22. Clover
He's standing there, still in his uniform pants and a clean PFD t-shirt he must have changed into at the station when he ditched his gear, though his face is still streaked with soot and his hair wet with sweat. His eyes find mine, and the relief in them mirrors what must be on my face.
He didn’t even stop to shower, just came straight home to me.
"Banks." His name escapes my lips in a breathless rush, like all the air I've been holding in my lungs for hours leaves all at once. My body moves on instinct, my feet carrying me across the room before my brain can catch up. The relief is so powerful it’s almost painful, making my chest ache and my knees weak as I throw myself at him.
He catches me in those strong arms of his, lifting me off my feet. I bury my face in his neck, breathing in the smell of smoke and sweat and that underlying scent that's just him, and I don't care that he's filthy or that I'm getting soot and ash all over my clothes.
He's alive. He's here. He came back to me.
To us.
"I'm okay," he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough like he's been breathing smoke for hours. Which he sort of has. "I'm sorry I couldn't call. It all happened so fast."
"Why’d you have to go?" I pull back just enough to see his face, my hands framing his jaw like he did to me at the house. My palms rub against his stubble. "You weren't even on shift. You could have stayed away. Been safe."
Something shifts in his expression—a hardness that appears for just a second before softening again. "They called for all available personnel. I couldn't just sit it out, Freckles. They needed help."
"You could have died." My voice breaks, all the fear of the past hours hitting me at once with enough force my legs actually buckle. His grip on me only tightens. "There was a collapse. They said on the news—"
"That was the back of the Mexican restaurant," he explains, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. "I was in the front, helping with the search."
I'm suddenly aware that Navy has slipped out without a word, leaving us alone. Part of me wants to be mad at her for abandoning me, but most of me is grateful for the privacy.
"You scared the hell out of me," I whisper, pressing my forehead against his chest. "Kasen wasn't answering his phone. I didn't know if either of you were okay."
"Kasen's fine. I checked on him first before coming here. I knew you’d be worried about him." His hand slides up to cradle the back of my neck. "He wasn't at the brewery when it started.”
"I know. He finally texted me back." I pull away and wipe at my face, embarrassed to realize I'm crying. Again. These stupid pregnancy hormones are ruining my reputation. I wrinkle my nose. "You need a shower. You smell like a bonfire."
Banks laughs, the sound raspy but real, and relief washes through me all over again. "Trying to get me naked, Freckles?"
"Yes," I admit, surprising myself with my honesty. I think I surprise him too by the way his eyes he stares down at me. "I've been thinking about what you said. At the house."
His whole body goes still, those hazel eyes of his suddenly so intense I almost can't look at them directly. Like staring into the sun.
"Tell me."
I take a deep breath, searching for the words that have been forming in my heart for the past hours—hell, if I'm being honest, the past months.
Years.
"I've spent my whole life being afraid of needing anyone," I start slowly, the words feeling strange in my mouth. "After my mom died and my dad left, it just seemed safer to rely only on myself. To never give anyone else the power to devastate me like that again."
His dirty fingers come up to brush a strand of hair from my face, so gently I might cry again. "I know."
"I thought being alone meant being safe," I continue, forcing myself to hold his gaze even though every instinct is screaming at me to look away, to protect myself. "But watching that fire on the news today, not knowing if you were okay... I realized being without you is the most dangerous thing I could do to my heart."
His intake of breath is sharp. "Clover—"
"Let me finish," I interrupt, pressing my palms against his chest. His heart’s racing in there, but I need to get this out before I lose my nerve. "God, I had this whole speech prepared in my head while I was watching that fire on TV, thinking you might be dead. And now I can't remember a single word of it."
I take a deep breath, my eyes locked on my hands against his chest rather than meeting his gaze.
"The thing is, I've spent my entire life organizing everything into neat little boxes with pretty color-coded labels. But you... you don't fit in any box. You're this hurricane that blew through my life, rearranged everything, and somehow made it all better."
I finally force myself to look up, meeting those hazel eyes that see right down to my soul.
"I hate that you made me need you.” A laugh bubbles up, nervous and a little hysterical. “But I do. I can’t do this life without you. And I love you and it terrifies me. Because loving you means accepting that you're always going to run toward fires. That you’re always going to need to help people even if that means risking yourself. That I might lose you." My voice cracks, but I push through it, digging my fingers into his shirt.
"But I've spent the last four hours watching that fire on TV, imagining life without you, and I realized something. Not loving you would be worse. Not having you in my life would be worse than any risk.”
His eyes are shining in a way I've never seen before, and it makes my throat tight so it’s hard to get words out.
"And the house..." I laugh, and it’s a little wet. The tears are starting to get in on the action now. "That ridiculous, beautiful house that you bought without consulting me or showing me a single listing, which is so completely not how normal people do things."
"Since when have we ever done anything the normal way?" he asks, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.
"Fair point." I take one of his hands, pressing it against my stomach where our baby is growing. "I love the house, Banks. I love the nursery and the kitchen and that stupid spice rack you installed even though it makes no sense to you. I love that you considered my plants. I love that you made a space that's just for me. I love that you thought about all the things I need before I even knew I needed them."
I look up as his arms slide back around my back like he can’t stand any space between us. “But most of all, I love you. The firefighter who can't stop rescuing people, the man who learned how to make my grandmother's banana bread recipe when I mentioned missing it, the guy who puts my favorite mug under the coffee maker before he leaves for his shift so it's ready for me, and the one who somehow memorized every single place I'm ticklish just to make me laugh when I'm spiraling. Every stubborn, overprotective, ridiculously perfect inch of you."
"So does this mean you'll move in with me?" His voice is rough and I shiver. "Make that house our home?"
"Yes," I whisper, and the smile that breaks across his face is so beautiful it makes my chest ache. "But I have conditions."
I am still me, after all.
He laughs, his face lighting up with the same unbridled joy that only he can make me feel down to my bones. It makes him look about five years younger. "I would expect nothing less from you, Freckles. Hit me with your list."
"One," I hold up a finger, "you have to promise not to die in a fire. I mean it. You stay safe out there, or I'll kill you myself."
Banks's grin turns into something more serious. "I'm always careful. You and this baby are my whole world now." He doesn’t promise because we both know he can’t, so I let it go.
"Two," I continue, trying to ignore how his words make my heart do somersaults, "I want to paint the master bedroom. That beige is depressing."
"Whatever color you want," he agrees immediately. "Even if it's that weird purple you have in your linen closet here."
I wave him off. "That was here when I moved in and it’s ugly as hell. And three," I say, my voice suddenly shy, "I want you to fuck me right now and show me exactly how much you love me. Because I've been watching the news for four hours thinking you might be dead, and I really need to feel you alive inside of me."
His eyes darken, and the look on his face makes me squirm because that look right there? It promises very dirty things.
"That," he says, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that turns me to liquid, "I can definitely do."
He's filthy from the fire, but I don't care. His mouth tastes like smoke and salt when he crushes his lips to mine, his arms banding around my waist and lifting me off my feet. I wrap my legs around his hips, gasping when I feel how hard he already is beneath his black uniform pants.
"I love you," he growls against my mouth as he carries me toward the bedroom. "Fuck, I love you so much it scares me sometimes."
"I love you too," I whisper, and the words come easier this time. Less terrifying. "Now get these disgusting clothes off and get in the shower before I change my mind."
His laugh rumbles through his chest and into mine. "Bossy as ever."
"You love it."
"I love you," he corrects, setting me down on the bathroom counter. "The bossiness is just a bonus."
His pants hit the floor followed by his t-shirt. I drink in the sight of him—that ridiculous body that makes my mouth water, the tattoos rippling over muscle as he moves, the exhaustion evident in the set of his shoulders.
He turns on the shower and holds out his hand to me. "Join me?"
Ten minutes later, we're both clean, my back pressed against the tile wall of the shower as Banks kneels in front of me, his mouth between my thighs, forcing me to feel nothing but him. His hands grip my hips, keeping me upright when my knees threaten to buckle, and the hot water runs over us both as he works me with his tongue until I'm gasping his name.
"Missed this," he groans against my pussy, the vibration making me shudder. "Missed the way you taste. The sounds you make when you come for me."
“You were only gone a few hours.” A few hours that took ten years off my life.
“Don’t care,” he says between licks. “It was too long.”
I gasp when he hits a sensitive spot, my fingers tangling in his wet hair. "I need you inside me. Now."
He's on his feet so fast he slips a little and I laugh, but then it dies when he spins me around so I'm facing the wall, his front pressed to my back. My face presses against the cold tile as one of his big, calloused hands slides around to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple.
"Like this?" he asks, his breath hot against my ear. "You want my big dick in your tight little pussy, Freckles? Want me to take what I want?"
I whimper when I feel the thick, heavy length of him rub against my ass, his fingers pinching my nipple. "Yes, please, yes."
His other hand slides up my thigh, yanking my legs apart while he pushes me further against the wall so I bend. The head of his cock slides against me, slick with pre-cum that mixes with my arousal. He’s right where I want him, where I need him, and when he thrusts, it's with enough force to make my body slide up the tile. He does it again and again, fucking me with a force that makes the head of his cock hit places inside of me that make me weak.
My palms flatten against the tile, bracing myself as he sets a rhythm that's just on the right side of rough.
"Mine," he growls, his voice a rumble I feel all the way down my spine. "Say it, Clover. Tell me you're mine."
"Yours," I gasp as he hits places inside me that curl my toes. "I'm yours."
His hand slides down to rub against my clit, and I nearly burst out of my skin at the rightness of it. It’s so good. So, so good. "And I'm yours," he says, his voice suddenly soft and reverent even as his body pounds into mine. "Only ever yours, Freckles."
The intensity of it all—his words, his touch, the emotional rollercoaster of the day—sends me over the edge embarrassingly fast. I come with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me.
He follows seconds later, his forehead pressing against my shoulder as he pulses inside me, my name a broken sound on his lips.
For a long moment, we just stand there under the cooling water, his arms wrapped around me from behind, his hands splayed protectively over my stomach where our baby grows.
"We should probably get out before we freeze," I finally say, hating that I have to move away from him at all but the water’s starting to get uncomfortable.
Banks presses a kiss to my shoulder. "Probably. But I'm not ready to let you go just yet."
"You don't have to," I tell him, turning in his arms to face him. "Not ever again."
The smile he gives me is soft and sweet, so different from his usual cocky grin that it makes my chest ache. "Promise?"
"Promise." I stand on my tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Now get me to bed before I fall asleep standing up. Today has been... a lot."
He laughs and reaches behind me to turn off the water. "Has it really only been one day? Feels like a lifetime since I showed you the house."
"A good lifetime or a bad one?" I ask, suddenly uncertain.
Banks wraps a towel around me, his movements careful and tender. "The best, Freckles. Absolutely the best."
Later—much later—we lie together in my bed, his hand resting over my belly. He looks wrecked with purple smudges under his eyes that I can see even in the darkness.
"Sleep," I tell him, brushing my fingers through his hair. "You've had a long day."
"Don't want to close my eyes," he murmurs, already half-gone. "Might wake up and find out this was all a dream."
"It’s not a dream," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll be right here when you wake up. Promise."
His arm tightens around me. "Love you."
"Love you too."
And as Banks's breathing evens out into sleep, his hand still protectively settled over the place where our baby grows, I realize something important. For the first time in my life, I'm not counting down the days until something ends. Not viewing this as temporary or conditional or something that will inevitably be taken from me.
For the first time, I'm letting myself believe in forever.
And it feels like coming home.