Page 92 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
Her breath catches. "My father threatened to take Parker from me."
That finally makes me turn. What kind of man threatens his daughter with his grandson?
She’s standing there, arms wrapped around herself as though she’s barely holding herself together. Her eyes are wet, but her voice doesn’t shake.
"So, I ran. Started over. And yes, I have a trust fund. I haven't touched it before now. I was afraid if I used it, they’d find me, and they'd take my son from me. That was how I ended up in Porthaven.
The firehouse feels too small suddenly, the air too thick.
"I used some of it for the fundraiser," she admits. “Not to impress you. Not to lie. Just… to help. I funneled it through an old trust account they don't monitor anymore.
Her fingers twist the hem of her shirt. "I’m not sorry for protecting Parker. But I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner."
Silence stretches between us, but I couldn’t say a word.
Then, she adds softly, "I just wanted you to seeme. Not the name. Not the money. Just… me." Her words hang in the air, raw and honest. “I just wanted you to know everything we shared is real, my real name changes nothing.”
Finally, she exhales, shoulders slumping. "You deserved the truth. Even if it means you walk away from me."
Goddamn it. I want to tell her I’m not going anywhere. But the truth still stings like it’s fresh, and the part of me that trusted her without question is still bleeding.
I want to reach for her. Just one step. One word. But the storm inside me won't clear.
Blaze whimpers, pads over to her, and nudges her hand, but she doesn’t pet him. So Blaze just stands there, waiting.
And I….I don’t know what the hell to say. So, I continue to remain silent, the silence stretches and presses against my eardrums, thick and suffocating.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting harsh shadows across Kate’s face as she waits. One second. Five. Ten.
Her fingers twitch at her sides before curling into loose fists. A slow breath leaves her, and I watch the way her shoulders rise and fall with it as if she’s giving up and bracing herself for some kind of impact.
Then she moves.
One step. Two. Her mules thud against the concrete floor, the sound too loud in the empty station. She rounds the table, coming to stand directly in front of me, closer than she’s been since she walked in.
Close enough that I catch the faint floral scent of her shampoo, mixed with the soft and delicious vanilla smell still clinging to her skin.
She doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t have to because she has my full attention.
Her gaze locks onto mine, unflinching. I can see every fleck of gold in her hazel eyes, the way her pupils dilate just as she searches my face. For what? Anger? Understanding? Some sign that I’m still in there, still the man who kissed her like he was starving for it just days ago?
I don’t give her anything.
Her lips part, then press together. When she speaks, her voice is quiet.Raw.
"Maybe hiding the fact that I’m a rich heiress isn’t really the problem for you." She waits a beat and allows the words to hang between us, sharp as shattered glass.
"Maybe this was the excuse you were waiting for," she continues, softer now. "to hide from your feelings. To deny what you’re feeling."
My chest tightens.
"If that’s what you want," she says, holding my gaze, "nothing I say will change your mind."
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air between us crackles with everything unsaid, every late-night conversation and cuddle, every accidental brush of fingers, every time I let myself imagine something more.
Then she turns.
Just like that.
