Chapter 11
LILY
I’m having a low-key panic attack on my bathroom floor, holding my knees pressed to my chest to make myself as small as possible—or to keep from falling apart.
I don’t even know. The cold of the tiles seeps through my leggings, but I barely register the discomfort.
I lean on the door behind me while my lungs remember how to process oxygen.
All because I used Josh Collins as my personal comfort mattress.
The memory of our awkward awakening sends another wave of mortification crashing through me.
It’s not the first time I’ve woken up on a very male, solid chest. For one disorienting second, my sleepy brain whispered Daniel’s name to me, and my heart leaped with that old familiar joy before reality snuffed it down.
Daniel didn’t smell like beaches and summer. Even living in California, he was all winter forest—pine and cedarwood and that stupid cologne I bought him for our first Christmas together that he wore until the day he died.
That’s when I realized I was sleeping on Josh. Not Daniel. Josh, who smells like coconut and sunshine.
Jerking up and finding those impossibly blue eyes staring back at me, still soft with sleep, shattered me. The worst part was that in those first few seconds, before panic took over, I’d felt… comfortable. Safe. Like I belonged with my head tucked under his chin and our limbs tangled together.
And that feeling—traitorous and wonderful—sent me scrambling off him, jolted as if I’d been electrocuted. Now I’m hiding like a coward while he’s sitting on my couch probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
I drop my forehead to my knees and groan. What is wrong with me? We didn’t do anything. We fell asleep watching a movie. Friends do that all the time, right? Completely innocent.
Except nothing about the way my body responded to his feels innocent.
My insides are too gooey and too sharp at once.
My heart can’t decide if it wants to race out of my chest or stop.
The poor organ becomes even more malfunctioning as my gaze drops to that chipped tile on the floor that Daniel sealed a few days before he died. A weird resentment takes over.
I’ve spent four years rebuilding my life after Daniel, focusing on Penny, on work, on surviving.
And in less than a week, Josh Collins has walked into my carefully constructed existence and turned everything upside down.
Making me laugh. Fixing my sink. Hiking with me.
Falling asleep under me. Awakening feelings that shake me out of my numbness but that I resent.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, a nurse, a mother. I deal with life-and-death situations every day. I can handle waking up on top of a guy I barely know—a very hot guy who has a killer smile and the same job as my dead husband.
I can’t look at him and not see the uniform, the danger, the possibility of losing someone again. I could never put Penny through that pain again. I can’t. I won’t. It doesn’t matter if he made me laugh until my abs hurt yesterday. I can’t have him. But I also can’t let him go.
I wish I could be mad at him. But Josh is just a guy who enjoys fixing things and tells terrible jokes and probably holds doors open for old ladies and wants to spend time with me for some reason.
“Pull yourself together, Lily,” I mutter, dropping my hands and taking a deep breath. “You’re acting insane.”
I push myself up from the floor, my legs protesting after being cramped in one position. In the mirror above the sink, my reflection stares back at me—wild-eyed, hair a tangled mess, cheeks flushed. A woman on the verge of a breakdown.
I splash cold water on my face and pull my hair up in a ponytail. A minute alone is all I need, then I can face Josh and tell him we’ll meet up later to go to the pier.
With one final deep breath, I unlock the bathroom door and step into the hallway. The apartment is quiet except for… Wait. Is that the sound of pans clattering in my kitchen?
I hurry down the hall, my stomach folding in tighter with each step. As I round the corner, my blood turns to ice.
Josh is standing at my stove, cracking eggs into a bowl. He’s barefoot, hair tousled into post-sleep disarray, humming to himself like he belongs in my space.
“What are you doing?” My tone is harsh—too harsh, laced with a coldness that surprises me.
Josh turns, that goofy smile that melts me spreading across his face. But this time, it only fuels the rage building inside me.
“Hey,” he says, holding the egg he was about to crack. “I was getting breakfast started. I figured after our accidental sleepover, the least I could do was—”
“Get away from the stove.” My voice is flat, distant, as if coming from somewhere outside my body.
Josh’s smile falters, confusion clouding his eyes. He sets down the egg and turns off the burner, raising his hands like he’s dealing with a feral animal. Which, to be fair, I probably resemble right now.
“What is happening?” he asks, genuine concern replacing his earlier cheerfulness. “Did I… do something wrong?”
I don’t know how to answer him. The last time anyone made me breakfast in this house, he died before I could thank him for it.
I want to explain this to Josh, but how do I put into words the tsunami of emotions crashing through me?
How do I tell him that he’s ripped open a wound I thought had scarred over?
“Breakfast was Daniel’s thing,” I finally say, the words coming out in a strained whisper. “I need you to leave.”
Understanding sinks in, darkening his eyes. A flash of what might be pain or pity follows. He takes a cautious step toward me, but stops when I tense.
“Okay, I’ll go.” He hesitates, studying my face. “Just for breakfast, or the rest too?”
“What rest?” I blink at him, confused.
“The pier.” He gestures toward the window to the outside world. “Did I fuck that up too?”
The question throws me. I’ve just kicked him out of my kitchen, yet he’s still worried about our plans for later?
I want to scream at him for being so nice, or maybe at myself, for being so broken that even a breakfast omelet feels like a betrayal.
My breathing shallows out, my chest tightening in the familiar precursor to hyperventilation.
“You fucked up?” I gasp out, pressing a hand to my sternum, rubbing the tattoo over my heart. “Josh, I’m acting unhinged and you still want to spend the day with me?”
He takes another step closer, his voice calm and soothing.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay to be upset. Be as sad, heartbroken, and unhinged as you like around me.
” His eyes hold mine, steady and unwavering.
“If you want to scream, scream. If you want to break things, just tell me to hand you the bat, remember? I’ve got you. ”
His understanding does something to me that anger never could. It cracks the shell I’ve built around my grief, letting everything I’ve been holding back rush out. A sob rips from my throat, followed by another, until I’m full-on crying—huge, ugly tears that I can’t control.
“I’m sorry,” I manage between gasps, my arms wrapped around myself as if I might physically fall apart. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Josh says, moving closer but still giving me space.
He opens his arms, offering himself up for a hug but letting me make the choice.
I stare at him through blurry eyes, wavering on the edge of a precipice I can’t see the bottom of.
He’s on the other side, extending me a hand to keep me from falling.
Something inside me gives way. One of my many walls crumbles, letting me re-learn it’s okay not to be strong all the time. Not to shoulder everything alone.
I step into his embrace.
The moment his arms wrap around me, I come undone. I cry like I haven’t cried since the day I finally cleaned the house of Daniel’s stuff, purging my closets but not my heart. Josh holds me through it, one hand smoothing my hair, the other firm behind my back, anchoring me.
He doesn’t shush me or tell me it will be okay. Josh rocks me, his chin resting on top of my head, letting me cry until I’ve emptied myself out. His shirt is soaked with my tears, but he doesn’t seem to care.
Finally, the storm passes, leaving me drained and lighter at the same time. I pull back to look up at him, embarrassed by my meltdown, but also strangely relieved.
“This is way more than you signed up for,” I say, my voice raw from crying.
Josh tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch feather-light. “This is exactly what I signed up for,” he says simply. “Real friends share the ugly same as the beautiful.”
What did I do to deserve someone so kind walking into my life and wanting to stick around? Josh is still a firefighter. Still the embodiment of everything I’m terrified of. But in this moment, he’s also a lifeline I didn’t know I needed.
“Such a hero complex, Lieutenant,” I say, patting his shoulder as I step out of his arms. The loss of his warmth is immediate, but I need to regain some semblance of composure.
He grins and, for once, I let myself enjoy how beautiful his face is without feeling guilty. “Better than a martyr complex, Nurse Finnigan.”
I shove him playfully in response. “You suck.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, not wanting to know how puffy my face must be. “If you’re still up for it, I need to take five, but we can meet at your truck in an hour to go to Santa Monica.”
Josh reaches for my arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not scared off that easily, Lily. Come find me when you’re ready.”
Ready for the pier or for something else? I don’t ask. I watch him leave. Hear him put his shoes back on and the front door close behind him.
The apartment feels emptier than usual in his absence, the silence pressing in from all sides.
I need a coffee. I turn toward the fridge to grab the milk, but before I can open the door, I notice a new addition pinned under a magnet next to one of Penny’s drawings.
It’s the Polaroid selfie Josh took of us on the hiking trail yesterday.
We both came out looking terrible. His hair wind-whipped into a ridiculous shape, my face caught mid-laugh with my eyes squinted shut, the background tilted. It’s the worst photo ever taken of me.
Yet as I stare at it, the burning in my chest eases. Despite the unflattering angles and the technical imperfections, the happiness on my face is undeniable, an unguarded joy I didn’t think would be possible again.
Maybe I’m not ready to let Josh anywhere near my heart. That space is still a war zone littered with landmines of grief and fear. But as I grab a tissue and blow my nose, I decide that he can stay in my kitchen.
As long as he doesn’t try to make me breakfast again.