On the other hand, the more I thought about it, the more I realized we were made for each other. I’ll admit, I have a bit of a hero complex. Most firemen probably do. Work scratched that itch, but it had never been enough for me.
My ex-wife, Kayla, had turned her nose up at the idea of trading in a lucrative career to one focused on helping others. When I told her I was considering leaving my job as a banker to pursue becoming a firefighter, she’d shown a greedy, shallow side of herself that I’d never seen before. Or maybe I was just too blind to see it until then. She accused me of not being willing to meet her needs, but those needs had been ridiculous. Her complaints that I couldn’t give her what she needed, couldn’t provide the life she expected, had me doubting myself, but I had no interest in dedicating my life to the pursuit of keeping up with the Joneses.
Juliette was as different from my ex as possible. She was worried I wouldn’t be able to handle her issues, but I could easily protect her from the social difficulties that were hard for her. I’d be happy to be a buffer between her and any assholes who didn’t understand her. I’d love for her to lean on me when she felt unsure. If she gave me the chance, I’d prove to her that I was happy to be her hero. I didn’t know what it was about her that had me wanting that so badly so quickly, but I couldn’t deny that I felt it. But how could I tell her all of this without sounding overbearing, or implying that I thought she was weak and needed saving?
“Juls, I want to tell you something about myself too. I was married for two years. I met Kayla during college, and we got married shortly after graduating.”
Juliette’s beautiful eyes widened in surprise. I squeezed her hand and continued, hoping I wasn’t bungling it up by telling her about an ex.
“A year into our marriage, we were both miserable, even though we tried to hide it. We put on a good show when we were out, but at home we barely spoke to one another unless we were fighting. I was working in a bank, which I hated. There was no relief for me at work or at home. I kept hoping Kayla and I could work things out, and I naively thought it would fix things if I was happier with my job. I left the job I hated and pursued firefighting, which I’d long since tucked away as a childhood fantasy.”
“She didn’t agree with you?”
“That’s putting it mildly. She said I’d deceived her and accused me of blowing her opportunity to be with a better man. Kayla was only interested in how she, and therefore how we, appeared to others. She wanted to project this perfect fairy-tale life that did not include being married to a firefighter, and apparently that appearance was more important than whether or not we were actually happy.”
“She’s a bitch,” Juliette spit out. The sounds slurred together, with the middle part almost absent, as though she said “she-a-itch,” but I understood, and I loved her anger on my behalf.
“I can’t deny that. But it was my fault too. I did mislead her. I could have saved us both a lot of trouble if I was honest with myself from the start. I always knew deep in my soul that my passion was to be a firefighter, but I tried to squelch it down. As a kid, my dream of being a fireman was encouraged, but as I grew up, adults started to say it was silly and to choose a real job, and I let that influence me. I regret that I followed a path laid out for me by others. Once I was a firefighter, I was so much happier in every aspect of my life, except for when it came to Kayla. I dreaded coming home, and she was so unhappy too. Divorcebecame inevitable. Kayla still hasn’t found her way, and I really regret my part in that.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re allowed to change careers, or anything you want. She marriedyou. She was supposed to loveyou, not your job.”
Damn, that felt good. “Thank you.”
“What is she doing now?”
“Making a lot of bad decisions.” I sighed. I hadn’t planned on telling Juliette this so soon, but she was being so honest with me, she deserved the same. “She was so driven when we were first together, and even during the divorce, her focus was on living this wonderful life that I couldn’t give her. But she’s lost her way since then. It’s like she just gave up and now she’s bitter and angry and looking in all the wrong places for something to make her feel better. Luckily, I don’t see her often, but when I do run into her, it’s confrontational. She blames me for ruining her life.”
“You know it’s not your fault, right?”
“Yeah, I guess, but I feel bad that she’s struggling. Anyway, I had a reason for telling you this, and it wasn’t to talk about her. Nothing you’ve shared with me is a deal breaker, Juls. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Your honesty is refreshing. Kayla was obsessed with portraying the perfect image. You’ve already shown more integrity, trust, and respect for our relationship on our third date than she ever did, and I think that’s amazing. I’m sorry I brought up an ex to make that point, but I wanted you to understand why it means so much to me that you allowed yourself to be so vulnerable with me.”
“If I was worried about portraying a perfect image, I’d be an abysmal failure. I can’t even pretend to be like that.”
“You’re right, you aren’t like that. You’re genuine, caring, and kind-hearted, and that’s why I like you so much.”
I watched Juliette become increasingly flustered as she struggled to come up with a response. I’d have to work on gettingher to believe and accept compliments. I put her out of her misery by making the final turn to the bowling alley that I’d been circling for the last few minutes. Juliette was either paying no attention to where I was driving, or she was as bad at directions as she said.
“Here we are,” I said, pulling into a parking spot. “Let’s bowl.”
10
Juliette
“Two people, two games each, please, with the bumpers up,” Dylan requested at the counter.
“Bumpers? No!” Damn, I know I told him how bad I am at all sports, but I didn’t need bumpers.
“We all use bumpers when we play with my nephews. It’s more fun for everyone.”
I conceded and then we bowled, and it was the most fun I’ve ever had. We cheered like crazy for every semi-decent frame. He picked me up and spun me around when I got a lucky strike. He bowled a few frames with ridiculous pro-bowler flourishes, which had us in hysterics and made the bumpers almost as useful for him as for me. When he had a chance at a spare, he kissed me for luck, then threw a perfect spare. When I ended the last frame with a strike, I threw my hands up in the air, a bold move for me, and threw myself into his arms.
“Thank you,” I mumbled into his chest.
He gripped my hips and held me to him, sliding his hands up my sides, leaving a trail of heat and tingles everywhere he touched until he cradled my face in his big, callused hands. He moved me away from his body and tipped my head up. “The pleasure was all mine,” he whispered just millimeters from my lips, then he touched his lips to mine, ever so gently. I opened my mouth to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away.
I tried to take a step back, but he held me firmly in place. “I’m dying to kiss you, Juls, but there are families with kids around. How about we continue this back at my house?”
“Yes,” I breathed without hesitation.