Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Claire
Wife? He was married? I did not see that coming.
“Married? I never knew,” I reply, the most vague thing that comes to my mind without blowing off the admission.
“Long before I was in the city. When I was a firefighter. Back in Michigan.”
Long before.
“Wow, you had like a whole life before this.” I think about how one day I could say the same thing about being a manager for someone like Willow in New York, and look back on those days as something completely different from now.
His eyes are looking down, past the plate of food, maybe past the table. His fork taps the bowl. Tap. Tap. Tap.
In my gut, I know this story doesn’t have a happy ending. This man looked more comfortable when we were making an emergency landing, or even when he was trying to drive on the ice-slicked roads. He was attentive and cautious but there’s something different about him now—I can’t put my finger on it.
“I did. Feels like a million years ago.” He pushes food around his plate, still not looking up.
This feels unfinished. Like, he can’t bring up this person and all he shares about her is that she was his wife in Michigan? Maybe I’m prying, maybe I’m not owed any of it, but I ask the question anyway.
I swallow past the hesitancy and ask, “Do you and Abigail still keep in touch?”
His jaw ticks and he sets his fork down so fast, it sort of clangs against the bowl. The silence is heavy for one of the first times, tension growing on the edges of it, like it’s a living thing.
“No, it’s not like that.” He finishes the wine in his glass and looks at me, his face a little pale and quieter than I’m used to. The strong and composed version I’ve been lucky to know is sort of slipping into something softer.
“When I was a firefighter, there was a snowstorm, not as bad as this one.” He looks out the window, tipping his head.
“But we got a call. I got there and saw her car. She was in an accident; someone crossed the center line. It wasn’t her fault.
But she didn’t make it.” His voice cracks, one that I can hear only because there’s literally nothing besides the two of us.
My heart drops to the bottom of whatever depth we exist in. My mouth is dry and I’m looking for words.
“That was almost fifteen years ago. I tried staying in Michigan in the house we bought, the one we planned to stay in until we could build what we wanted. Tried going back to work. But every time we got a call, I’d break down.
Panic attacks. Blackouts.” The words come out of his mouth like he’s reading from a shopping list. Short.
Brief. “Took some time off. Tried coming back a second time, and it didn’t get better. ”
I reach out and grab his forearm, squeezing with my fingers. “Seth. I’m sorry.” And then all I can think about is how he had to drive us here, on those snowy roads, with the ice hiding beneath the service. He took care of me even though he probably would’ve rather slept on the floor of the airport.
“It’s okay. Long time ago.” He tries to shake out his shoulders, like he can move on from the memory of the tragedy if he does it just right. “I thought my whole life was in Michigan, so part of me is thankful I’ve been able to find other things somewhere, like New York.”
“How did you get into this job?” I try to push him past the innate sadness I’m sure must rock him every single day. My hand is still on his forearm and part of me wants to pull him in close to me.
“I had a few connections from the fire department. At first, it started with me working the door at some clubs and bars. There was this specific night where one of my regulars was leaving with her boyfriend. He got aggressive, not even ten feet from the door I was working, and when I stepped in, it was one of the first times I felt like I’d found a part of my way. Like, I could still keep people safe.”
My eyes are wide and my heart is bursting—this man is truly something else in the best way. I don’t know everything about Seth but I know he loves to watch out for others. It’s key to him as a person, and that’s probably why he’s damn good at being Willow’s head of security.
“That’s actually pretty amazing. Think about all the good you’ve done. The people you’ve kept safe.”
His eyes drift and he doesn’t even have to say it. He couldn’t keep her safe.
“Maybe,” he suggests, his mind elsewhere.
It hurts to watch him like this, going through the internal boxing match he does probably more than he’d ever admit to.
“You kept me safe. And you absolutely didn’t have to. We were just going to the same place. Thank you for that.”
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” A corner of his mouth tries to pull up.
I squeeze his arm harder and his eyes fall to mine as I say, “It’s something to me.”