Chapter 31
LONDON
Fitness test number fifty-two.
Up and down three times. No stopping.
I can’t believe it has been fifty-two weeks of probation. I can’t believe I’m doing this alone. I stand, knees bent, hoses at the ready and heavy on my shoulders. Miles is on my left, stopwatch in his hand.
I close my eyes and haul in a breath.
I want this.
I want this.
Come on, girl.
Now. London.
“Up and at ’em, Tenny,” Davey’s voice ghosts through my mind.
I grit my teeth and surge for the stairs.
Boots pounding the concrete treads, I rise up each flight. The hoses jostle on my shoulders. I tighten my grip.
Every step I take, I ascend.
I pace myself and concentrate on my breathing.
Inhale, London.
Exhale, London.
You got this, girl.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Burn . . .
Legs warming, I spin on the sixth flight’s platform and set my shoulders back, adjusting the weight as I fly back down the stairs.
Round, down.
Round, down.
Flight after flight.
When I make the ground, I spin and fly back up the stairs.
My legs are pumping under a gentle burn now. Shoulders starting to ache . . .
I push.
“Up and at ’em, Tenny.”
“Copy, Davey,” I pant out.
I send my legs faster.
I reach the top of the sixth before my mind has even caught up to my position.
I spin back and thunder down, ignoring the ache turning to numbness in my shoulders.
Hitting the ground on the second lap, I bend my knees and launch myself back up the stairs.
Last round.
I’m halfway up the third flight when the burn turns to fire in my legs.
The numbness wears off in my shoulders and the ache blooms again, radiating down my back.
Nope. Not happening.
I think back to Third Avenue, imagining Miles running the flights of stairs, my weight in his hands. That sends me forward faster than ever.
This is not just a test.
It’s a confirmation I’m fit to save lives.
It’s a test of fitness and mental toughness.
And I will not fail.
I owe it to Davey to make it.
To Miles.
I owe it to myself.
This is who I am.
Never again will I doubt my place. I turn onto the stairs leading to the sixth floor and channel every ember firing off in my legs into propulsion.
My mind replaces the hoses with Davey. If I could get a do-over, this is how I would have carried him out.
How I would have been strong enough to save my friend. And I know if he was in my shoes, he would have done the same.
“We know the stakes when we sign up for this gig, London.” Heidi’s words travel through my mind.
We do the best we can with what we’re given and hope it’s enough.
I reach the sixth platform and barely grace the concrete with a half step before flying back down. I grunt through each step downward. By the second flight, spittle flies out of my open-mouthed gasps.
The second my boots hit the ground outside, the hoses slide from my shoulders.
I did it.
I did it, Davey.
“Well done, Officer Tennison.” Miles’s words snap me from my reverie. I double over, panting, steadying myself with my hands planted on my knees.
Wait . . .
Officer.
Not Probie Tennison.
A wobbly, disbelieving laugh tumbles through my lips, and my body shakes uncontrollably. I rise and straighten my spine, raising my arms over my head as I pace a tight circle.
Miles stands, watching, smiling. Pride and adoration tangle through his blue eyes.
I lift my gaze to the blue sky overhead as white fluffy clouds drift lazily past before letting my eyes fall closed. “God, fuck. That was so damn hard.”
“Absolutely. And you nailed it, with twelve seconds to spare. Congratulations, London.”
I meet his gaze. “Thanks.”
“Lon—”
The back door to the station flies open, and Sandy, Owens, and Cap file out, hands over their heads, clapping. Heidi is wolf whistling like an idiot, Sandy whooping like some weird-sounding car alarm.
I laugh, tears burning the back of my eyes.
I tamp them back and embrace the hugs swallowing me whole.
“Well done, hon,” Heidi says.
“We knew you’d kick that old watchtower’s ass, kiddo.” Sandy messes up my hair with his huge hand.
Cap stands back and folds his arms over his chest, simply nodding. “Well done, recruit. Or do I say officer, Captain Hammond?”
The smile growing over his face sends warmth through me.
Captain Hammond.
I can’t hold back the one that spreads over mine.
“Officer Tennison, it is.” Miles nods at me.
Before I can think of something to say to him, a congratulations or anything remotely normal, he’s pinned the clipboard under his arm and is walking toward the back door of the station.
“God, girl. I was watching you the entire time from the kitchen window, my damn heart was in my throat. You make the rest of us look like slugs.” Heidi chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
My focus doesn’t drift from Miles’s back as it recedes and then disappears through the back door.
“This calls for celebration,” Sandy says, wrapping his arm over my shoulder from the other side.
“Why do I suddenly feel like a smothered only child?” I say.
Heidi cackles.
Sandy messes up my hair, again.
“That’s because, London, we are a big happy family. Isn’t that right, Cap?” Heidi says.
Cap smiles. The genuine emotion on his face is like nothing I’ve seen before. “Damn straight.”
“Well, family, this girl is so thirsty.”
Parched, I walk in step for the station with Owens and Sandy, Cap following.
Despite the achievement, and the promotion from probie to officer, something is missing.
Ha, that’s stupid, London.
It’s not something, it’s somebody.
Sitting on the internal steps of this old apartment building is not the way most people spend their Saturday. Me, I’d wait here for eternity for the chance to fix what I broke.
To find out if the one thing I discovered I can’t live without is still mine.
Live. A bland word, in all.
The concept and execution are two very different things.
To live is to be alive.
But you can be alive, host a heart that won’t quit beating, and still feel dead. Dead inside.
Dead in mind and spirit.
Most likely, you don’t even realize when you became comfortable living in your own orbit and it being enough.
It’s only when you’ve stepped into the universe of someone else, felt things you’ve never felt before, seen things you’ve been looking at your whole life and never actually saw in detail until now, that your perspective is forever changed.
I like our universe better than my own orbit.
I guess that’s the point, isn’t it? The point of life, of living, is the perspective you hold. The lens you view it through. How you decide for yourself what is good and what is to be left behind. Not forgotten; simply put down so it can’t cause you pain. The ember no longer singeing your palm.
I will never forget why we left our homeland, or Davey. But I choose to put those parts of my life on the shelf, not forgotten, not out of sight because I can still see them clearly. I choose to spend my time and energy carrying the things that move me forward, that make me happy.
Footsteps thunder up the stairs, and my heart starts to dance under my ribs.
I stand with my bag crossed over my chest, hands strangling its strap.
When I hear his labored breathing, mine stops.
Time slows like it has permission. I wait with bated breath for those blue eyes, that angled jaw trapping his wide happy smile to find me.
He rounds the flight of stairs, gaze down as he takes them two at a time. He pumps his arms, legs working as he races up the stairs.
Look up, Miles.
I step away from the wall, hoping he’ll see me.
My stomach is suddenly full of fluttering wings.
A small sound slips through my lips, and I school it back too late. Biting down on my bottom lip, the wings in my gut take flight as his blue eyes drift upward.
He comes to a halt clear of the stairs.
Swallowing, I manage, “Hey.”
His face tightens, hand plucking the earbuds from his ears as his chest snaps up and down in rapid succession.
I swear it wasn’t doing that before.
His hands hang by his sides, and his jaw feathers. “Hi, London.”
“H-how was your run?” I ask, my words so soft they almost don’t escape my throat.
Heat floods my neck and face, my heart now a battering ram against my ribs.
“Good, it was good.” He stands, searching my face as his head tilts slightly. “Are you okay?”
Emotion rolls into a ball, occluding my airway.
Finally, I nod.
He takes a step forward.
I tilt my head up, not letting his gaze shift from mine. I know what I want to say. But I’m too scared to let the words form.
He could have moved on.
He could have realized I’m not what he wants.
“I-I’m sorry,” I start, and he closes the distance between us.
“For what, London?”
I open my mouth to say everything, but his brows drop.
“For the part where you shut me out. Or the part where your heart was breaking, and you wouldn’t let me hold you.
Or the part where the woman I love with every part of my being—” His face breaks.
His jaw flexes as he swallows. Relief washes through me, and I’m shaking.
“Beautiful, hell is not being near you, not hearing your damn voice. Not touching you . . .”
“This place I’ve been living without you was no picnic either, yeah.”
He chuckles.
“Can I see Petal?” I ask.
Mirth claims his face. “Oh I see how it is, Tennison. Only here for the puppy? Typical.”
“I—”
My feet leave the floor and I squeal. I’m in his arms a beat later, and my hands gravitate to his jawline.
Blue eyes drop down, pinning me where I’m suspended. “I missed you, London. But I know you had things to take care of.”
“I did.”
He pads for the door, and a moment later it swings open. “You about done?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Oh, this isn’t going to end well for you, baby,” he says with a chuckle, and there it is, his smile that steals the air from my lungs.
“Promise?” I weave my hands into his hair, coaxing his mouth toward mine.
“Always,” he breathes.
The door slams behind us as Petal flies from her bed.
His mouth crashes to mine.