Chapter 13 Only What You Can Carry #2
Even from here, the smell of smoke was overpowering. Not just in the air, but in the very bones of every brick and beam, as if sorrow and loss had somehow soaked into these walls where they had known such joy.
Joshua laid his other hand on Colin’s arm and gripped it tight.
When Colin turned to him, shock and horror were still etched into every line of the face he adored.
But when Joshua’s eyes met his, there was something new: grit, a glint of defiance, maybe even a flash of stubborn hope.
It caught Colin off guard, and for a moment, the weight eased—just a little.
Colin hadn’t wanted to come, hadn’t wanted to see the ruin or breathe in the guilt that clung to every blackened corner. But Joshua was here, and Shannon Nash was waiting.
For now, it was only what they could carry. But it was a start.
He turned to Shannon, linking his arm through Joshua’s, needing the contact to steady him. “OK, Shannon. Let’s do this.”
Inside, the air reeked of smoke and wet ash. The walls were streaked with soot, and water pooled in dark patches. The living room felt both familiar and ruined—furniture warped, photos lying on the floor. A police officer Colin recognized offered a brief, wordless squeeze to his shoulder.
Walking with care, they ascended the damaged stairs, trying not to look too closely at the surrounding ruin. Shannon hovered just behind, clutching his clipboard.
In their bedroom, while Joshua tucked his medications into a small plastic bag, Colin stood at the closet, staring at the suit he’d worn on their wedding day.
Smoke smudged the plastic, but the crisp black suit beneath looked untouched.
Relief flickered through the grief that constricted his chest. His throat ached as tears scalded his eyes.
He drew a quaking breath and felt a gentle hand come to rest at the center of his back.
“The plastic saved it, my love,” Joshua murmured. “It’ll be OK.” He held up a frame, wiped soot from the glass with a ball of tissue, then turned it so Colin could see.
Inside was Colin’s Medal of Valor, gleaming against the velvet background—untouched, preserved, the inscription still sharp beneath the glass.
For a moment, Colin just stared, overwhelmed.
The medal looked out of place in this ruined world, a stubborn fragment of hope.
He had walked through fire for that medal once.
He never thought it would have to survive another.
Joshua pressed it into his hands. “See? Not everything is lost.”
They went through the motions—clothes, pajamas, a photo of them at Ross Castle, their shoes, wallets, journals, glasses, Joshua’s inhalers—each item announced to Nash for the record. Shannon kept to one side, silent except for the steady, procedural rhythm: “Item logged. Ready for the next.”
Gradually, exhaustion seeped into every movement, and Joshua stumbled to Colin’s side, a garment bag containing their suits draped over his arm. “Is this enough for now?” he asked, voice rough and on the verge of tears.
Colin shook his head, eyes drifting to where a final beloved item hung, waiting. “I want my dress uniform,” he murmured. “I may need it.”
He reached for the plastic-encased bundle, hands trembling as he slid it out of the closet.
The uniform inside looked untouched—protected by the sealed plastic, colors crisp, buttons gleaming faintly beneath the sheen.
For a moment, he just stared at it, feeling both grief and pride war within him.
He’d worn this uniform to receive the Medal of Valor conferred by both campus and city police.
He’d worn it the day he retired. He let out a quavering breath, blinking fast.
He didn’t trust himself to speak, but Joshua’s hand found his shoulder, steady and warm. “It looks untouched, my love.”
Colin lifted the uniform before Shannon’s eyes. “Log this too, OK, Shan?”
Shannon stood a little straighter, his own eyes bright with tears. He had seen Colin in those dress blues when the city honored him, when the department celebrated him. Seeing them pulled from a smoke-scarred closet made the moment feel sacred. “Got it, Colin,” he murmured, his voice catching.
Nash helped them carry their few bags back down the stairs, every item a small act of defiance against all that they’d lost.
Joshua moved through the kitchen on autopilot, scanning for anything salvageable. The porch door was still closed—untouched by the blast—and when he pushed it open, the hinges creaked in the sudden quiet.
And there it was.
Colin's leather jacket hung on the hook by the door, right where he'd left it that morning.
Joshua's breath caught. He lifted it carefully, half-expecting it to disintegrate in his hands, but the leather was solid, real.
It smelled faintly like smoke—but the jacket itself was perfect.
No burns, no tears. Just Colin's worn, beloved jacket that had been with him for fifteen years.
Joshua pressed his face against it for just a second, breathing in the smoke and the leather and the ghost of Colin's cologne underneath. His chest ached.
He carried it back through the ruined kitchen as if holding something sacred.
Colin looked up when Joshua appeared in the kitchen doorway, his eyes fastened on the jacket. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Found it on the porch," Joshua said quietly, holding it out.
Colin took it with his bandaged hands, carefully, almost reverently. He didn't put it on—but held it against his chest, his fingers curling into the leather as his eyes slowly filled.
This jacket had been with him through stakeouts and off-duty nights, through their early dates, through a thousand ordinary moments that suddenly felt impossibly precious.
Joshua's hand found his shoulder. "It's still yours, my love. It’s still you. Smells a bit of smoke, but we can fix that.”
They left the wreckage behind, carrying what they could, their lives now defined by this precious handful of soot-covered items and their battered memories. Esther and Norm were waiting, ready to drive them back to what was, for now, their home.
At David’s house, both he and Nate rushed to help them carry their salvaged items from the car. David had spread a couple of trash bags by the door and now held an empty one open. “Just toss anything that’s filthy in here—we’ll get a cleaning service to deal with it.”
Colin peeled the plastic from his dress uniform, relieved to see it mostly untouched, then tossed the plastic outside. He dropped all of his soot-stained clothing and shoes into the bag without a word.
Joshua wiped his glasses on his sleeve, grimaced, and set them on the entry table, black smudges left behind. “Goddammit!” he croaked out, his voice thin with frustration and pain.
“Josh, it’ll be ok,” Nate soothed. “This is all fixable.”
David laid a hand on Colin’s arm. “Lenny called for you. Asked if you’d phone him.”
Colin felt his stomach sink, but nodded. His hand drifted toward his pocket before stopping mid-motion. He husked out a bitter breath. Right. No phone. It had been confiscated.
“Hey,” David murmured, holding out his phone to Colin. “First item on our to-do list: new phones.”
“With none of our data on them,” Joshua muttered.
Colin walked outside, David’s phone clutched in his hand, laying a comforting hand on Joshua’s arm as he passed..
Lenny answered on the first ring. His tone was low, and an unshed edge of grief colored his voice. “Got something to ask you, buddy.”
“Anything, Len.”
Lenny’s voice grew soft. “Sarah’s family. They’ve requested that you…,” he paused, and Colin could hear him take a shaky breath. “They want you in dress uniform, standing honor guard at her casket. But, I thought–after all you’ve been through, I dunno. Are you up for it?”
Colin’s breath caught. “If they want me there, I’m there. But you’re sure it’s OK? I’m retired, and I’m not city police.”
Lenny’s answer was immediate and fierce.
“You’re a cop, Colin, and you always will be.
Sarah would have wanted you on that line.
Hell, her whole family asked for you.” There was a pause—and once again, Colin thought he heard Lenny draw in a trembling breath.
“I’ll make it official. Come in your dress blues.
Wear that fancy tin. You stand with me.”
Colin closed his eyes, chest tightening. “Thank you, Lenny. Josh managed to salvage the fancy tin so…” He fought down a sob. “Uniform might smell a bit—smoky. Hope that’s OK.”
“We all know exactly why that smell is there,” Lenny murmured. “I’ll be in touch about time and place.”
The call ended. For a long moment, Colin stood in silence, hand still on the phone, letting the reality settle over him. Then, quietly, he went to hang up the uniform—the one thing the fire couldn’t touch.