Page 76 of Tameron

“Yep. I’m going to swing by the store, then I’ll be there.”

“The door’s unlocked. Just come in when you get here. I’m going to shower and try to get the rest of this smoke smell off me. I can’t wait to see you.”

His face softened again, some of the tension draining. He lifted his hand and formed a Y, then gently shook it back and forth. ‘Me too.’

I fought the urge to give him that three-fingered sign—the ‘I love you’ sitting heavy in my chest. But not yet. And maybe not ever. I waited for the call to disconnect, then pressed the phone to my forehead and took several deep breaths.

“Okay. Shower. Shave. Brush your nasty teeth,” I told myself as I headed back to my bedroom. “Get it together and be the man he needs you to be. Your shit can wait. You’ve got this. You’re fine.”

I wasn’t sure, though, that I was actually fine.

By the time I was dressed and finger-combing my hair, I saw flashing lights. I should’ve known Tameron wouldn’t just walk in, but I felt a small pulse of gratification when I heard the front door open and close.

He didn’t call my name though. I heard the thud-thud of him kicking off his shoes and then, a moment later, the sound of a pan hitting the stove. He wasn’t wasting any time getting started, and I was done wasting time having him be in my house without having kissed him.

I made my steps heavy for him like I did for Dax as I came down the hall. He must have spotted me in the dining room mirror because he didn’t turn when I entered, but he did lean back when I slid my arms around his waist and buried my face in the crook of his neck.

He seemed…lighter, somehow. Not less burdened, but like he was carrying it easier. His skin was warm under my lips as I kissed his neck, and then I let go and spun him so I couldpress my mouth to his. He took me easily, happily, like he’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

And hell, maybe that was the truth. Maybe while he was dealing with everything he had going on, he’d missed me just as much.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, pressing his temple against my chest.

I combed my fingers through his hair, careful to avoid his hearing aids behind his ears, and I rocked us from side to side until he breathed out and pulled away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

My eyes widened. “Oh, honey. No. Tonight is about you.”

He scoffed as he turned back to the stove and began to throw hunks of meat into a pan. They had a rich, spiced smell from whatever seasoning he’d used, and my mouth began to water. “Tonight is not about me. Tonight is me wanting to see you and tell you I’ve been so incredibly grateful for your patience. That’s all.”

I waited for him to look back at me, which he did after adding some chopped garlic. “You don’t need to be grateful that people give you the bare minimum.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, I do. I know I’m not an easy man to love. And don’t,” he started when I opened my mouth to argue, “tell me I’m not. I have trauma, and sometimes I can’t control how I respond to things, but I still have to take responsibility for the way I treat other people.”

“That sounds like something my therapist has said to me,” I told him.

He froze as he stirred what was in the pan. “Your therapist?”

“Yeah. My therapist.” I reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “You don’t get through this job without seeing things you don’t want to see.”

“Like last night?” he pressed.

I wasn’t getting out of this without talking, was I? I swallowed heavily. The night hadn’t ended with me heading back to the station. I had to give a statement to the investigators. I had to recount what I’d observed when I arrived on scene. I had to think about the body—the man, it turned out—and how it was likely all done on purpose.

I didn’t ask why. I didn’t want to know. Seeing the results of whatever had happened between the two people was enough. And there was a chance I might have to testify in court, so I couldn’t just forget what happened. I couldn’t tuck it in a box and hope the memory eventually atrophied.

“Someone died.”

He sucked in a breath.

“The call woke me up—I was at home asleep. A young man was trapped in his car. He was gone before any of us were on scene. There was nothing we could do, but it was…a lot. I hate it when I’m too late.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “It was arson.”

“Holy fuck.”

Bowing my head, I shrugged. “In this job, more often than not, I see the best of people. I see them scared and vulnerable. I see a lot of elderly people having heart attacks and car accidents because people—good people—ultimately made one bad decision. I’ve seen house fires because someone was trying to be romantic and lit too many candles.” I took a breath. “But sometimes I see this. I see the worst of people.”

“Yeah,” he said very quietly. “After everything we’ve been through, I don’t know how Nash can still…” Tameron trailed off and went back to cooking for a long beat. “I don’t know how either of you does your job.”

---