Page 56 of The Fire We Crave

As I drive home and he follows me, I think about the time I looked up the meaning of the wordhome. Every dictionary definition included bricks and mortar. An address where one lives permanently.

Yet, in romance books, usually one of the main characters has an epiphany that home is where the person you love most is.

It’s a quandary, because I want to build both. Preferably together.

The gravel crunches beneath my feet as I step out of my car. Like the protector he’s becoming, Smoke pulls his large truck up next to me, before he steps out too.

His strong forearm flexes as he spins the keys on his index finger, and it’s all I can do to not stare at the deep veins than run along it.

“Remember, you don’t need to move out today,” Smoke says suddenly as we approach the porch.

“I should, though. I’m going to have to get used to being on my own again at some point. But I did forget I had book club tonight.”

I could cancel. Probably should, but I can’t let the girls down. It’s happening at Ember’s place, even though she barely likes the books we read. Raven will already have her copy highlighted and filled with little flags. Dawn will have gotten all of the marking for her high school kids complete so there’s nothing to stop her from attending. And I’m sure Sam’s probably pumped breast milk to make sure her husband is set to look after their baby so she can have a much-needed night out.

“Then stay tonight, at least. So you don’t need to rush.”

Bones charges at the two of us, and I bend down to accept his wet doggo kisses. “Hey, buddy.”

“I’ll let him out back for a run,” Smoke says.

“Thank you.” I head to my room to get ready to go out, but I take one last look at Smoke’s face before I do. It’s like an ever-changing painting. Stoic one minute, passionate the next. Always conflicted.

When I get to my room, I flop down on the bed and think about the conversation in the bakery kitchen.

I believe him.

It doesn’t change anything about her disappearance, but I believe him. I can imagine a young twenty-one-year-old man deciding to save his pride and reduce suspicion.

And I believe him that he doesn’t know anything. It’s impossible to put a finger on the exact reason why I do. But I felt there was an honest intimacy between us. Even though he doesn’t remember the conversation we had last night in his room.

When he told me he feels like he keeps letting everyone down. When he felt comfortable enough to cry in front of me, to show me exactly how he was feeling. When I held him and listened to the sobs that racked his chest.

A piece of me caught fire and burned to ash on the mountain. Don’t think I’m ever gonna get it back, Quinn.

My heart hurts for him.

And I don’t know how we move forward without me telling him exactly what he revealed.

Because I remember how it felt when he told me that he’d tried to drown himself in alcohol and some of the club girls because it might stop him from drowning in me. And how, when I asked him if it had worked, he confided that it hadn’t and had just made everything worse.

I wonder if the fact that my sister broke up with him makes any difference to our situation. It certainly makes things feel a little less…weird? Strange?

For the first time, I let myself think about Smoke as a man, my man, without feelings of guilt or shame layering over it. I close my eyes and think about what it would feel like for his feelings for me to overwhelm him again.

For him to rush at me and be so consumed with the idea of me that nothing will stop him.

Mentally, I picture the two of us in the clubhouse bar when he lifts me and sits me on the edge of the pool table. I’m sure there’s a part of my upbringing that predisposes me to be the good girl, to want to pass judgment on my actions. But, I can’t.

Because in the moment, the only man I can see is Smoke. Not the other men who linger around.

Watching.

He places his hand between my breasts, then pushes gently until I’m lying back on the green baize, my legs dangling off the edge.

Smoke slides his palms up my thighs, the callouses scratching against my skin, until he reveals my panties.

“Wet for me already?” he asks, his voice gruff.

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