Chapter 33 Poppy #2
Cami laughs. “And I know you’re the same with my brother. You both have been like that for as long as I can remember. I used to think it was weird until I had it with Jack.”
I nod.
“So, you understand that I’d do anything to protect that man and my family at all costs. And Theresa isn’t our family anymore.”
She rises to her feet, and I hug her. “It’s going to be okay.”
And standing there, in my messy office with bikers in my shop and my sister-in-law plotting emotional war crimes against her mother, I realize something settles in my chest.
Things aren’t perfect. They’ll probably never be easy, but now we at least know and can figure it out together.
Owen zooms past the shop doors again, laughing like the world hasn’t tried to take pieces out of him yet.
I watch him and think about chosen family. About how sometimes love means walking away instead of begging someone to change.
Cami heads for the door. “I love you, Pops.”
“I love you, too.”
“And Poppy?”
“Yeah.”
She grins. “She’s going to pay for this.”
“I’m legit scared for her.” I grimace.
She leaves like a storm, the same way she came in.
Jonesy watches her go, wiping his hands on a rag. “She’s intense.”
I smile but am legit worried for Theresa. “You have no idea.”
Ellie’s warm little body is tucked against my chest, her cheek pressed into my neck. Owen’s curled up on the other end of the couch, one sock missing, eyes glued to the TV. Some animated movie that has him sucked in.
The house smells like popcorn and clean laundry.
Ollie’s hoodie is draped over the arm of the couch, and I pretend that’s normal and not something that makes my chest ache.
I miss him when he’s at the firehouse. We were lucky that he got to take time off, but now we’re trying to find a new normal.
We FaceTimed earlier at dinner, and he said it had been a slow night.
The guys gave him crap for saying that because they said if he says that, it gets busy.
And he’s been quiet for a while, so it probably did.
My phone rings and Maggie’s name flashes across the screen.
“Hey, Maggie, what’s up?” I ask quietly, not to wake up Ellie.
“Sugar,” Maggie says, her voice tight. “There’s been a bad fire.”
The room tilts, nausea fills me at the words she just said.
All the blood drains from my face so fast I feel lightheaded, like I might pass out where I’m sitting. My stomach twists hard, sharp and nauseating, and my hands start to shake before I even know why.
I sit up too fast. The world blurs.
Ellie lets out a startled squeak in my arms, her little body jolting with me.
“Is Ollie okay?” I hear myself ask, but the words feel far away, like they’re coming from underwater.
There’s a pause on the other end. Too long.
“He was hurt on the call,” Maggie says carefully. “They’re taking him to the hospital.”
My heart slams into my throat, loud and frantic, like it’s trying to escape my chest. Adrenaline floods my system in a hot, dizzy rush. I can hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, like I forgot how to do it properly.
Hurt. Hospital. Ollie. Everything inside me explodes into motion at once.
Owen’s already up, standing in the doorway, eyes wide and scared. He looks at my face and knows something’s wrong before I say a word.
“I’m on my way,” I say, forcing the words out, forcing my legs to work as I stand.
Owen doesn’t ask questions. He just runs. A minute later he’s back with both our coats and Ellie’s car seat, moving on pure instinct like I taught him to do in emergencies. That thought almost breaks me.
I pace the living room, hands useless at my sides, heart racing so fast it hurts. Oh my God. Oh my God. He has to be okay. He has to be okay.
We move in fragments. Buckling Ellie in with fingers that won’t stop shaking. Grabbing my purse without checking what’s inside. Slamming the door behind us.
We sprint downstairs to the truck.
The drive is a blur of streetlights and red lights and me gripping the steering wheel so hard my hands ache. Owen asks questions from the passenger seat, his voice tight, and I don’t have answers to give him.
Ellie starts crying, sharp and distressed, like she can feel the fear pouring off us in waves.
“I know, baby,” I whisper, even though I don’t know what I’m reassuring her about. “I know.”
I pull into the hospital lot too fast, tires crunching hard against the pavement, like I’m chasing something instead of arriving somewhere.
Like if I move fast enough, I can outrun the worst of it.
Like if I don’t stop moving, he’ll still be okay.
Inside, the lights are too bright. The air smells like disinfectant and cold. Maggie waits inside for us, and she pulls Owen in for a hug.
“Is Ollie okay?” he stammers.
I hand Ellie to her automatically. “Hold her for me. Please.”
She nods, jaw tight, eyes shiny. “Of course, honey.”
“Where is he? Is he okay?” I ask, my eyes wild and darting around.
“They took him back for tests. He fell through a barn floor,” Maggie says. “That’s all I know.”
“I need him,” I say to the woman at the desk, my voice cracking. “My husband is here. Ollie Kendrick.”
She doesn’t even flinch. “He’s okay. He’s getting checked out. I’ll take you back.”
Okay is not a word that means anything to me right now. I need to see him for myself.
I spot him on a bed and everything inside me lurches.
My eyes race over him from head to toe, scanning for damage like it’s instinct, like it’s survival.
His turnout gear is half on, half peeled away, blackened and streaked with soot.
There’s dried blood along his hairline, dark against his skin, and a smear on his cheek that makes my chest seize until I realize it’s not still bleeding.
Bruising is already blooming along his jaw. His hands are scraped, knuckles raw and angry looking. His jacket hangs open, collar askew, like it was torn off in a hurry.
His hair is mussed, wild in that way it only gets after a rough call. His brow is furrowed, mouth pulled tight, irritation written all over him. He looks uncomfortable. Annoyed. Like he wants to be anywhere but here.
Not broken.
The realization hits me so hard my knees almost give out.
He’s breathing. He’s conscious. He’s glaring at the ceiling like he’s mad about being stuck in a hospital bed instead of out there doing his job.
Relief crashes through me, hot and dizzy, and I have to press a hand to my chest to keep myself upright.
Oh, thank God.
He turns his head then, eyes finding mine, and something in his expression softens immediately.
And that’s when I know, down to my bones, that we’re going to be okay.
“Poppy,” he murmurs, like he didn’t just take years off my life.
I rush to him and kiss his face, relieved to see him. “What happened?”
“I’m fine,” he says immediately.
The nurse snorts. “No, he’s not. He has a concussion.”
Ollie rolls his eyes. “It’s mild.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You blacked out.”
“I’m fine.”
I hug him hard, pressing my face into his neck, breathing him in, the smell of smoke, sweat, and him.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I whisper. “Ollie, we need you to be safe.”
His arms wrap around me, solid and warm. “I know. I’m okay.”
“We’re taking him for another test. We’ll be right back. You can wait here,” the nurse tells as she wheels his bed away.
His helmet is on the chair beside the bed.
I notice it because something’s sticking out of it.
I reach for it and pull out the pictures tucked inside.
One of us together at The Black Dog posing for a selfie.
It’s from before we got together but the way his arm is around me, we look like a couple.
I can’t believe I missed all the clues that he was mine long before he was.
One of him and Owen fishing, both of them grinning while Ollie leans down next to him.
Another one of newborn baby Ellie sleeping on me, Owen next to me on the couch, napping as well. I didn’t even know he took that one.
My throat closes as hot tears stream down my cheeks.
Ollie’s wheeled back in and he looks okay but tired.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you so much.”
Theresa’s voice cuts through the hall like a knife, ruining the moment. “I have a right to see my son.”
“Please don’t let my mom in here,” he says to the nurse.
She nods. “Got it.”
Three firefighters step in front of the door like a wall.
“Nope,” one says. “Not happening, Theresa.”
“I want to see my son,” she snaps. “Get out of my way.”
I step into the hall and slip around them before they can say another word.
“This woman is not to come near my husband’s room,” I say loudly. “If she does, I will call the police. Do you hear me?”
Two nurses at the nurses’ station freeze and nod. One stands and comes to get Theresa. Another murmurs something about calling security.
Theresa’s face twists. “You have no right. That’s my son.”
I laugh—a sharp, humorless sound.
“No, Theresa. I have every right. That’s my husband. And he doesn’t want you here. You need to leave.”
She opens her mouth, but I’m not done.
“And that call you made to CPS?” I continue. “Yeah, we know you made the false allegations, and we will be reporting you for that too.”
The hallway goes dead silent.
Then she says, “That was supposed to be anonymous. That’s not your business who reported you.”
“Keep throwing bricks,” I step closer. “I’m building a fucking house with them. You will never be a part of my family’s life. You’re done. We’ll be filing restraining orders. You will never come around any of us again. What you did was unforgiveable.”
Theresa’s eyes dart down the hall, and I notice Cami heading this way. I’m the least of her problems now.
Theresa looks scared and turns before heading the opposite way. I doubt she’ll be back. I breathe a big sigh of relief and lean back against the wall.
Cami storms over. “What did I miss?”
I tell her everything and that Ollie’s okay.
Her jaw tightens. Her eyes go cold, and she turns to follow her mom. “Go be with Ollie,” she says. “I’ll handle it.”
And I know she will. This won’t be good for Theresa, but that’s not my problem. Making sure my husband is okay is my focus.
I go back into the room and sit carefully on the bed beside my husband, pressing my forehead to his. “You’re okay,” I whisper.
He kisses my hair. “Yeah, we are.”
Outside the door, our people stand guard.