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1.
Lucy knew it was wrong to find her T.O. attractive.
She strongly disliked him. He was rude, blunt, and seemed to go out of his way to embarrass her every chance he got. He had an infuriating habit of looking at her as though she were a particularly disappointing school project, and somehow always managed to make her feel about twelve years old whenever she got something wrong.
None of that, unfortunately, changed the fact that he was ridiculously good-looking.
She honestly hated herself for noticing it.
The worst part was that Tim Bradford didn't seem to have the slightest idea that he was attractive, which, unfairly, only made him more so. Two things could be true at once. She could find his personality absolutely insufferable and his face very enjoyable to look at.
She was only human, after all.
Today was just one of those many days when Tim seemed completely unaware of how good-looking he was.
They'd been called to a dispute at a restaurant, a stag do gone spectacularly wrong. By the time they arrived, they were greeted by the sounds of screaming, hair pulling and the unmistakable crash of shattered glass.
The restaurant owner, an Asian man who looked as though he was about three seconds away from a nervous breakdown, hurried towards them and gestured frantically at the group of women.
“They've been at it for thirty minutes! They're scaring away all the other customers!”
Tim surveyed the scene, his jaw tightening. He looked thoroughly unimpressed, as though being called out to a brawl over what was presumably a very bad decision involving alcohol was precisely how he'd hoped to spend his shift.
“We'll handle it, sir. Just step back for us.”
There was something annoyingly authoritative about the way he said it. No raised voice, no unnecessary fuss. Just a firm instruction delivered with the sort of confidence that suggested he expected to be listened to.
Lucy followed behind him, still only a couple of months into the job and excited to receive pretty much any call they got, even if that call happened to be a stag do catfight.
She was beginning to learn that the novelty of police work wore off rather quickly when you spent half your shift dealing with people who seemed determined to make their own lives more difficult.
Still, as she stepped into the restaurant, she briefly wondered if the fight had already made it onto ClipTok.
The women couldn't have been much older than Lucy, probably freshly turned thirty, she guessed. One was dressed in a white top that had seen better days, another had mascara running down her cheeks, and a third stood nearby with a drink in her hand, shouting increasingly unhelpful commentary.
Two of them were practically at each other's throats.
“Okay, that's enough!” Lucy called out as she and Tim moved towards them.
One woman had a fistful of the other's hair, while the other was gripping the front of her dress with enough force to threaten the structural integrity of the fabric.
Lucy caught the woman closest to her around the waist and pulled her backwards.
“Let go of her!”
“She started it!”
“I did not!”
“She called me a—”
“I don't care who started it,” Tim cut in, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise. “You're both going to calm down. Now.”
He'd managed to get a firm hold of the other woman, keeping her at a safe distance from her opponent. She continued to struggle for another few seconds, twisting in his grasp as she tried to get back to the fight.
“Ma'am,” Tim warned, tightening his hold just enough to keep her from breaking free. “Stop fighting.”
She huffed, still visibly furious. Then she turned her head. And looked directly at him.
Lucy watched as the woman's entire expression changed.
It was honestly impressive.
The fury that had been contorting her face moments earlier seemed to evaporate, her mouth falling open slightly as she took in the man holding her.
“Oh.”
Tim frowned.
The woman blinked up at him. “I'm sorry, Officer.”
Lucy nearly snorted.
Two seconds ago, this woman had looked ready to burn the entire restaurant down over whatever argument had started this mess. Now she was practically batting her eyelashes at Tim.
“Are you okay?” he asked, loosening his grip slightly now that she'd stopped struggling.
“Yes,” the woman replied, smoothing down her dress. “I'm fine. Thank you.”
Her voice had undergone a remarkable transformation, too. Gone was the shrieking, replaced by something considerably softer.
Lucy stared at her. Then at Tim. Then back at her.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
Tim, naturally, seemed entirely oblivious.
“Good. Let's keep it that way.”
He released the woman once she had settled down and turned his attention to the rest of the group, apparently satisfied that the immediate threat of someone losing an extension had passed.
The bride-to-be wasn't the only one enamoured with Tim's face.
The rest of the bridal party seemed to have forgotten their argument entirely. One by one, heads turned in his direction, conversations dying down as they watched him. Lucy caught more than one woman openly looking him up and down, and the blonde standing nearest the bar had gone so far as to tuck her hair behind her ear and smile at him.
Tim didn't notice. Of course he didn't.
He was too busy asking the restaurant owner what had happened and whether anyone had been injured.
Lucy almost admired his dedication to the job. Almost.
Because, if she was being honest, she understood the sudden loss of interest in the fight.
Tim was six-foot-one, with a sharp jawline, broad shoulders and the kind of face that made people forget what they were saying halfway through a sentence. His hair was cropped short, his uniform fitted him in all the right places, and there was something about the way he carried himself that made it difficult not to look twice.
He was annoyingly handsome.
And although Lucy saw him in uniform every single day, she was still a sucker for a man in one.
Almost every woman was.
Judging by the looks of the bridal party, these women clearly were too.
“Okay,” Tim said, turning back to the two women. “Why don't we start from the beginning? You two were arguing about the seating arrangements?”
The bride nodded emphatically, apparently delighted to have his undivided attention.
“Apparently she switched our table!” She pointed an accusing finger at the blonde Lucy was still struggling to keep an eye on.
“I did not!”
"You-"
“Ladies.” Tim's voice cut through the rising argument.
Both women fell silent. Lucy glanced at him. He hadn't even raised his voice.
Tim sighed, running a hand over his cropped hair, and for one brief, deeply inconvenient second, Lucy forgot what she was supposed to be doing.
The gesture was casual, almost absent-minded. His brow furrowed as he listened to the women explain themselves, and his mouth settled into that familiar line of patient irritation she had become so accustomed to.
Lucy looked away. Get a grip, Chen.
It took another ten minutes to establish that the entire fight had started because someone had moved someone else's purse, which had somehow led to accusations of stealing, cheating and—according to one particularly dramatic bridesmaid—“ruining the bride's entire wedding weekend.”
Eventually, everyone agreed to calm down. No one wanted to press charges, and the restaurant owner agreed to let them finish their evening, provided they kept the noise to a reasonable level.
Lucy was fairly certain the women were far too busy staring at Tim to start another fight.
As they headed towards the door, the bride-to-be suddenly hurried after them.
“Officer Bradford?”
Tim turned, taking a breath that suggested he was more than ready to be done with this call.
“Yes?”
She smiled and held out a small piece of paper. “Just in case you need to contact me about anything. You know, with the report.”
Tim took it without hesitation.
“Okay. Thanks.”
Another woman immediately appeared beside her.
“Me too.”
Tim looked slightly confused but accepted the paper anyway.
Then another woman stepped forward. And another.
By the time they finally made it outside, Tim was holding several small pieces of paper, each with a phone number written on it. Lucy stared at the collection in his hand.
Tim looked down at it, his brows drawing together as he counted the slips.
“I guess they wanted to make sure we could reach them if we had any follow-up questions.”
Lucy stopped walking and stared at him.
Tim glanced over his shoulder. “What?”
“You really think that's what those are for?” she asked, her voice coloured with disbelief.
He frowned. “What else would they be for?”
Lucy opened her mouth. Closed it. Then let out a laugh, shaking her head.
“Oh my God.”
“What?” Tim asked, tucking the pieces of paper haphazardly into his pockets.
“Nothing.”
“Chen.”
“Bradford.”
He gave her a suspicious look, but she was already walking towards the shop, unable to keep the smile off her face.
“You know, for someone who's supposed to be good at reading people, you're remarkably bad at it.”
“I'm sorry?”
“Nothing, Tim.”
He caught up with her, still looking thoroughly unconvinced. Lucy bit down on another laugh. He really had no idea.
Tim Bradford could be really, really annoying sometimes. He was overbearing, stubborn and had an infuriating tendency to act as though she were a walking liability.
But in rare moments like this, when he was genuinely baffled by something everyone else seemed to understand, when his usual confidence gave way to an almost boyish confusion, he was unexpectedly endearing.
Lucy glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was still frowning at the pavement, apparently trying to work out what she'd found so funny. She shook her head, smiling to herself.
Tim Bradford could be a complete pain in the ass.
But, occasionally, he was freaking adorable.
2.
If someone told Lucy that her boyfriend was somehow going to get even hotter with age, she would wholeheartedly believe them.
In fact, she was beginning to suspect it was a personal attack.
She lay sprawled across their bed, her cheek resting against the pillow, watching Tim get ready for work. His black Metro T-shirt clung to his shoulders as he reached for his watch on the dresser, and Lucy found herself wondering, not for the first time, how on earth she had managed to end up here.
She was once his rookie. Now years later, she was his girlfriend, she had unrestricted access to his wardrobe, and she'd spent the entirety of yesterday in bed with him, trading lazy kisses and arguing over which movie to watch next.
Life was, quite frankly, ridiculous.
Sometimes she couldn't wrap her head around how happy he made her. How easily he'd become part of the little things she loved most about her life. The quiet mornings. His hand finding hers without either of them thinking about it. The way he always pulled her closer in his sleep, as if even unconscious, he wasn't particularly interested in letting her go.
And then there was the unfortunate business of him looking like that before seven in the morning. Tim picked up his watch and turned towards the bed, only to stop when he caught her staring.
His eyebrows lifted. “Were you watching me, you little creep?”
Lucy shrugged, entirely unbothered by being caught. “What can I say? I like what I see.”
He shook his head, dropping his chin towards his chest, but not before she caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
There it was.
One of her favourite things about dating Tim Bradford was discovering that, for all his confidence in practically every other aspect of his life, he could still be caught off guard by a little flirting.
Lucy had never been particularly shy about telling someone when she found them attractive. Teasing was practically a love language, and Tim, unfortunately for him, was her favourite target.
When they'd first started dating, she'd assumed he'd be shameless about it. Tim was confident, competent and entirely too pleased with himself whenever he proved her wrong about something. She'd expected him to have a comeback for everything.
And he did, most of the time.
But every now and then, she'd catch him off guard with a compliment or an unexpected kiss, and he'd get this almost imperceptible flush across his cheeks before trying to pretend nothing had happened.
Lucy lived for those moments.
He was getting bolder, she'd give him that. These days, he was more likely to pull her into a kiss himself rather than wait for her to make the first move. But she still had the advantage, and she intended to enjoy it for as long as possible.
Tim crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.
“I've got to head out. I've got morning training with the team, and Grey wants us available for a briefing afterwards. Apparently, we've got some follow-up on a case from yesterday.”
Lucy made a face. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Yeah, well. Try not to get into too much trouble without me.”
“I make no promises.”
“Shocking.”
His hands slipped beneath the duvet, settling warmly against her waist under the hem of her T-shirt. It was such a small thing. Barely a gesture at all.
Still, something in Lucy's chest fluttered.
She loved that about him. How he could be halfway out the door and still find some little way to touch her. A hand on her back as he passed. His fingers brushing hers when he handed her a coffee. A kiss pressed absentmindedly to her temple while he was busy thinking about something else.
Tim wasn't always the best at putting his feelings into words, but Lucy had learned to pay attention to the things he did instead.
And right now, he was looking at her with so much quiet affection that she almost forgot how to breathe.
The room was still dim, the early morning light barely beginning to creep around the curtains. She could make out the familiar lines of his face, the strong set of his jaw, the softness in his eyes that he rarely showed anyone else.
God, she loved his face.
She loved his face when he was annoyed with her. She loved it when he was trying not to laugh at one of her jokes. She loved it when he was concentrating so hard on something that he forgot she was talking.
And she especially loved it when he looked at her like she was the best part of his day.
Lucy caught the front of his shirt and tugged him closer. She always wanted him closer.
It was a problem, really. Particularly when he was wearing that shirt.
Tim let himself be pulled forward, a knowing smile beginning to form on his lips, but stopped just short of hovering over her.
“I have to go, Luce.”
Lucy frowned up at him. “You say that like it's a good reason.”
“It generally is when I have a job to do.”
“Debatable.”
He huffed a laugh.
Lucy tightened her grip on his shirt, making no attempt to hide what she was doing.
“Are you sure you don't want to call in sick?” she asked sweetly. “I'm sure Metro would manage without you for one day.”
Tim tilted his head, his eyes flickering briefly to her mouth. For one glorious second, Lucy thought she might actually have him.
She slid one hand beneath the hem of his shirt, resting her palm against his warm skin. Honestly, it was unfair how soft he was. A man had no business being this attractive before breakfast.
“Okay,” Tim said.
Lucy froze. She blinked up at him. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really?”
Tim nodded, his expression so straight-faced that she almost believed him. “But you'll have to call in for me.”
Lucy stared at him. Then she shoved him in the chest. “Oh, my God. I hate you.”
Tim laughed, catching himself against the mattress before she could push him any further.
“That's a pretty strong reaction to a reasonable request.”
She rolled onto her side, turning her back to him. “I knew there was a catch.”
“Luce.”
“Nope. Don't talk to me.”
“You were the one trying to convince me to skip work.”
“And you were supposed to be more susceptible to my charms.”
“I'll keep that in mind for next time.”
She heard the mattress shift as he moved closer. A second later, his hand settled against her waist, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I've got to go,” he murmured, then kissed the corner of her mouth. “But I'll make it up to you tonight.”
Lucy turned her head just enough to look at him.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She considered this for a moment. “Fine. But for the record, I think you should know that Metro is getting a much better deal out of this relationship than I am.”
“Is that right?”
“Absolutely. You get to see me every day. I have to share you with an entire department full of people”
Tim's mouth twitched. “Are you finished?”
“Not even remotely.”
He leaned down and kissed her properly this time, unhurried enough that Lucy briefly considered abandoning her entire argument.
When he pulled away, she followed him for another kiss.
He smiled against her mouth. “Greedy.”
“You love it.”
“Unfortunately.”
Lucy gasped in mock outrage. “Unfortunately?”
Tim stood before she could grab him again, reaching for his bag.
“Have a good day.”
“Have fun hanging around a bunch of dudes instead of me, Bradford.”
He shook his head, still smiling, then spotted one of her shirts lying in a heap beside the bed. He picked it up and tossed it at her.
It landed squarely over her face.
“Tim!”
“Bye, Lucy.”
She pulled the shirt off and glared at him, but he was already halfway out of the room, laughing to himself.
And there she was, sitting in bed with messy hair, yesterday's T-shirt and a ridiculous smile on her face, watching her boyfriend leave for work.
Tim Bradford could be infuriating. Stubborn, occasionally insufferable, and far too pleased with himself for a man who refused to admit that he looked good in literally everything he owned.
But he was also the man who kissed her forehead before leaving for work. Who promised to make time for her later. Who let her tease him, even when he pretended to hate it.
Lucy buried her face in her pillow, grinning.
God, she was so gone for that man.
3.
To the rest of Mid-Wilshire, Sergeant Tim Bradford was a terrifying man. Strict, uncompromising, and about as approachable as a brick wall.
To Lucy, he was a weirdo.
A very handsome weirdo, admittedly, but a weirdo all the same.
And if anyone ever asked her what her favourite thing about her boyfriend was, she probably wouldn't say his smile, or his eyes, or even the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.
She'd probably say his habits.
All the little things he did without thinking, the ones she'd gradually come to recognise as distinctly, inexplicably Tim.
Like the way he always kissed her twice. Once on the lips, then again on her jaw, every morning before work and every night before bed. He'd done it for as long as she could remember, and Lucy wasn't entirely convinced he'd realised it was a habit. Sometimes she'd deliberately tilt her head away after the first kiss, just to see if he'd follow.
He always did.
Or the way his hands seemed to develop a mind of their own whenever her hair was within reach. If they were lying together on the sofa, his fingers would inevitably find their way into it. If she rested her head on his lap, she'd have his fingertips massaging her scalp within minutes. He'd do it while watching television, reading reports, or listening to her talk, completely absent-mindedly, as though playing with her hair was simply another thing his hands were supposed to be doing.
Lucy found it ridiculously endearing.
Then there were the less charming quirks. His coffee had to be black. He always kept a water bottle in his truck, and he had an inexplicable need to straighten anything sitting crooked on a table.
Which was how they ended up having the following conversation on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday evening.
“You know you have weird habits, right?” Lucy asked, curled into the corner of their sofa.
Tim glanced up from his phone. “Excuse me?”
“Weird habits. Plural.”
“Name one.”
“You straighten things.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Things. If a picture frame is crooked, you fix it. If the remote isn't parallel to the edge of the coffee table, you move it. You once rearranged the sugar packets at a diner, Tim.”
“They were all over the place.”
“They were in a little bowl!”
“An untidy bowl.”
Lucy stared at him.
He stared back, entirely serious.
“Oh, my God. You don't even hear yourself.”
“Anything else, or are you just going to insult me all evening?”
“You tap your coffee cup twice before you drink from it.”
“I do not.”
“You do. Every morning. Two little taps against the counter, then you take a sip.”
“That's not a habit.”
“It's literally the definition of a habit.”
Tim set his phone down, giving her the look he usually reserved for particularly difficult suspects.
“Right. Well, since we're apparently discussing weird habits, what about you?”
Lucy sat up a little straighter. “I don't have weird habits.”
He gave her a long, unimpressed look.
“Lucy, you never finish a drink.”
“That's different.”
“How?”
“Because drinking right to the very bottom is gross! What if there's a bit of food floating around down there?”
“Food?”
“You know what I mean!”
“I really don't.”
“And you colour-coordinate your underwear,” he added.
Lucy gasped. “It makes it easier to see what's clean!”
“It's underwear, not a filing system.”
“Don't judge my organisational skills, Bradford.”
“I'm not. I'm questioning them.”
She threw a cushion at him. He caught it without looking, which was irritating enough on its own.
“And you,” she continued, pointing at him, “keep the temperature in your truck exactly the same all year round. Doesn't matter if it's forty degrees outside or raining sideways. Seventy-two. Always.”
“Because it's comfortable.”
“It's a personality flaw.”
“Okay, and you apologise to furniture when you walk into it.”
Lucy opened her mouth. Closed it.
“That is completely different.”
“How?”
“Because I have manners.”
Tim's mouth twitched, and Lucy knew she'd lost the argument.
She flopped back against the cushions with an exaggerated sigh, turning her head to look at him. He was still wearing that faint, smug little smile, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa behind her.
Honestly, the man was insufferable.
But she loved these moments. The ordinary ones, when there was nothing particularly exciting happening and neither of them had anywhere else to be. When they could sit together and argue about the most ridiculous things in the world, comfortable enough to be completely themselves.
She loved that she knew the small details of him. That she'd learnt the difference between his genuinely annoyed frown and the one he wore when he was trying not to laugh. That she knew he liked his coffee black, his belongings organised, and his hand resting somewhere on her whenever they sat together.
She loved that he knew her just as well. Even if he did use that knowledge against her.
“Okay, okay.” Lucy held up both hands. “We're both a bunch of weirdos. Are you happy?”
“Immensely.”
“Don't push it.”
Tim shifted closer, his arm settling around her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to her lips, then another to her jaw.
Lucy smiled before she could stop herself.
There it was again. He didn't even notice.
“I won't tell anyone if you won't,” he murmured.
She tucked herself against his side, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
A moment later, his fingers found their way into her hair. Lucy closed her eyes, smiling to herself.
Yeah. Definitely a weirdo.
4.
It had been a couple of months since they'd gotten back together, and Lucy honestly wasn't sure it was possible to be any happier than she had been the first time around.
They'd moved in together. They went to work together, drove home together, and she got to see Kojo every single day. She'd even started getting used to the sight of Tim's shoes beside hers by the front door, his coffee mug in the sink, and his stupidly expensive shampoo taking up half the shower.
Their lives had become so wonderfully intertwined that sometimes she'd look around their house and catch herself smiling for absolutely no reason.
And then there was work.
Lucy was now a roving sergeant, while Tim had recently been promoted to Watch Commander. And, well.
It looked really good on him.
She wasn't saying she preferred grumpy Tim to happy Tim. Absolutely not. She liked happy Tim. Loved him, actually. Loved the way he smiled more easily these days, how he teased her without pretending he wasn't doing it, how he sometimes caught her eye across the bullpen and gave her a little smile that was meant for her alone.
But watching him in his office, sitting behind his desk with his short sleeves and that commanding voice of his carrying through the glass?
Lucy was only human.
“Peters! Newman! My office. Now.”
Two officers nearly jumped out of their skins.
Lucy watched, fascinated, as they hurried towards Tim's office and disappeared inside, shutting the door firmly behind them. Tim rose from his chair, folded his arms, and began what appeared to be a very stern lecture.
Oh, wow. She leaned slightly to the side for a better view.
It was the authority. The confidence. The way he didn't need to raise his voice to make two grown men look as though they'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
Lucy was in so much trouble.
“Chen.”
She jumped, turning to find Angela standing beside her desk, arms folded and a smug smile spreading across her face.
“You might want to wipe the drool off your face before you openly ogle your boyfriend in the bullpen.”
Lucy's mouth fell open.
“I was not ogling!”
Angela raised an eyebrow.
Lucy immediately turned back to her desk and began shuffling a stack of papers that didn't need shuffling.
“I was checking to see if Tim was free. I need to speak to him about something.”
It was, quite possibly, the worst lie she'd ever told.
“Even if I hadn't been watching you for the last five minutes, that would still be a terrible lie.”
Lucy sighed, letting herself fall back into her chair.
“Okay, fine. He looks good. I'm just a woman.”
Angela burst out laughing.
“Oh, no, I completely get it. When I see Wesley in action, I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself, too.” She patted Lucy's shoulder. “Just try to make it a little less obvious how much you love your boyfriend.”
Then she wandered off, looking far too pleased with herself.
Lucy glanced back towards Tim's office.
He was still talking, one hand braced against his desk, the other resting on his duty belt, looking every bit the formidable Watch Commander everyone knew him to be.
And then, as if sensing her eyes on him, he looked up. Their eyes met through the glass. Tim's stern expression softened into the smallest smile.
Lucy smiled back before she could help herself. She could try to be more subtle. She really could.
But, honestly, she wasn't sure she saw the point.
5.
Lucy meant what she'd said about communication being attractive.
Self-awareness? Attractive. Emotional maturity? Very attractive. A man who was willing to look at himself, acknowledge where he'd gone wrong and actually do something about it?
Well. That was practically unfair.
And watching Tim over the past few months, watching him try so hard to be the best version of himself he could be, not just for her but for himself, had only made her fall more in love with him.
Which was why she'd noticed something was off.
He'd been quieter than usual all evening, distracted in a way that had nothing to do with the television playing in the background. He'd answered her questions, kissed her forehead when she'd settled beside him, even made a sarcastic comment about her choice of takeaway. But his mind was somewhere else.
Lucy knew better than to push. Tim needed time to work through things, and she wanted him to know he could come to her when he was ready.
Still, she was beginning to get impatient when he finally turned towards her.
“Can I talk to you about something?”
Lucy put her phone down immediately. “Of course.”
He hesitated, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“I don't know if I'm doing a good enough job.”
She frowned. “At what?”
“Watch Commander.” He let out a breath. “Grey did that job for years. Everyone knows what they expect from him. I'm still figuring it out, and sometimes I feel like I'm waiting for someone upstairs to realise they made a mistake.”
Oh, Tim. Lucy shifted closer, taking his hand.
“First of all, you're a couple of months into the job. You're allowed to still be figuring things out.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” she asked gently.
He looked at her, and she squeezed his fingers.
“Tim, you've worked your ass off to get where you are. People look up to you. They trust you. And you care enough about doing this job well that you're sitting here worrying about whether you're meeting everyone's expectations.” She smiled softly. “I can't think of anyone better to fill Grey's shoes.”
His expression eased, just a little.
“You really think so?”
“I do. And I'm not just saying that because I live with you and have unrestricted access to your very handsome face.”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head.
“There's the Lucy I know.”
“I'm serious.” She lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You don't have to have everything figured out, Tim. And you don't have to carry all of it by yourself.”
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
“Thanks, Luce.”
She brushed her thumb over his cheek.
It was such a small thing, really. Tim letting her see the uncertainty beneath all that confidence. Admitting he was struggling instead of swallowing it down and pretending he could handle everything alone.
Once, he would have carried the weight of the world on his shoulders before considering sharing any of it with someone else.
Now, he was here. With her. And Lucy loved him so fiercely in that moment that she hardly knew what to do with it.
So she kissed him, slow and gentle, and held his hand a little tighter.
She couldn't promise that she'd always have the right words, or that she could make every difficult day easier. But she could listen. She could remind him of who he was when he forgot.
Whatever came next, he would never have to face it alone.
And if loving Tim Bradford meant spending the rest of her life reminding him of that, Lucy was more than happy to do it.