Chapter 20 Liam
FIVE MONTHS LATER
"Okay, talk me through it." I kept my voice calm, even though the kid—Caleb, three months out of the academy—looked like he might puke inside his mask.
The garage was belching thick gray smoke, the kind that meant plastics, maybe wiring. The lights inside flickered, something still arcing. Nothing spectacular, but hot, dirty, and unpredictable. This was the type of call rookies hate: not dramatic enough for adrenaline, not safe enough to relax.
Caleb’s hands trembled on the hose line. "Uh—we, uh—"
"Take a breath," I said. "You know this."
He nodded, swallowed hard. "We assess the structure first. Make sure it's safe to approach."
"Good. What are we looking for?"
"Stability. Collapse risk. Clear exits." He paused, scanning the frame. "And, oh, the power might still be live. Should we cut it?"
"Already killed it," I said, tilting my chin toward the breaker box. "What else?"
"Propane tank."
"Where?"
He pointed to the back corner of the garage, near the workbench. His voice steadied. "Too close to the fire."
"Good eye. What’s your move?"
"Approach from upwind, keep low, focus on cooling that area first."
"Then do it."
He advanced, slow but deliberate, the hose heavy in his hands. Steam burst up in clouds as he swept the nozzle. His line was clean and controlled. Textbook.
Two minutes later, the flames were gone. Just the hiss of cooling metal and the smell of melted plastic.
"Good work," I said as he shut off the hose. "See? You knew what to do. You just had to trust your training.”
"Thanks, Sullivan." Caleb pulled off his helmet, ran a hand through sweat-soaked hair. "I thought I was gonna screw it up."
"You didn't. Next time you'll be less nervous."
"You think?"
"I know."
He grinned, young and relieved, and headed back to the engine to stow gear.
I watched him go. Nervous kid, but a good kid. He'd get there eventually. They all did if you gave them the space to figure it out.
Volunteering to run the rookie training sessions had been Carter's idea five months ago. Said I had good instincts, that the younger guys responded to me. I'd agreed mostly because it kept me busy, gave me something to focus on besides the gym and therapy appointments.
Turned out I was decent at it. Teaching someone else helped me figure out my own shit. Who knew.
"Sullivan!" O'Brien called from the engine. "You coming or you gonna stand there all day?"
I grabbed my gear and climbed in.
The bay at Station 34 smelled like diesel and coffee when we pulled in. Caleb hopped down from the engine and went straight to hosing down equipment, methodical and careful. He was learning.
I grabbed a rag and started wiping down my gear. O'Brien appeared at my elbow with two cups of coffee, handed me one.
"Kid did good today," he said.
"Yeah, he's getting there."
"You're good with him. Patient." O'Brien took a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. "You thought about what's next for you?"
I looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Just asking." He had that look on his face, like he knew something I didn't. "You've been here almost two years now. Solid on calls. The rookies actually listen to you." A pause. "Seems like maybe it's time to think bigger."
"I'm fine where I am."
"Sure. But opportunities don't always wait around." He clapped my shoulder. "Just keep that in mind, will ya?”
He walked off before I could ask what the hell that meant.
I went back to cleaning my gear, but his words stuck. Leadership. Opportunities. What the hell was he talking about?
The only opportunity I'd been thinking about lately was the opening at Station 47. Engineer, A-shift. A senior role, maybe with my old crew.
Six months ago, I would’ve jumped at it: called Morrison, begged for a shot at redemption, tried to prove I wasn’t the same screw-up who left.
But I wasn’t that guy anymore.
Station 34 wasn’t just a new post. It was a reset, and it was the kind that sticks.
I had a crew that trusted me, rookies who actually listened when I spoke.
I slept through the night again. Ate three meals a day.
And… I laughed sometimes too. It was quiet, steady work, and for the first time in a long time, that was enough.
Going back to Riverside wouldn’t change what happened there. It wouldn’t undo Piper walking away, or make Morrison look at me any different. All it would do is dig up something I’d finally buried.
No. Let Riverside be what it is: a chapter closed.
I’d earned the right to stop bleeding over it.
"Sullivan." Captain Carter's voice from across the bay. "Got a minute?"
I set down the rag and followed him to his office. He closed the door behind us and gestured to a chair.
“Caleb looked good out there today," Carter said, settling behind his desk.
"He's learning fast."
"Because you're teaching him well." Carter leaned back in his chair, studying me. "You've come a long way this year. You know that, right?"
I shifted in the seat. "I'm just doing the job."
"You're doing more than that." He tapped his desk. "I see you, Sullivan. You train hard, but you're not obsessive about it anymore. You go out with the guys, keep things light, but you also keep them from making dumb decisions—work and personal. And I know you've been seeing Dr. Taylor.”
I stiffened slightly at the mention of the department psychologist. I'd started going five months ago, weekly sessions that had turned into bi-weekly when things stabilized.
“Relax, that's not a criticism," Carter said.
“Far from it. It’s taking care of your mental health so you can do the job right, so you can be present for your crew.
" He leaned forward. "When you showed up here, you were running from something.
Working yourself into the ground, isolating, barely holding it together. That's not who you are anymore.”
I didn't know what to say to that.
"The rookies respect you. The crew trusts you. You show up present, you make good calls under pressure, and you give a shit about the people around you." He paused. "That's leadership, Sullivan, whether you see it or not."
"Captain—"
"I'm not blowing smoke. I'm telling you what I see." He pulled a file folder from his desk drawer and set it between us. "And apparently, I'm not the only one."
I looked at the folder but didn't reach for it.
"Morrison called me last week," Carter said. "Asked about you. Wanted to know how you were doing, if you'd turned yourself around. I told him the truth…” He paused, then smiled. “That you're one of the best firefighters I've got."
My chest tightened. "Why was he asking?"
Carter opened the folder and slid it across the desk. "He's retiring. And he wants you to take over Station 47 as Captain."
The words didn't make sense. I stared at the papers in front of me: official transfer request forms, promotion paperwork, Morrison's signature at the bottom.
"Me?" My voice came out rough. "He wants me?"
"He does. Says you were one of his best before.
.. everything. And he's been keeping tabs on you this year.
Wanted to make sure you'd gotten your shit together before he reached out.
" Carter leaned back. "I told him you had.
More than that, you'd become the kind of firefighter other people look up to. "
I couldn't process this. Morrison, Station 47, Captain.
"I know what you're thinking," Carter said. "Riverside, and your ex, and all the reasons you left."
I was thinking exactly that. Piper's bakery on Main Street. The apartment we used to share overlooking Lavender Creek. The possibility of running into her at the grocery store, at a coffee shop, anywhere. She'd made it clear she didn't want me in her life. Going back felt like violating that.
"She's there," I said finally. "She built a life there. I can't just—"
"You can. And maybe you should." He leaned forward. "Riverside is a town of sixty thousand people. You can be there and leave her alone. Keep your distance and do your job." He paused. "Or you can stay here, keep your head down, and wonder if you're still that guy who runs when things get hard."
I looked down at the papers. Captain at Station 47.
"Morrison wants an answer by Friday," Carter said.
"That gives you four days to think about it.
" He stood up, came around the desk. "But Sullivan?
You've spent the last year proving you're not the guy who destroyed his life anymore.
Maybe it's time to prove you're not the guy who runs from it either. "