Page 48 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
I crouch beside the couch, rubbing a hand down my face like that’ll wipe the guilt off me.
But even as the bliss drags me under, the thought rises unbidden and slips through my defenses;I’ve never felt sosatisfied and sated, not even with Josie, and alongside it, a flood of guilt and shame.
Josie.
The name hits like a cold wave. The memory of her — of the life I thought I’d have, the promises I couldn’t keep. Guilt twists sharp and bitter in my chest, dulling the edges of the high, reminding me that I should not be here.
And that alone makes the shame burn even deeper.
“Hey? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry. I need to leave.”
She blinks. Sits up. “Noah…”
I shake my head once. Just enough.
If I say another word, I’ll stay. And if I stay, I might let her in too deep.
And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
“What?”
Chapter thirteen
Kate
The slap of my sneakers against the treadmill’s belt is the only sound I hear. Steady. Relentless. My legs burn, my lungs sting, but I don’t stop. I push harder, faster, as though I can outrun the thoughts circling in my head, I’ll finally be free of them.
My legs burn, muscles coiled tight and screaming for mercy, but I don’t ease up. I grip the side rails, knuckles white, jaw locked so tight it’s starting to ache.
Sweat slides down my back, soaking into the clingy cotton of my tank, but I barely feel it. Every step, every strained breath, the same name hammers through me.Noah. Noah. Noah.
Five days.
Five long, infuriating, dead-silent days. Not a knock. Not a word. Not even Blaze’s large paws scratching at the porch. The quiet is worse than any argument. It presses down like a brick I can’t shake loose, and the more I think about it, the harder I push my legs, daring the treadmill to break before I do.
The longer the silence stretches, the worse the ache gets; sharp, bitter, coiled so deep it’s hard to breathe. And the worst part? He’s still in my head.
How his hands, calloused but gentle, slid over my bare skin. How his mouth traced every inch of me as he worshiped me. His voice dipping low as he whisper my name, the sound still tangled up in my brain, sneaks in uninvited.
The anger follows fast behind, hot and sharp, curling around my ribs until my lungs can barely expand. I crank the speed higher, reckless now, my feet struggling to keep up. My body’s one sharp edge away from collapse, but I need the burn, the ache, the punishment.
Because no matter how many miles I push through, I can’t outrun the way he made me feel. Or the way he left, like none of it mattered.
If there’s something I’m certain of, it’s the fact that he enjoyed what we shared as much as I did. So, what happened? Why is he suddenly so silent and avoiding me?
I should’ve known better.
Why didn’t I stop myself from asking if he could kiss me? Why did I let go, let him in, let myself believe even for a second that it would be more than sex? That it could be something real. Something lasting.
God, how stupid could I be?
What was I expecting? That he’d fall into step with my life with Parker? That he’d want all the pieces of me, not just the ones that felt good for a night?
That there’d be something lasting, something safe? Some neat little fairytale ending? I should’ve known better. I should’ve kept my walls higher. Tighter.
Why do I have to lose my train of thought when he touches me?
