Chapter 13
Liv
The world doesn’t stop. I knew it wouldn’t but it’s hard to notice how obvious it is.
The morning after the crash, the sun still rises.
People still walk down the street. Cars still pass that spot on the highway like it isn’t still stained crimson red and riddled with a large char spot as big as the vehicles driving over it.
And I hate that. The world doesn’t feel different to them. The rest of the world just continues on like nothing’s changed.
Not for me. Not for our station. I’m different. We’re different.
I feel it in the way my chest is tight when I wake up. I feel it in the way my chest tightens even more when I remember I have to go to work. In the way every siren I hear makes my stomach drop before my brain catches up. In the way the station sounds quieter and feels darker.
Alice takes a few days off; Jett does as well. But Scott and I keep going in. We do what we can to give Alice and Jett time.
The funeral is three days later. It’s the first time the four of us have been back together since the day it happened.
The church is local and old. The kind of old where the stone is covered in vines that trailed up the cobblestone and out to the mausoleum.
I stand in the back at first, because I don’t think I have the right to be closer. I knew him the least in the station. At the time, that didn’t faze me. I figured I’d get that time later or that we’d just not get partnered together much if at all since I was typically partnered with Scott.
But there’s no “later” now. It’s over.
The room is too quiet, too still. A framed picture of him sits near the front beside a closed casket.
Alice sits in the front row with Jett beside her. They’re close, closer than I’ve ever seen them. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders. Not subtle or hidden, clearly necessary. Because her shoulders are shaking, even with his contact. He doesn’t look away from her once.
Something in my heart twists.
It could have been him. It should’ve been him. That thought won’t leave me no matter how much I try to turn my focus.
I don’t realize I’m crying until someone presses a tissue into my hand. I look up, seeing his mother standing beside me. I’m sure it’s her; she has the same eyes as him.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I say immediately, desperately trying to collect myself.
She shakes her head gently. “You worked with him?”
“A little,” I admit.
“That’s enough,” she says softly, accepting it as meaning more than regret makes it feel like.
That breaks me because her tone tells me she means it. Because to her, anyone who stood beside him in that job matters.
“Thank you for what you do,” she adds.
I almost laugh because right now it doesn’t feel like enough. “I couldn’t save him,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
Her hand tightens around mine. “They said it was instantaneous, that he didn’t feel a thing. No one could have saved him dear.”
I understand knowing that he didn’t suffer is going to help her through this some, but it doesn’t help me nearly as much. Because I’m still left wondering what would have happened if it had been Jett. Or Alice, Scott… or me.
I’m left knowing that our group and our station are left with an empty locker that no one wants to touch and uniforms that sit stacked in the laundry like they’re waiting to be used.
The next day at work is the hardest one yet. Something within me shifted after the funeral and now every call feels damaging and dangerous.
The first call is minor: chest pain but stable. Routine.
I still fumble the blood pressure cuff.
The second call is a motor vehicle accident. My hands start shaking before we even arrive.
“Liv,” Scott says quietly. “You with me?”
“Yeah,” I lie because I’m not. I’m so far from it.
All I can see is twisted metal and broken glass surrounding a battered rig.
“Liv.” His voice is sharper now.
I blink hard, trying to force myself to focus through it. Focus and work. I force myself through it, step by step, procedure by procedure. My movements aren’t clear; they’re forced.
After the call, Scott doesn’t say anything right away. But I can feel his thoughts swirling. He just watches me drive back to the station.
“You want the truth?” he asks finally.
“Always.”
“You’re not okay.”
I huff out a breath. “No shit.”
“You can take time. Jett and Alice-”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Liv-”
“If I stop,” I explain quietly, turning into the station. “I don’t know if I’ll start again.”
That’s the truth and we both know it.
Scott studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Then we do it right,” he says. “You don’t push past it. You work through it.”
I nod. Because that’s the only option I’m willing to accept.
I don’t realize how much I need normal until I’m back in my apartment that night. Until Pip curls up beside me as the silence of my apartment settles.
And for the first time all day, I can breathe.
A knock at the door pulls me out of the silence. I don’t even have to check. I know it’s him.
I just open the door.
Alex takes one look at me and his expression shifts.
“You went back to work,” he points out. Not a question.
“I didn’t stop.”
“How is it?”
“Messy.” Honest.
He steps inside closing the door behind him. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I look up at him. “And you’re not?” I counter.
A moment of silence then, “No.”
At least he doesn’t lie.
“You should rest,” he says.
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Because when I stop moving, I think.”
His gaze softens slightly. “About the crash?”
“About everything.”
“Come here.”
I hesitate for the briefest moment just to give in suddenly. I step into him. His hands settle at my waist, steady and grounding. And for the first time since before the crash, I feel something other than grief.
He’s warmth and relief. And something dangerous.
My hands slide up to his chest. “Still trying to convince yourself that this is a bad idea?” I murmur.
His grip tightens slightly. “I think I’ve passed that point.”
“Good.” I don’t give him another moment. I’m up on my tiptoes and pressing my lips to his. It’s not soft, not tentative. It’s everything we didn’t get to do the night of the crash. The tension, the want, and the relief.
One of his hands moves to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. Holding me there, in place, right where he wants me.
My fingers curl into his shirt. This is what I needed. What we both did. To break down, to let it out. And then to put it all back in place together.
I start to tug at his shirt… just as his phone rings in his pocket.
We both freeze. For a moment, he ignores it. I almost tell him to but then it goes silent. We stare at each other while our hands stay frozen in place. Resolution floods his eyes as my mouth pops open again, ready to resume.
Until it rings again. His expression shifts. Not annoyance, but recognition.
I release his shirt, letting him step back from me. I know he needs it. And it’s starting to feel like the universe is telling us that we’re not allowed to do this.
“I have to take this.”
Mood, gone. “I know.”
Reality comes crashing back as he answers. “Thornton.”
Silence. I know he’s just listening to the person on the other end, but I still hate how heavy it is.
His body goes still. “Where?”
Oh, no. My stomach drops. I’ve seen that look on his face before, at the fire and on the highway.
“Is she identified?” he asks. A pause. “…Understood.”
He hangs up but doesn’t move.
“Alex?”
He looks up at me, but I already know, this is bad.
“They found a body,” he says.
A band tightens over my chest. “F-from the ring?”
He nods. “There are signs of cyanosis. And there’s something else.”
His tone changes to something so much more frightening that I can’t help but pinch my fingers together against my stomach.
“She’s your age,” he continues. “Same general description.”
My chest stutters. “What?”
His mouth forms a grim line. “She looks like you.”
The room suddenly feels so much smaller, colder, like it’s closing in on me.
“How do you know?”
“Mason told me,” he gestures with his phone before sticking it back in his pocket.
“That’s not funny,” I whisper. I don’t know why I say it, I’m at a lack for words, thoughts, and reasoning at this point.
“I’m not joking,” he bemoans. Then he goes silent for too long.
It’s tense and heavy. His eyes shift as he looks me over.
I can tell he wants to do something but is holding it back.
All I can think of is how I want to go back in time two minutes to before the call.
Before the concept that the trafficking ring is targeting women just like me was thrust in my face.
“I have to go,” he sighs, finally breaking the silence.
Of course he does. This is his job. This is his world. And suddenly, it’s my world too.
“Alex…”
He hesitates. Just for a second.
“I’ll call you,” he adds.
I nod because what else can I do.
He’s gone in a flash, leaving me in the quiet of my apartment again. The warmth gone with it. It’s been replaced with something colder and sharper. With fear.
I don’t even try to head to bed at a decent time, because I know I won’t be able to sleep anyway.
Instead, I’m up for hours, sitting on my couch with Pip on my lap and the TV on. It’s cycling through late night TV comedians that I’m not even listening to. My mind is elsewhere.
Until another comedian wraps up and a news broadcast comes up. They’ve already gotten the story. Another victim found and a suspected connection to an ongoing investigation. They don’t have an image of the victim or even a name, pending family notification.
But I don’t need to see her anyway. I already have a good idea of what she looked like.
And somewhere out there is someone who sees women like us as disposable.
And Alex, he’s out there hunting them down.
And now I’m not sure if I’m just close to the case anymore or if I’m standing in the part of something I don’t fully understand yet.
It’s the uncertainty that terrifies me now.