Prologue #2
One second, we’re staring at each other by firelight, the next his hand is at my jaw and my mouth is on his, heat and intent and something raw slamming into me all at once.
There’s nothing tentative about it. No testing.
Just need. His breath stutters like he’s been holding it for years.
Blood rushes through my body so fast and so hard that I’m dizzy.
The world narrows to the space between us.
We don’t talk much after that. We don’t need to. His forehead presses to mine, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he blinks. When he finally looks at me—really looks—it’s unguarded, almost startled, like he can’t believe I’m still here.
“This doesn’t need to be anything more than a kiss,” he murmurs.
I appreciate that, but everything else in the world has faded to background noise. The cool air. The fire. The forest. That guy I was dating. What’s-his-name. Hell, I’m not even broken up about the breakup.
I have never been kissed like that in my life.
Right now, all I see is Aiden. His brooding, protective side. The weight he carries on those broad shoulders. The risk he takes every call. Respect and desire ache low in my core, and there’s only one answer on my lips.
“It does need to be more than a kiss.”
A rogue smile takes his lips, and the next thing I know, he’s scooped me into his arms, and he’s marching us into the cabin.
He kicks the door closed behind himself and sets me onto a bed.
It’s a clumsy race to see who can get undressed quicker, kissing between layers removed.
I barely notice the lit fireplace in the corner.
When he’s bare, I’m in awe. So many scarred muscles and a few more tattoos I hadn’t expected. He’s down to his jeans, and I’m in my underthings, legs draped over the edge of the bed. I look up at him, trying not to stare at his thick, carved body.
Trying and failing, that is.
Thankfully, he seems to have the same trouble. I catch his gaze firmly planted in my cleavage. He mutters, “Damn.”
I giggle, and he kisses me again, this time, moving over me as I lie back. The weight of him on top of me steals my breath. Not from the weight, but from the comfort of feeling him there, like he was made to fit there. I wrap my legs around him and feel it—he’s hard already for me.
There’s a faint voice in the back of my mind that says this is a bad idea. That I should ask about protection or STI status or something. I’m never this reckless. It’s completely unlike me.
But when his rough hands skate all over my skin, I’m blissed out.
I barely know my own name, much less how to gracefully ask about those things.
And then he reaches into my underwear. His touch sends a shock through me, and I roll against his fingertips until I’m shaking.
His voice is low and raw. “Gotta get these clothes off of you.”
“The jeans,” I point out.
“Sorry,” he says as he works them off. “Got distracted by your tits.”
I giggle again, while I take off the last of my clothes. And then, it’s just us. Skin against skin, mouth on mouth. He lays his cock against me there, sliding up and down my wetness. It’s electric, and I could almost get off like this alone. But I want more.
He freezes up. “You’re sure—”
“Yes! Are you?”
“Fuck yes,” he growls as he slowly enters me.
The stretch of him intoxicates me. I shake and shudder beneath him, and then on top of him when he rolls us over.
The way he fills me up is too good. His hands wander over my tits at first, cupping, massaging.
But then he reaches down between us, thumbing my clit as I ride him, and I see stars.
My voice shakes worse than I do. “Close—”
“Come on my cock. I want to feel it.”
I shatter on him and collapse into his arms, and for a quiet moment, he holds me there until I catch my breath. Then he rolls his hips upward as he grabs my ass. I’m too hazy to do much of anything at the moment. “I can’t—”
“I’ve got you.” He takes over, launching himself into me from underneath, a madman possessed. His inches glide along my G-spot with every thrust, and I’m shaking again, heat coiling in me.
I whisper over his pec, “Oh, God.”
“Close again?” he grunts.
All I can do is nod.
He doesn’t answer with words. He answers with his body, charging into me harder and faster until I erupt again. His sounds go ragged as he joins me, pulling out to come between our slick bodies.
Later, when the cabin is quiet, we lie tangled together on the bed, wrapped in warmth and the aftershock of something that feels bigger than one time should. His arm is heavy around my waist. My cheek fits against his chest like it was always meant to.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” he murmurs into my hair, the words rough, almost disbelieving.
Neither have I.
Sleep takes us like a blessing, hearts still racing, limbs still intertwined. For now, nothing else exists. Not tomorrow. Not consequences. Just us.
In the morning, I wake before the fire fully dies, the room washed in soft gray light and embers glowing low.
Aiden is still asleep beside me, one arm heavy around my waist, his breathing slow and even.
In sleep, he looks younger somehow. Less guarded.
The lines between his brows have eased, his mouth relaxed instead of set like it usually is.
I trace the edge of his shoulder with my eyes and let myself imagine things I probably shouldn’t.
Morning coffee together. A drive back to Columbus that doesn’t feel like an ending.
The possibility that last night meant something more than a beautiful accident.
Hope settles in my chest, warm and terrifying. But also, somehow, comforting.
His phone buzzes on the floor beside us. Once. Twice. He stirs, groans softly, then opens his eyes—and sees me.
The shift is instant.
His body goes rigid. His arm drops away from me like he’s been burned. Panic flashes across his face so fast it takes my breath with it. He reaches for his phone, swipes the screen, and I watch his expression close off piece by piece. Carlie.
I can’t stop myself. “Everything okay?”
He exhales hard, scrubbing a hand over his face. “This…” He sits up, pulling the blanket around his waist, putting distance between us that didn’t exist seconds ago. “This was a mistake.”
The words land like a slap. “What?”
“You’re Carlie’s friend,” he continues, not meeting my eyes. “You’re too young. You have your whole life ahead of you, and I—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight. “I shouldn’t have let this happen.”
“Let this happen? There were two of us who decided—”
“You know what I mean.”
My chest aches. “So last night meant nothing to you?”
His laugh is short. Bitter. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He finally looks at me, and there’s regret there. Real and heavy. It turns my stomach. “I’m saying I’m not someone you should get tangled up with. And I won’t betray my sister’s trust. Not again.”
“Her out of the picture, what do you want?”
He stares off toward the window, gently shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter what I want. Never does.” He gets out of bed, pulls on his jeans, and walks out of the bedroom.
Aiden
I make coffee, stiff and bitter. Suits the morning. How the fuck did I let this happen?
Because I’m a selfish asshole, that’s how.
I bring her a cup, because I am not selfish enough to not share coffee, but she doesn’t take it. I leave the cup on the nightstand near her, just in case.
Harper turns away from me, gathering her clothes with shaking hands. She doesn’t rush, but she doesn’t linger either, like if she slows down even a second, she might crack. I stay rooted where I am, fists clenched at my sides, watching her pull herself together piece by piece.
Don’t cry, I silently beg her. Not because I don’t deserve it—but because I don’t think I could survive seeing it.
She doesn’t look at me again. Slips into the bathroom, comes out dressed, composed in that brittle way people get when they’re holding themselves upright through sheer will. Halfway to the door, she mutters, “Take care of yourself.”
I have no idea what to say. The cabin door closes behind her with a soft, final click. I stand there long after she’s gone, staring at the empty space she left behind, my chest burning like I’ve swallowed something corrosive.
I did the right thing. She’s twenty-two. She has her whole life ahead of her—graduation, opportunities, probably a dozen guys chasing after her.
I’m thirty-four. I’m tired. I carry ghosts and scars and memories that don’t fade. Last night, I was fucking selfish. I took something I had no business taking, and I hate myself for that.
This isn’t love. It can’t be. People don’t fall in love in one night. It’s ridiculous to think it was anything else. Hormones and loneliness and firelight doing what they do best. That’s all.
I won’t let it be more than that. I am a mistake she will think about when she’s old and gray, nothing more. She will forget me. That’s what’s best for her, for Carlie. Pretend it never happened and move on.
But I’ll never forget her.
My imagination is a bastard. Can’t stop seeing the cabin vanish in her car’s mirror. I picture her drive back to the city, tears blurring her vision. Rear-ending the car in front of her or rolling into a ditch, because I’ve responded to calls like that. She’s injured, and it’s all my fault.
Shut up, brain.
Life will go on. She will graduate, find some guy to settle down with, and start a family. She will forget about the firefighter with tired eyes and too much baggage and a bad attitude.
I’m a speedbump on her highway. Not the destination.
I am no one’s destination. Never have been, never will be. Especially not a dynamic, mesmerizing twenty-two-year-old who laughs easily with warmth and compassion. Who asks thoughtful questions. Who genuinely wants to hear my answers.
I am a selfish bastard, so I ask the universe for one more thing before packing up to leave the cabin.
My words fall on hard wood and cozy blankets draped on the brown couch. “Give her the life she deserves. Let her get out of Ohio and go someplace wonderful and have adventures and love and all the good things in life.”
It’s the favor I’ve asked the universe about other people.
My sister. Accident victims who are too good for this world.
Sometimes it seems like the universe is listening.
Other times, I go completely ignored. I don’t exactly believe in a higher power, but I’ve seen too much weird shit in my line of work to think we’re alone in the universe.
Someone is listening. There has to be. I just hope they do what I asked.
When I return to the city, work is a Band-Aid on the sucking chest wound Harper left me. But I cling to it anyway. Double shifts. Overtime. Extra calls. Anything that keeps my hands busy and my head quiet. Fire is easier than memory. It almost works.
Until Carlie tells me she is going to Harper’s wedding.
I see the pictures on social media, each one gutting me.
Not long after, my sister tells me Harper is pregnant.
Quickly, the math runs through my head, and there’s no way it’s mine.
It’s a relief, of sorts. As much as I’ve always wanted a family, I would hate myself if I ruined hers.
I pretend to be happy for her. Part of me is, because I wanted that for her. But the selfish asshole side of me rages.
And then one day, Carlie corners me in my kitchen one night, eyes sharp, voice shaking. She’s pieced it together, I’m not sure how. My silence tells her the rest. “She’s my friend, Aiden,” she snaps. “My best friend. She was twenty-two. What were you thinking?”
I don’t answer. There isn’t one that makes this better.
Then she says the words that stick. “You are never to speak to her again. Ever.”
I don’t argue. I don’t defend myself. I nod, because she’s right. Because whatever I felt doesn’t outweigh the damage I could’ve done to my sister. Because Harper had her whole life ahead of her, and I would’ve been the wrong gravity for her—too heavy, too broken, pulling her off course.
So I don’t argue. I let Carlie rant and be mad at me, because she sees Harper as a innocent in this. Can’t say I disagree. She sure as hell didn’t know what she was getting into with me.
Carlie forgives me eventually. In pieces. With boundaries. Harper’s name becomes something we don’t say.
Years pass. I stay alone by choice, or so I tell myself. Every relationship fizzles before it starts. Every woman gets compared to a ghost she never had a chance of beating.
It’s fucking stupid of me. I should try with someone else. But I don’t have it in me to give a shit.
I tell them that one-night stands are all I’m good for. A few try to fix me. You can’t fix another person, I tell them. The stubborn ones try anyway. But I get good at fending them off. It’s better for them to stay away from me. Selfish assholes deserve to be alone.
But sometimes, late at night, when the firehouse is quiet and sleep won’t come, I remember the way Harper looked at me like I was more than my damage. Like I was someone worth choosing.
I hate that she was wrong about me.
The only good thing I did that weekend was telling her I was a mistake.
I deserve my solitude. I tell myself that I like the quiet.
I prefer cooking for one. The pitter patter of little feet is not in my future.
I’m a firefighter—it’s not fair to ask a child to never know when her father is coming home.
Family life isn’t for me.
Families are for people like Harper Myers.