The floodgates open and after rambling on about the Lieutenant’s test and how important it is to David, more information than I should say spills out of my mouth. “This is his dream job. Hell, it isn’t even a job for him. It’s his life.” Resting my elbows on the table, I hold my head in my hands.
“And?” Tim probes, not understanding what I’m getting at. “Then wouldn’t this promotion be a good thing?”
“Oh, yeah.” Lifting my head, I run my hands through my hair, tugging on the ends. “But what if . . .” Not able to stomach the rest of that thought, I can’t find the words to bring it to life.
“Hey.” Tim calls my attention away from my dead stare at the table. “Listen. Is he any good at his job?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I clip. “Of course he is. He’s the best out there. Smart, careful. Don’t you dare–”
“No, Grace,” he interrupts. “What I mean is if he’s good at his job, the best in the field as you say he is, then you can’t waste your energy worrying about what might happen.” The knot of tension in my gut loosens a touch as he continues. “If you spend your life worrying about what could be, you’ll never leave yourself enough time to enjoy what is.”
His words need no contemplation. Their raw honesty hits me in the face with a revelation I should have been able to come to on my own. Because he’s right. Every second I worry about not having David in my life, about something happening to him, is a second I waste not loving the fact that he is in my life in a very real and loving way.
“I’m sorry for overreacting.” Offering him a lame smile, he accepts my apology. “Smart man,” I say, tapping the side of my head. “Where’d you read that one?”
Tim shakes his head. “That one’s all mine.”
“It’s good. You should hang it in your room or something,” I suggest.
“It’s painted on the wall actually. And it’s our room.” He smiles warmly at me, tipping his head at the clock. “Now hurry up. We don’t want to be late coming back from lunch.”
The rest of the day passes by in a blur. Nervousness and anxiety over not receiving a text from David when the test is over pulls my focus away from everything.
At three o’clock, we finally wrap up our last session. After sending an email to Principal Gallagher, outlining our progress, we all leave the building. The midafternoon sun is blinding and it’s broiling hot out. I make a mental note to schedule an appointment to have an auto-start installed in the car. It would be nice to walk into an already cooled-down car, but for now, I’ll have to deal with the scorching heat.
When I turn the key in the ignition, nothing happens. “Oh, great,” I groan over the rather horrid noise of my engine grinding. For whatever reason, call it morbid curiosity, I try turning the key again. Not shockingly, it still doesn’t work. Resting my head against the steering wheel, I curse the car gods.
It’s not much cooler outside of the car, but sitting in the car, burning the backs of my legs on the leather, is fairly stupid on my part. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I lean up against the closed door. Punching out a quick text, I eagerly await David’s reply.
Five minutes pass in radio silence. After another text, worry starts in.
Only hours after voicing my concerns about something happening to David and he’s not answering. Piece by fragile piece, it feels as if the ground is falling out from below me. Taking a few deep breaths, I manage to calm myself enough to put a logical thought together. Jade’s phone goes right to voicemail and so does Ian’s.
What the hell is going on?
It’s possible that he was called on for another shift after his test and he hasn’t had a chance to let me know yet. Or he could have been in an accident on his way home.
Sitting here thinking about it isn’t helping at all. All it’s doing is letting my mind fill with all the possibilities, each one more grave than the last.
Figuring that I’m rendering myself useless by leaning up against a car which won’t start, I pull up the number to a taxi service. Just as the other end picks up, Tim’s car pulls alongside my dead one. “Can you hold on, please?” I ask as someone answers my call.
Turning toward Tim, I huff in frustration as his passenger window slides down. “Can you give me a lift?”
“Of course,” he answers happily.
“Thanks, but I’m good now, actually,” I dismiss the taxi man.
“Where to, Miss Daisy?” Tim tips his imaginary hat, reaching over to the passenger door and opening it for me.
“Thank you.” Sighing, I slide into the seat and wipe the sweat dripping from my brow. “The freaking thing won’t start.”
“Luckily for you I forgot something inside. Otherwise you would have melted out here in the blacktop wasteland.” His jokes become slightly funnier as the cool air in the car washes over me. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think. Let me take a look.”
Before I can protest, saying that I’ll have it towed and taken care of later, he’s out the door and opening the hood of my car. Since I know nothing about cars, I mean other than where to put the key and the whole gas on the right and brake on the left thing, I can’t really tell if Tim knows what he’s doing.
I’m too busy sending out more texts to David and calling him that I don’t even see Tim hook up the jump cables to our cars. In fact, I’m so distracted I don’t even realize he’s run up to his classroom, retrieved the books he needed, and returned to the car until the door slams shut.
“So, looks like the battery wasn’t the problem,” he says, sliding into the seat.
“Huh?” I blurt, looking up from my silent phone.
He tips his head at my car sitting in front of us. Not running.
“Your car. You know the thing that goes vroom vroom, drives you places.” Waving a hand in front of my face, he makes sure my eyes are working. “Looks like you’re going to have to have it towed after all. Want me to give you a ride home?”
One last look at my phone and still no responses from anyone. “Please. That would be really nice of you.”
It’s a quiet fifteen minute ride back to my apartment. Even as Tim’s car pulls into the spot usually reserved for me, I can’t tear my focus away from my still silent phone. “Hey,” he says, concerned. Covering my hand with his, he squeezes gently before letting go. “Everything’s fine. Maybe his test ran late. Or he’s stuck in traffic or something like that. There’s no need–”
Twisting in my seat to face him, I sigh, rolling my eyes. “To get worked up over something I don’t know anything about. I know,” I finish his thought for him, taking a deep cleansing breath. “Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it.” Swallowing back the rising emotion, my throat feels thick. What if something really did happen to him? It’s a feeling I just can’t seem to shake. Pushing past my own restraint, a tear rolls down my cheek.
Seemingly without thinking about it, Tim wipes away the tear with his thumb, holding my cheek and jaw in the process. The entire exchange is far too familiar, and not at all the kind of friendship I need right now.
All it does it make me think of David and wonder why the hell he’s not calling me back.
“No problem. Talk to you soon.” We make plans to meet up at least once more before the school year starts to get the room all situated and then I step out of the car.
Walking toward my door, I promise myself not to think the worst. Pushing it open, my eyes are glued to my phone and I don’t even realize what’s going on around me.
The kitchen table to my left is set as if it belongs in the finest restaurant. David is sitting on the couch in front of me, two glasses of untouched champagne waiting on the coffee table.
When my eyes settle on his, relief like I’ve never known washes over me. Rushing to his side, as fast as I can, I nearly stumble over the edge of the area rug. “David,” I cry. “My God, I was so worried. What are you doing here?” My hands race all over his chest searching for anything at all that might be wrong with him.
Sure, my imagination is getting the best of me, but I’ve had well over an hour and a half of creating the worst case scenario in my head.
“What am I doing here?” he seethes. “How about what was he doing here?”
“Who?” I question. Defensiveness sets in when I catch wind of his tone. “What are you talking about?”
“Tim. I saw you in his car.” He shoots up from the couch, nearly knocking over the glasses of champagne. “I saw you holding hands so maybe, if you don’t mind,” he snarls with heavy sarcasm. “Maybe you could tell me what the fuck is going on.”
The stuttering noises falling from my mouth are born out of being shocked by how he’s misread the situation. But of course he mistakes it for guilt.
“Unbelievable, Grace,” he shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “You know,” he laughs, a cynical puff of noise. “It figures it would happen this way. I finally find you and fall for you, harder than I ever fucking thought possible.” Raking his hands through his hair, he stands at the window through which I’m now realizing he saw the scene he’s ranting about as it unfolded.
His broad, strong back is all I see as I stand behind him. Tension-filled anger rolls off him. Even as I wrap my arms around his body from behind, it doesn’t let up. Resting my cheek against his back, I breathe in his clean scent. “It’s not at all–”
Spinning around with a force so strong, he nearly knocks me over, his face twisted in anger and pain. “What I think?” he spits. Finishing my sentence with venom in his words, I pull away from him in disgust. “I don’t even want to hear it. I need to go.”
Storming over to the front door, I beat him to the punch. “Go right ahead. You’re being such an ass right now. Not trusting me and then not even giving me a chance to explain myself. You’re pissed off because of what you thought you saw, but right now I’m angry as fuck at what I’m seeing in your juvenile behavior.”
He stands there, dumbfounded, letting my words hit him. “Just get out.” Holding my arm to the side, I literally show him to the door.
“Grace,” he protests.
“I said get out,” I seethe. “I don’t even want to look at you. How could you not trust me?” Tears threaten and I hold them back. I’ll reserve them for when I’m alone.
“No, I’m not leaving.” He steps toward me, lifting my chin with his fingers. Looking into my eyes, he cringes when he sees the hurt there. Lacing his fingers with mine, he walks us to the couch. He takes a deep breath, turning to face me. “I’m sorry for getting pissed off.” His words are genuine, but still slathered in frustration. “His hands were on you and you were smiling and I lost my shit.” His jaw clenches as he rakes his hands through his hair, pulling on the ends.
“My car broke down and I tried calling you. When you didn’t answer, I thought something had happened to you,” I explain calmly, trying to put myself in his shoes. His reaction isn’t all that far off from the one I had when I saw him leave the bar with Kelsey months ago. Seeing that left me feeling like I’d been punched in the gut.
And he wasn’t even mine at that point.
But now, there’s no doubt in my head or my heart—I am his. There’s nothing possessive or demanding about it. My belonging to him is as simple as my need for air.
“That’s crazy.” The anger vanishes from his face, morphing into something that looks a lot like disbelief.
“You run into burning buildings for a living. The possibility of you getting hurt . . . or worse even . . . it’s real,” I choke out. Giving in to the tears that were building earlier, I lose the battle with my restraint. Tears stream down my cheeks. “When I couldn’t get in touch with you, I worried that you were at work and something happened.”
“You knew I was at my test.” He’s right. Somewhere in my brain I knew I was getting ahead of myself, making something out of nothing, but somehow the worst case scenario was all I could focus on.
“That made it worse,” I add, watching him as he grows more confused. “It made me realize how your job is your life. How dedicated you are and how much you’re willing to sacrifice. When you’re at work . . .” I catch my breath, struggling to find the words to convey my emotions, “If I don’t hear from you for more than a few hours, the anxiety consumes me. I get panicky and restless. And then, when the phone rings, or I see a text come in, the unease evaporates.”
“Sweetheart.” Swiping a tear away from my face, he presses his lips to my cheek. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. It’s something I’m going to have to get used to.” Inhaling a shuddery breath, I lean into his touch. “Because if spending the rest of my life with you is the tradeoff for a few panic attacks and a bunch of sleepless nights, then I still make out pretty well.”
His eyes widen. “The rest of your life?”
“Shit,” I curse. “Did I say that aloud? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I know guys don’t want to hear things like that. I’m sorry. I take it–”
Pressing his finger to my lips, he shushes me. “Don’t take it back. Ever.” He kisses me, sweetly at first, then something deeper and more meaningful takes over. Pulling his lips from mine, he reaches behind me and takes something out from behind the couch. Dropping to his knees in front of me, he’s holding a gift bag in his hands.
“That better not be–”
Shooting me a cockeyed look, he shakes his head. “No, babe.” When he adds, “Not yet,” my heart races. “Just open it, please.”
As soon as I take the bag from his hand, I realize it’s way too heavy to be disguise packaging for a ring box. Relief battles disappointment, but he said not yet and that’s good enough for now. Hidden under the tissue paper is a navy blue T-shirt. The color is the same as the majority of his collection of FDNY shirts. When I lift it out of the bag and read the red and white screen printing across the front, I break out into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Oh, my God. No you didn’t.” Holding my brand new I heart David Andrews shirt against my chest, I shoot him a huge, goofy smile.
“I did,” he admits proudly.
“It’s perfect.” Turning it over, I laugh even more when I see he’s printed the exact words I spoke the other night across the back. “You are such a dork.”
“Yep, but I’m your dork.”
“I’m sorry for getting so worried.” Picking at an imaginary piece of lint, I keep my eyes focused on my new shirt. I know it was wrong of me to overreact like that, but there was nothing I could do to stop the panic from controlling my brain.
Covering my hand with his, he draws my attention back to his gorgeous face. “I’m sorry, too. It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions about Tim.” His name still sounds foul coming out of David’s mouth, but I know he means every word of his apology.
Needing to put all this behind us, I change the subject. “So, how was your test? Did you ace it?” Running his hand through his hair, he seems tense. Shit. Maybe it didn’t go that well.
Shrugging, he deflects with a simple, “It was okay.”
“Okay?” I nearly shriek. “You studied that fine ass of yours off for months. It had to be better than okay.” Butterflies take flight in my belly thinking about him and those glasses. Damn, I don’t mind when those are around.
“Fine. It was better than okay,” he admits. “Ian and I compared answers after the test with a few other guys there. It was a fair test and the prep materials were right in line with everything, so I feel good about it.”
A sense of awe descends over me. This beautiful, kind, intelligent man is all mine. As if I hadn’t already, I fall hard for him. “I’m so freaking proud of you. And I’m so happy you were here, despite the misunderstanding.” Sliding closer to him, my leg brushes against his. My fingers dance along his corded forearm, heat passing between us. “I like when you’re here.”
His eyes scan my face before settling on my lips. Taking them in a moment of passion, he pulls me impossibly close to him. “I do, too.” His strong hand dives into my
hair, pulling me to within an inch of his soft, full mouth. “And you’re not getting rid of me,” he asserts.
With his lips moving with reckless abandon against mine, he slides onto the couch, pulling me onto his lap as he does so. In a slow, smooth motion, he lifts my shirt over my head. Shivers race over my body as he unhooks my bra, running his short nails across my skin.
Frantic need takes over in my own movements as I toss his shirt to the ground, the rest of our clothes following quickly behind. Lifting his hips, he slides his shorts off, pulling a condom out before dropping them to the floor.
“You know I’m on the pill,” I murmur against his skin as he opens the wrapper.
“I know, but I thought–” Stealing his words with a searing kiss, the rest of his sentence dies on his lips.
“Don’t think, baby. Don’t think at all.” Boldness flows through my veins, lifting me from his lap. With one leg on each side of his body, I stand on the couch, straddling him. Button followed by zipper, I lower my shorts an inch or two, exposing the black lace of my thong.
His strong fingers grip the waistband, tugging them down the rest of the way. Using his shoulders for leverage, I keep my eyes locked on his as he strips me bare. With my pussy no more than a few inches from his face, it’s all I can do not to give into the shaking in my legs.
There’s no need to worry about losing my balance, or falling on my face. David’s hands, strong and warm, wrap around my waist, holding me steady. “God, you’re fucking beautiful. This hot,” he licks at my lips, “tight,” he licks again, a slow stroke right up the center, lingering for a touch on my clit, “wet pussy is perfect and it’s all mine.” Resting his head against the back cushion, he pulls me onto his face. Worried about suffocating him, I try to pull away. Of course he’ll have none of that, forcing me to stay right where I am.
“Holy shit, David . . . oh, my God . . .” I moan, my hips moving on their own accord. Within a minute, he has me right on the edge of a powerful orgasm. My entire body is shaking, vibrating, pulsating with the need to release all of this built up need, desire . . .
From the Wreckage Page 19