31. Tristan
THIRTY-ONE
TRISTAN
I wake up with my head throbbing relentlessly, the light from the window stabbing my eyes.
I groan and pull the covers over my face, trying to hide from the world.
If only I could erase last night from existence.
I drank way too much after Myles left, desperate to numb the pain.
But now I'm left with an even worse feeling: this godforsaken hangover.
I don't have long until I have to be at work, and every fiber of my being is dreading it.
I've always prided myself on keeping my personal life separate from my job as a firefighter; I know how crucial it is to be sharp and focused when lives are on the line.
But I can't avoid the shame that's gnawing at me, reminding me I've let myself down.
Even worse, I feel like I let Myles and Nix down, too.
"Ugh," I mutter, dragging myself out of bed. The cold floor shocks my feet, making me wince. "Why did I do this to myself?"
My reflection in the mirror looks as haggard as I feel: bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, too-pale complexion, and a hint of stubble. The sight of my own pathetic state fuels my self-loathing. I need to fix this before I go to work.
I stumble into the kitchen and start downing glass after glass of water.
Each gulp feels like a lifeline, even if it doesn't quell the throbbing in my skull.
I force down a slice of toast and follow it with a swig of orange juice, grimacing as the acidic taste hits my tongue.
I pop a couple of aspirin, praying they'll take effect soon.
"Okay, Tristan," I tell myself, gripping the counter. "You need to power through today. You can deal with the fallout later."
As I gather my things for work, I notice my phone sitting on the counter, mocking me. I don't know why I expect to see a text from Myles, but the empty screen still guts me. Maybe it's because I want him to care enough to reach out, even if he's angry.
"Damn it," I mutter, the anger mixing with hurt. My fingers fly across the screen as I type out a message.
Me: Hey Myles, just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night. I understand if you never want to see me again, but I had to tell you how much I care about you and Phoenix.
I hesitate for a moment before hitting send. Why am I doing this to myself? But there's a part of me that can't let go without trying, even if it only deepens the wound.
"God, what a mess," I whisper, shoving my phone in my pocket, preparing for the day ahead.
An hour later, the fire station looms ahead, a beacon of responsibility and routine.
I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself for the day.
My head throbs in time with my heartbeat, a cruel reminder of last night's transgressions and the fact that the aspirin I swallowed down before leaving the apartment hasn't kicked in yet.
"Get it together, Tristan," I mumble under my breath as I push open the heavy door.
"Morning, Triscuit!" Nick greets me with his usual enthusiasm. I cringe at my colleague's sunshiny disposition. I’m definitely not in the mood for his happy-happy, joy-joy attitude today, not when I feel completely incapable of those feelings.
"Morning," I mumble, barely managing a nod in his direction.
"Rough night?" he asks, shooting me a knowing look.
"Something like that." I regret my curt response immediately but can't bring myself to apologize.
Instead, I busy myself with the daily inspection of the SCBA, oxygen bag, AED and the rest of the equipment, leaving little room for chit chat.
Nick and Connor are running through the daily pump test, brake check and other mechanical checks on the engines, and Steph is dealing with her daily admin paperwork.
Jared and Haley are knocking out the cleaning chores.
After doing my inspections, I hightail it to my locker, desperate for a moment alone.
"Tristan," Steph's voice floats over the din. She approaches me with a concerned frown, her eyes searching for something. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I say crisply, wincing when I unintentionally slam my locker shut. The sound reverberates through my skull, further intensifying the pain.
"Alright, man," she says, raising her hands in surrender.
"No no no, I didn't mean to do that." I gesture to my locker. "Sorry."
"Was checking in on you."
"Thanks," I mutter, my guilt gnawing at me. She's my best friend, and I hate shutting her out like this.
"You know where my office is when you're ready to talk." Steph claps me on the shoulder and then she’s gone.
It’s a long day, brutal. The calls come in left and right.
"Man, what a day!" Jared exclaims, wiping the sweat from his brow as we return from yet another call. The adrenaline from the constant action has helped keep the worst of my hangover at bay, but I'm exhausted.
"Tell me about it," I say, collapsing onto the bench beside him. My muscles ache, and my thoughts drift back to Myles, making my chest constrict.
"Hey, you sure you're alright?" Haley asks, her voice gentle. "You've been off all day."
"Really, I'm fine," I insist. "Just a long day, you know?"
"Alright," she says, clearly unconvinced.
Who the hell do I think I’m fooling?
My body aches, fatigue gnawing at my bones. I want to collapse into bed, but the shrill ring of another emergency call pierces the air. No rest for the weary.
"Multi-car pileup on the interstate," Steph shouts as we scramble into gear. "Injuries, fire, and entrapment. Let's move!"
Sirens blare, drowning out my thoughts as we speed toward the scene. Chaos greets us—twisted metal, shattered glass, and broken bodies strewn across the asphalt. Flames dance from the hood of one of the cars, smoke clawing at the sky.
"Tristan, help with the extractions!" Steph orders. I nod, gritting my teeth against the exhaustion weighing me down.
"Hey, buddy, hang in there," Nick says, clapping me on the shoulder. His concern only makes me feel bad about my attitude toward him earlier. He really is a great guy.
"Got it," I reply, before turning my attention to the task at hand. I can't let the team down.
"Help me!" a woman screams, her voice cracking with fear. Her car is mangled, pinning her inside. My heart lurches. Panic coils inside me, threatening to suffocate my resolve. Focus, Tristan. Save her.
"Ma'am, we're going to get you out," I assure her, working alongside my team to pry open the door. Each groan of metal, every strained breath, feels like a battle waged against time.
"Please, my son's in the back!" she cries. Terror knifes through me. A child. God, don't let him be hurt.
"Jared, go for the kid. We'll handle the mother," I say, determination steeling my voice.
"Roger that."
"Help, please! He's scared!" The mother's sobs rip through me, her fear a vice around my heart. I can't fail her.
"Tristan, we need to cut the frame," someone shouts. "Get the Jaws of Life!"
"Ma'am, stay calm. We're going to get you both out," I promise, sweat dripping down my face as I work on prying her door open. My muscles scream in protest, but I refuse to falter.
"Got the Jaws!"
Nick returns with the heavy-duty cutter, and we quickly set to work. Time is our enemy, each tick of the clock an unrelenting reminder of the lives at stake.
"Cover your eyes, buddy!" Nick calls to the toddler, who's wide-eyed and trembling in his car seat. The child obeys, burying his face in his small hands. With practiced precision, we make short work of the door, freeing the terrified boy.
"Mommy!" he wails, reaching for his trapped mother as Nick lifts him from the car.
"Go with the nice man, sweetie. I'll be right behind you," she says, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her love, her bravery… they fuel me, pushing me to keep moving when every fiber of my being cries out for rest.
"Nick, take him to safety. We've got the mother," Steph says.
He nods, cradling the child protectively as he moves away from the wreck.
"Let's go, Tristan," Steph urges. "Time's running out."
I know. I won't let it beat me. Not this time.
The twisted metal groans as the Jaws of Life slice through, sparks flying like fireflies in the night.
Sweat pours down my face, blurring my vision.
Blink it away. Focus. The woman's eyes lock onto mine, fear and hope battling for dominance.
I see Cara in her—that same desperate determination to survive.
"Almost there," I tell her, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of noise. She manages a weak nod, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.
"Tell me about your son." Getting the woman to talk to me will distract her from the pain and fear she feels. She tells me about her son, how he loves dinosaurs and wants to be an astronaut. Her voice trembles, but each word is a lifeline, grounding us both amid the chaos.
"Tristan, watch your head!" Jared shouts, but it's too late. A shard of glass grazes my forehead, warm blood trickling down. Ignore it. Keep going.
"Tristan, get back! It's dangerous!" Nate yells.
Yeah, I know it's dangerous, but I can't leave her. Not when we're so close.
"Almost... got it!" The last piece of metal gives way, and the woman is free.
Relief floods her features, tears mingling with grime. "Thank you," she whispers before the paramedics whisk her away.
I stand, ready to move on to the next victim, but the world tilts beneath my feet. Dizziness overtakes me, the edges of my vision darkening. My mind screams in protest, fighting against the encroaching blackness.
"Tristan!" Hands grip my arms, holding me steady. I blink, trying to clear my head, but it's no use. Blood drips from my forehead, pooling at my feet. I hadn't realized the cut was so deep.
"Sit down, man," Nick commands, his face pale. "You're hurt."
"Can't... stop..." I mumble, my words slurred, the adrenaline that had sustained me now evaporating. The world continues to spin, and I can no longer fight it.
"Tristan!" The last thing I hear is Nick's panicked voice before the darkness swallows me whole.’