Chuck and Phaedra approached, both relieved and happy to see Taylor.

“Take him upstairs, Falyn. Get him cleaned up, so we can make him some breakfast. I’m sure he’s half-starved,” Phaedra said.

Taylor stood, bringing me with him. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, pulling me toward the stairs.

I followed him, still in shock.

When we stepped inside the loft, I closed the door behind me, leaning my back against it. It didn’t seem real. All night, I’d thought he was dead, mulling over the idea of truly losing him forever. Now, he was standing a few feet from me, and although the circumstances hadn’t changed, everything was different.

“Can you hand me a trash bag? A big one,” Taylor said, careful to stand on the tiles in the entrance.

I went to the cabinet under the sink and pulled a large black trash bag from its cardboard box. I shook it out before handing it to him.

Taylor dropped his pack into the sack, and it crashed to the floor. He peeled off his yellow jacket, and then he bent over at the waist to unfasten his boots before pulling them off. Each time he removed a piece of his protective clothing, he’d put it inside the bag.

When he was done, he held the bag closed at the top. “Don’t want your place smelling like smoke.”

I shook my head. “I don’t care.”

He grinned. “You will. It doesn’t go away for a while. And the black is hard to get out of the carpet. Trust me.” Down to his boxer briefs, he tied up the sack and set it outside the door in the hall. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said.

I chuckled. Now that he was undressed, his skin was only dirty from the neck up.

He padded into the bathroom, and I heard the shower come on. I covered my mouth, stifling an unexpected sob. He was okay. He was alive and in my bathroom. I thought about what Kirby had said—about the sacrifices he was willing to make and how atrocious I was behaving when it was time for me to take a risk.

I knocked on the open bathroom door, the steam billowing out from above the curtain. The mirror was fogging. Everything was blurry again.

“Taylor?”

“Just wait,” he said. “I know what you’re going to say. I know what happened last night doesn’t change anything. But I’ve got your fucking attention. I want to talk.”

“About what?” I asked.

The faucet shut off, and as Taylor opened the curtain, I grabbed a clean towel from the rack and handed it to him. He dried his face, patted down his chest and arms, and then wrapped the towel around his middle.

“You’re not doing this. We love each other. That hasn’t changed,” he said.