Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(92)

Words of love. Josie’s heart did a slow somersault inside her chest. Holt loved her.

She gave her head a shake—something she’d done so often today that Oma had asked her if she had an earache.

Not an earache but a heartache. Because Holt was certifiably insane. Deranged. Loco. Crazy as a cuckoo. A few hoses short of a fire truck…oh, that was a good one. She needed to use that on him sometime.

Only…she shouldn’t see him.

But she wanted to. Josie yanked at her hair in frustration. Maybe she was the one going insane.

Surely, his feelings of “love” merely meant he’d gotten caught up in the emotions of sex. And domination. Uzuri’d told her that submissives often got swayed by intense scenes and believed they felt more than a D/s connection.

Holt was a Dom, true, but…still…maybe he’d been affected by the stupendous sex.

Right?

Josie pressed her hand over the ache under her sternum. Hearing him say he loved her had been…staggering.

And then he hadn’t left after they’d made love. He’d held her in his arms all night. Woke her at dawn with kisses and told her he loved her again, then took her in plain old vanilla missionary style and told her again.

She’d made him breakfast and…and it had felt so right, having him in the kitchen. Talking over their upcoming days, just acting normal. Teasing him, knowing she’d get pinned against the counter and kissed.

She pursed her lips, breathing out, and rubbed her chest. He loved her.

And…God help her, she loved him.

She bit her lip. If…he broke it off, it would hurt badly.

But maybe Holt was different. No, she knew Holt was different. He wasn’t anything like her father or Everett. He’d never abandon someone because that person made a mistake. He wouldn’t care more for his reputation than for a person.

Wouldn’t betray her trust.

What about Carson? Holt was providing the guy-time her son needed. Her boy deserved to know someone as amazing as Holt.

Because Holt really was incredible.

But relationships went south sometimes, just because. For her boy’s sake, she should be careful. Go slow.

She smiled slightly, feeling an upwelling of hope. She’d see Holt tonight at the Shadowlands and…and maybe afterward? Maybe he’d want to come home with her again?

Please, let it work out.





Chapter Nineteen





Hearing doors slam across the street, Holt paused in the basketball game. Josie, Carson, and Stella got out of the car. Church must be over.

“Catch, Holt,” Wedge called.

Brought back to reality, Holt caught the ball, took two steps, and did a nice layup.

Duke and Elijah groaned as the basketball ringed the hoop and dropped in. Holt exchanged fist-bumps with Wedge as Elijah rebounded and tossed the ball to his teammate.

While Duke dribbled in an erratic pattern, working his way toward the hoop, Holt asked, “You guys know I’m a firefighter, yeah?”

“Sure, man. We know.” Duke dodged left.

Holt blocked. “You know about the middle school problems—some dumbass starting fires?”

“Heard that.” Duke passed the ball to his teammate, barely getting by Holt’s hand.

The kid zipped around Wedge and took a shot. Missed.

Holt rebounded and tossed the ball to Wedge who took a shot from where he stood. Score.

“Good shot!” Holt caught the ball on the way down. Instead of tossing the ball to Duke, he studied the three teens around him. They were uncomfortable, their gazes on the ball, rather than him. They knew something, dammit.

“Listen, guys. I’ve rescued children from burning buildings. And sometimes we arrive too fucking late.” His jaw clenched at the memories. The sights, the scents, the sheer ghastliness of something that should never happen. “I know ratting out a friend is bad, but Jesus, don’t put me through having to see a child burned to death again.”

The boys were silent. He knew they’d heard him. Felt him. Because, contrary to belief, most kids were fucking openhearted and sensitive. A person just had to break through all the noise in their lives.

“Whoever’s starting fires isn’t one of us,” Wedge said, finally. “I mean, not someone from the high school. Or a grownup. It’s someone who goes to the middle school.”

Holt felt his gut tighten. Young arsonists sometimes used fire as their way of coping…and could start hundreds of fires over a lifetime.

“Don’t know more than that,” Duke said.

Holt nodded. “Thanks.” He tossed the ball to Elijah who spun, feinted, spun again, and shot the ball into Duke’s hands. The teen dodged from the corner and scored.

“Nice job.” Grinning, Holt heard his cell ring, glanced at the display, and backed away to answer it. “What’s up, Jake?”

His friend sighed. “Problems. You know my vet clinic and the local animal shelter are co-hosting the adoption benefit today. The one at the local pet store?”

“Seems like you mentioned it. And?”

“And several of the shelter staff are home with the flu. I’m looking for warm bodies—no experience necessary—to help for three hours this afternoon.”

“Sure, I’m in.” Holt turned to look across the street at Josie’s house. She’d invited him to the post-church dinner. Bet he could draft them into working. “I might manage to nab another one or two.”