Chapter 29 Liam
Pain woke me.
It started in my shoulder and spread like someone had replaced my bones with broken glass. Everything hurt. My ribs, my chest, even breathing.
I opened my eyes.
White ceiling, fluorescent lights.,the steady beep of monitors. That particular smell of antiseptic and cafeteria food and something else, something that meant hospital.
I was alive.
That was... unexpected.
I tried to move and immediately regretted it. My shoulder screamed, and my ribs felt like they'd been used as a punching bag. Even breathing hurt.
But I was breathing.
Which meant I'd made it out.
Memory came back in pieces. The fire, flaming tongues of destruction dancing all around me. The stairs. Daniel pinned under the beam. The kid. Getting them both out. Then—
The beam.
I remembered seeing it fall, remembered throwing myself forward, remembered the impact and then nothing.
"Liam?"
My mother's voice. I turned my head as slowly as I could and found her sitting in a chair by the window. She looked like she'd aged ten years. Her eyes were red, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She'd clearly been here a while.
My dad was standing behind her, hand on her shoulder, still in that Riverside Fire Department t-shirt he always wore around the house.
"Hey," I managed. My voice came out rough, barely more than a whisper.
My mother's face crumpled. She was out of her chair and at my bedside before I could blink, her hand grabbing mine.
"You idiot," she said, and she was crying. "You absolute idiot."
"Love you too, Mom."
She laughed through her tears and squeezed my hand tighter. "Don't you ever do that again."
"Can't promise that. It's kind of the job."
"Liam—"
"He's awake, Sharon. Let him breathe." Dad's voice was gruff, but his eyes were wet too.
Mom wiped her face and sat back down, but she didn't let go of my hand.
"How bad is it?" I asked.
Dad pulled up a chair. "Fractured scapula. They had to do surgery to repair it. Three broken ribs. Smoke inhalation. You're going to be out of commission for a while."
A while. Meaning weeks, maybe months.
"The others?" I asked. "Daniel Collins. The kid."
"Both fine," Dad said. “Collins had smoke inhalation, some burns on his hands. They kept him overnight for observation but released him this morning. The kid… smoke inhalation, but conscious. Hard to believe it, but he’s fine. He's with his mother."
Relief hit me so hard I had to close my eyes.
They made it. Both of them.
"The building collapsed a couple of seconds after you got out," Dad continued. "Carlos told me if you'd been any slower—"
"But he wasn't," Mom interrupted. "He got them out. That's what matters."
I nodded, or tried to. Everything still hurt.
"How long have I been out?"
"About twelve hours," Dad said. "It's Saturday morning. They brought you in around 8 PM last night."
Saturday morning. The fire felt like it had happened five minutes ago and also a lifetime ago.
"Anyone else from the station come by?" I asked.
"Everyone," Dad said. "Carlos, Jenkins, Thompson, Reeves. The whole crew, basically. Carter and O’Brien from 34 as well. And Chief Harlow too. Said you did good work."
I nodded. That was good. My team had my back.
Mom and Dad exchanged a look.
"What?" I asked.
Mom hesitated. "Piper was here."
The words didn't make sense.
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline, or the correction, or for my brain to catch up with whatever medication they had me on.
"What?"
"She came to the hospital," Mom said. "Last night. Stayed through your surgery."
My chest felt tight, and it had nothing to do with the broken ribs.
Piper. Here.
"Why?" The word came out rough.
Mom and Dad exchanged another look, the kind they'd been giving each other for thirty years, the kind that meant they were having an entire conversation I wasn't part of.
"She heard what happened," Dad said. "That you'd gone in to save that kid and the EMT. She wanted to make sure you were okay."
The EMT. Her boyfriend.
Of course, that made sense. I'd saved the man she loved, Piper was grateful, and so she came by. That's what decent people did… they showed up when someone risked their life for the people they cared about.
It didn't mean anything.
Part of me wanted it to mean something.
I could admit that much, lying here with broken ribs and a shoulder held together with surgical pins. Part of me wanted to believe she'd come because she still cared, because somewhere under all the hurt and anger there was something left worth salvaging.
But I didn't have the right to listen to that part of me.
Not after Jenna. Not after what I'd done. Not after I'd looked her in the eye for four months and lied.
"She sat with us," Mom continued, and her voice had gone soft in that way it did when she was trying not to cry again. "Through the whole surgery. Didn't leave until—" She stopped. "We told her she could go in and see you. Before you woke up."
My heart was doing something stupid in my chest. Something that hurt worse than the broken ribs.
She'd seen me. Been in this room. Stood next to this bed while I was unconscious and broken and—
"She left before you woke up," Dad added, like he could read my mind. Like he knew I was about to ask if she was still here. "Said we should be with you when you came around. Not her."
Not her.
Right. Because she wasn't mine. Hadn't been mine in a long time. Had moved on with someone better, someone who didn't cheat on her and destroy everything good in his life.
"Did she say anything?" I asked, and immediately hated how desperate I sounded.
Mom reached over and squeezed my hand again. "She said to tell you she's glad you're okay."
Glad I was okay.
Five words, that's all I got. Five words that meant she was a good person who didn't wish me dead, even after everything I'd done to her.
It shouldn't have felt like much.
It felt like everything.