Chapter 10
Sab
I’ve seen Galen in firefighter gear before. But I was distracted then—why does it feel so long ago?—by the shock of him, of anyone, catching me arsing about on a swingers app. Too busy scrambling to notice much except his obvious scorching hotness.
Now, though…
Now it’s impossible not to notice the whole package. The jacket clinging to his muscular frame, open enough to show a dark T-shirt beneath. His auburn hair glinting in the winter sun. The flush of heat on his face as he turns towards me, eyes bright with exertion, and so fucking alive.
And that’s just the aesthetic. Don’t get me started on the sheer capability bleeding from every move of his strong body.
Competence that makes the yearning buried inside me burn a little hotter, a smoulder that becomes a furnace as his features light with recognition and he smiles.
Grins, I suppose, a casual curve of his full lips, but merde, it jumpstarts a wave of happiness that’s probably dangerous.
He’s been quiet all week.
Silent, actually, offline since the night he came to my house, and I don’t realise until this moment how hard I’ve braced for him to blank me if we happen upon each other in public again.
It’s fucking stupid, but as he starts towards me, I feel like I can breathe again, and I find myself beaming like an idiot, thankful Tam has gone back to his stall in the other row of tents.
Thankful for lots of things, but mostly that Galen’s not looking at me like I’m a mistake he’d rather forget.
He nears where I’m loitering by an ornate timber pergola, wondering how whoever decorated it got their fairy lights so symmetrical. I smell smoke on him and miss his apple pie scent. Doesn’t make him any less edible, though, and that flush on his cheeks is killer.
So killer, I almost bottle it and avert my gaze. But his grin—fuck, it’s impossible to turn away from. By the time he reaches me, my pulse is in my ears, tongue tied in knots, and I’m entranced by his easy confidence. By his lyrical Irish brogue. I’ve missed his voice.
But not for much longer. “That fecking smile, boy. You’ve made my day. Stop the lights, you have no idea how hot you are.”
Fucking hell. He’s got to be taking the piss. “Toute cette fumée t’est montée à la tête.”
He laughs. “I have no idea what you just said, but if you’re arguing with me, don’t bother.”
“Why’s that then?”
Galen steps closer. “You’ll lose.”
I really am lost for words this time. French.
English, I’m shot. So I stare at him instead, matching this version of Galen to the one I watched spring from a still-moving truck and boss the fire scene with the same calm authority I know he’d use in bed if we ever get that far.
The one who kissed me in my living room like he owned me.
It doesn’t help me get a hold of myself. But I can’t stop drinking him in. Or the vague instinct that maybe he’s doing the same to me. That his intense gaze means something more than whatever it means to him.
“Listen,” Galen says when I fail to speak. “Sorry I’ve been quiet this week. Been in my head a bit, and trying to fix my house up to get away from it, you know?”
I do know. On both counts. More than I want to admit. “Did you at least get a lot of work done on your place?”
It’s Galen’s turn to snort. “If you don’t count the bodges I need to go back and unfuck.
Anyway, it would’ve been a hell of a lot harder if my shoulder was still crocked, so cheers for that.
And, uh…” He glances around, scratching his jaw as if wherever he’s going with this isn’t coming out how he planned.
“These nerves you’ve got about fellas. I was thinking, maybe you could come round mine sometime.
We could, you know, work on that together. Just us, like. No pressure.”
“I…”
Merde.
What is even happening right now? Is he inviting me over for…sex lessons? And if he is, how the hell do I respond without embarrassing the fuck out of myself? Without tripping over my tongue to say fuck yeah, when the reality of my life means it’ll never happen?
Tam and Bhodi—
No.
I shut the thought down before it takes hold. I’m not ditching my kid for the night so I can screw around. I can’t do that. I can’t—
“I work shifts.” Galen fills the silence again. “Doesn’t have to be an evening thing if that doesn’t work for you. I’m flexible, and you know what else I am, Sab?”
“Uh. No?”
“Patient.” Galen leans in and whispers in my ear, his lips barely grazing my skin. “It’s an open-ended offer. Have a think and come find me when you’re ready.”
And then he’s gone, helmet tucked under his arm, strolling back to the fire engine as if he hasn’t left me with my pulse in my throat and my entire body thrumming with want, a subtle sway in his stride that blows my already obliterated mind.
Damn, even his walk is sexy. And the pull in the air around him?
Etched on my fucking soul.
Putain, je suis dans une sacrée merde.
Fuck, I’m in so much trouble. A red hot fact underlined by the face waiting for me as I spin around to go find my brother.
Bhodi.
He’s behind me, brows raised, glancing between me and Galen’s departing back, and he doesn’t need to speak for me to know he caught enough context to justify the questions dancing in his big blue eyes.
The aftershocks of all things Galen fade, especially as I realise Bhodi is alone. “Where’s Esme?”
“With Tam. He took her to get fudge.”
Of course he did, my brother has a wicked sweet tooth.
Bhodi continues, “So I came to see if you wanted some, or if you needed help with the last boxes.”
Boxes.
Shit.
I’ve forgotten that’s my sole purpose for being at this bougie fête. I’ve forgotten everything except the murmured words echoing in my head through a fucking loud speaker.
We could, you know, work on that together.
Enfoiré. How is this my life?
“Sab?”
Bhodi’s moved.
He’s in front of me now, peering into my face as if I’ve lost my fucking mind. And he’s not altogether wrong. My feet are planted in a festive wonderland, but my mind—my imagination…
Merde.
All I can think of is warm Irish skin and feather-light kisses. And what might come next.
“Sab.” Bhodi waves a hand in front of my face. “Everything okay?”
“Hein? Tu disais?”
Bhodi’s mild-mannered exasperation amps up a gear. He doesn’t speak French beyond the gist of the sweet nothings Tam whispers in his ear, so I take a chance and let the truth roll out of me while my gaze drifts after Galen.
“Je crois que j’ai eu un coup de foudre.”
Bhodi sighs. “Fine. Have it your way. How do you know Galen?”
I snap my gaze back to him so fast I’m surprised my head doesn’t keep spinning and lift clean off my shoulders. “How do you know Galen?”
Bhodi shrugs, vague, and for a horrifying moment it occurs to me that maybe they’ve hooked up. They’re the same age, both smoking hot, both nice—
“We’ve crossed paths at work,” Bhodi elaborates, chucking water on the anxious blaze starting a riot in my chest. “Firefighters come through the hospital a lot.”
“As patients?”
“You’d have to ask him that.” Bhodi’s still studying me like a hawk on a fence post. “Are you…friends?”
The way he says it makes me feel like he can see every thought and emotion coursing through me. And I’m not used to that from my kind-hearted brother-in-law. He never hassles me about anything ever. He’s just fucking kind. He’s being kind now, but I’ve tied myself in too many knots to unpick.
So I die quietly instead. Story of my life. And it fucking shouldn’t be. Not anymore.
Bhodi’s safe.
My brother’s safe.
I could tell them I’d murdered Father Christmas and they’d help me bury the body.
If there’s anywhere I could take a breath and explain the current mess in my soul out loud, it’s with them.
But every time the words snake past the rock in my throat, I hear Charmaine’s voice, glass-sharp and scathing, turning something that felt like an awakening into another symptom of broken weakness.
And I can’t un-hear it.
Can’t separate the way my chest tightens when I think of being with a bloke from the way it used to itch when I craved a line.
That’s her, not you.
I know that. As much as I know she tangled me up on purpose, pushing me into dirty water instead of letting me breathe. But knowledge isn’t always power. Sometimes it’s inaction and regret, and I miss my moment with Bhodi.
He lets it go.
At least, I think he has until he grabs my arm six feet from the fudge stall, tugging me back to where he’s rolled to a stop by a candlemaker who’s got the air smelling more like pinewood and fir than the actual giant Christmas tree outside.
“You know you can talk to me, right? I wouldn’t tell Tam anything unless you were ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Sab.” Bhodi gives me that look again. “Come on. I see you talking to blokes all the time—I see Galen talking to blokes all the time, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he was looking at you back there.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that then?”
“Like you have his full attention.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and my gut twists like the tinsel around the huge tree behind Bhodi. “He’s just being nice.”
A beat passes. A heavy clod of air where Tam might’ve pushed me harder. Backed me into a corner where there’s no escape but a truth I’m still figuring out.
Bhodi, though. He just gives me a hug. “Galen is nice,” he whispers. “All the A&E nurses love him.”
Good for them.
Good for Galen.
Knowing he’s charming to other people does nothing to quiet the blaring noise in my head as I trail Bhodi to where Tam and Esme are eating fudge by Santa’s grotto.
She’s already clutching a present from the first time I took her in when we got here this morning.
Tam’s tied the ribbon from her lunchtime visit into a sparkly bow in her soft dark hair.
Because I’m shit at the intricate stuff.
All those years ago, though, when my brother came off his bike, so was he.
But things change.
People change.
And maybe so do I.