Page 100 of That Time I Kissed The Groomsman Grump
I try to yank my arm away, but he clamps down tight. “Let me go!”
He throws both his arms around my body. “No.” My cousin’s a big guy, and he’s doing his best to hold me back, so I have to thrash hard to free myself. Once I escape his grip, I round on him, sweat pouring down my face.
So what if I die? I can’t live without Natalie. I don’t want to live without her.“I’ve got to find Nat!”
“Brady.” A vein throbs on his forehead. “You can’t go in there, man.”
“Watch me.” I spin around to sprint into the building—desperate and half blinded by sweat or tears or both—when I spot a flash of green at the back of the ambulance. Blonde hair turned gray with smoke.
“NATALIE!”
She’s soaked and covered in soot. There’s a blanket across her shoulders and an oxygen mask over her mouth. When I reach her side, she pulls off the mask and collapses into my arms.
“Oh, Brady.”
She shudders against me, her whole body wracked with sobs. Her hands claw their way up my coat, gripping my lapels in her fists, and I gather her to me. She’s so close I feel like she could crawl right into my chest. “I tried so hard,” she chokes. “I went in twice. But I couldn’t—”
“You’re safe.” I stroke her wet, smoky hair. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”
Thank God she’s safe. I feel like I need to repeat this a thousand times. Once for each beat of my heart since Ford took that call from the chief.
“I wanted to go in a third time,” she sputters. “They wouldn’t let me.”
So there must’ve been something—or someone—that still needed to be saved. But I can’t even let myself think about anything but her. Not the Swansons or their house or the clinic or the dogs—oh, God, LuLu.
I suck in a breath, then quickly shake off the despair. My heart can ache for other losses later. Right now, all that matters is Natalie is alive. I just need her to be okay.
“Of course you couldn’t go in a third time,” I murmur. “You shouldn’t have tried.”
Never mind the fact that I was about to charge inside the burning building to saveher. And that I know this wouldn’t have been brave. My running into the clinic would’ve just made things harder on the firefighters. I know this.
How many times have I heard Ford talk about civilians who want to help and only make their jobs riskier? But I wasn’t thinking, and I couldn’t stop myself. Love made me an idiot. Single-minded, all-consuming, beyond-reason love.
“I love you,” I whisper into Natalie’s smoky hair. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” I’m cradling her to my chest now, hoping she can hear the rumble of my words through her tears. Slowly, gently, she arcs her chin up, blinking at me. Lashes wet and thick. Eyes bluer than the lake. I’d dash my boat against the shore if I stared at her too long.
“I love you too,” she says. “So much.”
My eyes sting. Smoke. Tears. Fear. Relief. An entire spectrum of emotions. And Natalie’s an anchor tethering me to the earth. Otherwise I might take off like a rocket into space. With her, I’m grounded. Here. Right where I’m supposed to be.
Suddenly, off to the side, I hear a commotion. Dogs barking. More than one, from the sound of it. Natalie said she went in twice. Hopefully this means she was able save at least two of them. I almost can’t bear to look. But I slowly turn, and there’s Doc Swanson standing across the street.
He’s crouched down with Willa and Gator, one on either side of him. He waves at me with a trembling hand. His face is pale. Eyes sunken. He looks understandably shaken, and I want to go to him, but I can’t leave Natalie.
“Dr. Swanson showed up right after the first firetruck arrived,” she sniffles. “He was planning to meet the owners here.” She shakes her head, then presses her face against my chest again. “I’d just gotten Willa and Gator out. Crazy timing.”
I’m flooded with equal parts gratitude and agony, and my vision swims. Nat couldn’t go in a third time. She was able to save Willa and Gator, but not—
“LuLu,” I moan.
Natalie straightens, releasing my coat. Then she points behind me. “The paramedic already checked her.” I turn and see LuLu curled up in a blanket in the middle of an orange stretcher. Both her ears perk, hair sticking up every which way. Her tiny body makes the ambulance look like a cavern. LuLu is safe too. I heave out a breath.
“But you said you couldn’t go in a third time.”
She nods. “I got LuLu to my car first, then I took Gator and Willa together.”
I fumble for my words, doing the math. The dogs got out. Doc Swanson was safe. Mrs. Swanson’s in the hospital.
“Why did you want to go back in?”
