Page 28 of The Flames Between Us

"What happens now?" I ask softly, reality beginning to seep back in around the edges of our intimate bubble.

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his expression tender yet serious. "I don't have all the answers," he admits. "But I'm sure about this—about us. About giving it a real chance."

I nod, my professional mind already cataloging the necessary steps. "I'll still need to refer you to another psychologist before we can officially see each other socially," I say. "There's no way around that."

"I understand," he says. "And I should tell you—I'll want to tell my brother about us. About you."

I consider this, the practical implications. "That's okay. We just need to be thoughtful about the transition."

His smile widens. "I want to tell all of them, actually. The guys at the station—they're my family. And this—" he gestures between us, "—this is worth sharing."

Something warm blooms in my chest at his words. He's not ashamed of what's happened between us. He wants to claim me openly, proudly.

"I understand," I say, returning his smile. "They're important to you."

He leans down to kiss me again, a softer, more tender connection than our earlier passion. We're still naked, still damp with sweat and other evidence of our lovemaking, but in this moment, I feel a happiness I'd almost forgotten was possible.

I know that what we've done crosses every professional boundary. That it might even be considered legally problematic given our therapeutic relationship. But as I stand in the circle of his arms, I can't bring myself to regret it.

Love—or whatever this powerful emotion growing between us might be—knows no boundaries. Not professional ones, not ethical ones.

And for the first time in my life, I'm ready to let those boundaries fall away and see where this connection leads.

Epilogue - Ollis

Two years later

I ease the front door closed, mindful of the late hour and the likely sleeping occupants. The house is quiet except for the soft murmur of the television in the living room. My boots are caked with mud from the brush fire we've been fighting all day in the foothills outside Cedar Falls, so I remove them at the door—a habit Everly has firmly instilled in me.

My body aches with the particular exhaustion that comes from fourteen hours of physical labor and high-stress decision-making. We managed to contain the fire before it reached any residential areas, but it was touch and go for a while.

I pad silently down the hallway in my socked feet, my turnout gear already stowed at the station. Still, I smell of smoke and sweat, my t-shirt and uniform pants bearing the grime of the day. A shower is definitely in order, but first—

I pause in the doorway to the living room, my heart doing that familiar little stutter it still performs every time I see them together.

Everly is curled on the couch in her favorite oversized sweater, her dark hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. She's watching some home renovation show with the volume low, but her attention is primarily on the sleeping bundle resting against her chest. Her hand makes gentle patting motions on our daughter's back, a soothing rhythm that kept Kate asleep through what I'm sure was a challenging evening of teething pain.

For a moment, I just watch them—these two people who have completely rewritten the story of my life. Kate with her dark curls and my hazel eyes. Everly with her quiet strength and boundless compassion.

As if sensing my presence, Everly looks up, her face softening into the smile that's become my true north.

"Hey," she whispers. "You're home."

"Just now," I confirm, crossing to the couch and bending to press a kiss to her forehead, then one to Kate's downy head. "How was she today?"

"Fussy," Everly admits. "The bottom molars are giving her a hard time. But she finally conked out about twenty minutes ago."

I sink onto the couch beside them, careful not to disturb Kate's precarious slumber. "Sorry I missed bedtime. Again."

"Hey." Everly's free hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "You were saving people's lives. That's a pretty solid excuse."

This is what I love about her—the way she sees my work not as competition for my time and attention but as an extension of who I am. From the beginning, she's understood the demands of my profession in a way few partners ever could.

"You smell like a campfire," she observes, wrinkling her nose slightly though her eyes remain warm.

"Hazard of the job," I reply with a tired smile. "I'll shower in a minute. Just wanted to see you two first."

Kate stirs against Everly's chest, making those little snuffling noises that signal she's either going to settle back down or wake up completely. We both freeze, holding our breath. After a tense moment, she sighs deeply and relaxes back into sleep.

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