.” Her sad smile makes me want to wrap her up in my arms.

The server interrupts and takes our orders, jotting down the burgers, salads, and shakes. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Scottie says.

I hold up two fingers, adding “Thank you.”

The server tucks her notepad into her apron pocket and shuffles to the kitchen.

On our table, two upside-down ceramic mugs rest on saucers, so we each turn them upright. She selects a couple creamers and a sugar from the dish, and I make a mental note of how she takes her coffee. She pries the sealed foil tops from the creamers and pours them into the empty cup, then rips the sugar packet and does the same.

We wait for the server to reappear with coffee before we continue the conversation. Thankfully, she returns quickly, but it feels like an eternity passes while we watch her fill our mugs with coffee. Scottie’s swirls into a light creamy tan color. Mine remains black enough to see my reflection.

Nodding our appreciation, the server departs, and I wait for Scottie to speak. She sighs, centering her mug in front of her and using it to warm her hands.

“I have to go back,” she says.

I furrow my brow. “To your apartment?”

“To The Fold. ”

What? I shake my head. Absolutely not happening. “I don’t understand.”

“The church found out about him. He needs me to go back so we can get his life sorted, and then we can leave at the same time.”

“What do you mean ‘ found out ’? Weren’t they the ones to facilitate your whole relationship?”

“They assumed he was straight after me, but they discovered nothing has changed, they’re going to submit him to more conversion therapy. He could lose his job, his family, everything. He’s not ready to leave.”

Ready or not, he’s gonna have to figure that out without her. Scottie may not be ready to admit it, but I’ve heard enough about that place to not trust it. The leaders control the congregation with fear and intimidation. It’s a cult.

My jaw tics. “And when does he think he’ll be ready?”

Despite the itching need to fidget, I remain calm on the outside and muster all the patience I possess. It took over a month of her being gone before he even came after her. If that were me, I’d have been out of my goddamned mind.

He had time to leave and didn’t.

“I told him a year, but I’m going to get us out before then.”

A fucking year? I meant what I said about waiting. She’s worth it, but this isn’t that.

I trust Scottie that her soon-to-be ex-husband isn’t a bad guy, it’s obvious she cares for him deeply, but at the end of the day, I don’t know this guy. I don’t want her to suffer through a long, drawn-out divorce, especially if that fucked-up church she came from tries to get involved.

She recounts the conversation between them this afternoon, shedding a few tears. I hate hearing about the pain she went through. That said, she’s not going anywhere.

“I promise I’m coming back,” she says.

“You’re not coming back, because you’re not leaving. ”

“Callahan—”

“Prescott.” I give a headshake. “I’m sorry, but no.”

Her gaze falls to her mug. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m packing up my bags tonight. I’ll have a couple weeks to deal with my job and apartment stuff. I still have to give notice?—”

“Please. Just give me a week to figure something out. Don’t turn in your resignation yet.”

Scottie lifts her chin, and the weak smile breaks my heart. The whites of her eyes are red; I had let it pass as windburn earlier, but now I know it’s because she’s been crying.

“It’s less than a year.” Her voice sounds so small.

She doesn't know that. Any place that entertains conversion therapy probably isn’t too keen on women’s rights either. She’s risking her own safety by going back, and that’s not happening.

“I told you when things got hard, I wouldn’t cut and run. I need you to uphold the same promise,” I tell her.

She sweeps fingers across her wet cheeks. “But this is different. I’m not choosing to leave, I have to go back. It’s going to be okay. God never closes a door without opening a window.”

Bullshit.

I scoff. “So you have something to jump out of?” I shake my head. “No. We’re going to open the fucking door again. That’s how doors work, Prescott.”

Her shoulders sag. “He needs me.”

I brush my thumb over her knuckles. She’s blind to how dangerous this situation is—for both of them. “Listen to me, you can't save everyone. Sometimes, you can only save one person, and it’s okay if that person is yourself.”

Scottie gapes at me, like she’s been waiting for someone to give her permission to choose herself all her life. The hope in her eyes will have me backing up every single one of my words. I will not let her down.

“Let me deal with this,” I state just before the server clunks heavy plates in front of us, and I let go of her hand to make room. I should have insisted on taking Scottie back to my house and had dinner delivered so we could avoid any interruptions.

She’s still staring at me. I lift my chin, gesturing to her plate. “Eat your food, baby.”

She nods. The steaming meal has my mouth watering, but my appetite is dwindling. She unrolls her silverware, places the paper napkin in her lap, and picks up the cheeseburger with both hands before sinking her teeth into it.

“Ohmuhgud,” she whispers around a mouthful of food. She hovers a palm over her lips, chewing. I follow her lead, taking a bite, and it’s pretty damn good. This place makes a mean burger.

We sacrifice conversation for food until I catch Scottie staring across the room at the parents with three young kids being seated. It’s chaotic as the family gets settled. They find a high chair for the youngest, arranging it at the end of their booth. By the time that’s done, the server at their table is passing out menus and crayons. The older two children are already asking their parents if they can order chocolate milk instead of white before the crayons get unwrapped.

I set down my burger, swallowing. “Do you want kids someday?”

She sighs. “Honestly? Not really. I like kids, but I never had the desire to have my own—not after growing up in The Fold. Even now that I’m out, being a parent isn’t something I need to feel fulfilled.”

It was a long time ago that I gave up the idea of having children, but I love being an uncle. After a couple french fries, my appetite is back.

“What about you?”

I shake my head. “I have the winters off, but during the fire season, I’m gone for weeks at a time. It doesn’t exactly lend itself to convenient parenting. I’m not saying we couldn’t make it work, but it would be more challenging.”

“ We ?” She smiles around a bite .

Shit, did I say we ?

“I mean… whoever my partner is.” I clear my throat and add on, “Teddy and her husband, Logan, have two kids, Penny and Dalton. I love being an uncle. It’s the best of both worlds.”

“That’s really sweet. If you didn't have the job you do, would you want a family?”

“Maybe?” I shrug. “Hard to say.” I’m not sure if I would or not. It’s not something that I’ve been dreaming about my whole life or anything. “I’m happy with the direction my life is going right now.” Which includes a future with Scottie.

After days of soft, overprocessed food, this meal is hitting the spot. She must have the same thought, because the next words out of her mouth are, “It’s so nice to eat something crunchy!”

As soon as we finish dinner, I’m making small talk about plans for this week, hoping it helps assure her nothing is changing. She’s not leaving.

I’m not concerned, and she shouldn’t be either.

She mentions she’s working tomorrow, and I give her a questioning look. Scottie quickly makes me aware that any protests against her decision to return to work so soon are useless. The cut on her forehead has barely healed and she’s ready to clock in. However, she says she won’t be going out on calls for a couple weeks until her shoulder is healed. That’s gonna drive her nuts.

We pay the bill and return to the truck. Within minutes, we’re already back at her front door. She insists she doesn't need me to escort her inside, and for the second time today, I drive away from her.

Instant regret.

I make it a block before I realize I didn’t even kiss her good night.

“Fuck this.”

I whip the truck around and hit the accelerator. As soon as I park next to her building, I jump out. The last time I was here, I was seeing red, but now I’m able to take in more details. There’s a cheap storm door with vertical metal bars and ornamental scrollwork that probably looked new in the sixties. Its metal used to be painted white, but now it’s mostly rust, and large chips of paint flake off when I open the door with a god-awful screech, like nails on a chalkboard. Blue painter’s tape is holding together the cracked glass on the other side.

I’m taken aback when the door behind the rusty one has a broken lock. How did I not see that before? Anybody could just meander in here. I remember her apartment number from when she gave me her address, and I locate her name on one of the interior mailboxes to confirm I’m right. Again, anybody could do it. I head upstairs and stand outside her door like I did once before. This time I knock.

As soon as she opens the door, I step over the threshold, crushing my lips against hers. My hands cup the sides of her neck, and she grips my forearms. Walking her backward into the space, I kick the door shut and groan as she responds to my kiss with equal fervor. I’m lost in her.

She slides a palm to my nape, raking her nails down my scalp and sending chills down my arms. I love it when she does that. I slip on of my hands into her back pocket, letting my fingers grasp the globe of her ass. Blood is rushing south. Despite every instinct coursing through me, I release her. I have to think clearly, or I will end up fucking her right where we stand. Though, I’ve had worse ideas.

I press my forehead to hers, and we chuckle through panting breaths.

“You forgot to kiss me good night,” she says.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

Sudden movement in my peripheral draws my gaze through the rest of her apartment… well, her studio. My lips part, and I turn in a circle, regarding her living conditions.

On top of being small, the walls are painted with so many water stains it almost looks intentional. They extend to the carpet, which was probably beige when it was first installed. To her credit, she’s done everything possible to make it homey, but there’s only so much lipstick you can put on a pig. I’ve stayed at some shady places before, slept wrapped up in a tarp under the stars, lived in a camper for a bit, and I’d take any of those over this. I don’t think twice about asking her to stay with me.

I need to find a delicate way to propose she move in with me without being insulting or pushy. Be delicate. Be delicate…

“This place is a dump,” I blurt. Well, I tried .

She shoves my shoulder and laughs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well, I’m begging you to stay with me instead.”

The smile drops off her face. “Why? I live here.”

I shake my head.

“Not anymore. You can’t live in a place like this. It’s not safe.” I plead with her.

“Cal, it’s not that bad. I make due. The rent is cheap, and I can pay month to month…”

“Yeah, no shit.” Out of the corner of my eye, something scurries across the floor, and this time, I spot it. My eyes track the small brown rat as it runs along the side of her half-deflated air mattress that sits on the floor behind her. Oh, hell no.

“What’s your pet’s name?” I give a chin lift in its direction.

Her brow knits in confusion. “I don’t have a pet.”

I point behind her, and she turns, scrambling backward and bumping into me. I catch her so she doesn't trip. “Looks like you do now.”

“Ugh!” She shudders. “I hate rats.”

“That’s what I thought. Pack a bag. We’ll come back for the rest of your stuff tomorrow.”

She nods, still backing away from the unwelcome rodent. “Okay… Okay, yup.” Keeping it in her sights, she picks up her backpack, the one I’m all too familiar with. She stuffs it with a fe w necessary things like her phone charger, some toiletries, a sweatshirt, socks, underwear, and her EMT uniform. “Wait, I work tomorrow. I can follow you in my car to your house.”

“I’ll take care of it. We can pick up your car in the morning.” I’m done spending any more time here. We already know we can get along in close quarters. Mostly. It doesn't have to be forever, but I like the idea of her at my place where I know she’ll be safe.