Chapter 15
I lay there, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun slow circles above us. My eyes burned from the night—hardly any sleep, just hours of running the same scene in my head over and over. His words clung to me like smoke: No place under my roof . It was worse than I’d imagined. So much worse.
Brett’s arm was heavy across my waist, his chest rising and falling steady against my side. Everything about him grounded me, but this morning it wasn’t enough. There was a hole inside me, jagged and raw, too big for even him to fill.
I shifted, trying not to wake him, but the mattress creaked under me. His breath hitched, and he stirred behind me.
"Mais?" His voice was still thick with sleep, warm and deep like always, but laced with concern now. "You okay?"
That question. I hated that question. The answer felt so far out of reach, I didn’t even know where to start looking for it.
"Yeah," I said automatically, though my throat tightened around the word. It tasted like a lie.
"Hey." He propped himself up on one elbow, his hand sliding to my shoulder. His touch was gentle, familiar, but I flinched anyway. Not because of him—because of everything else.
"Talk to me," he said, softer now.
I stared straight ahead at the wall, my jaw locked tight. My dad’s voice echoed in my head again, louder this time: Fired. Freak.
"Maisy." Brett tugged me closer, pulling me into his chest. I let him, because what else could I do? My body melted against his, but my mind stayed sharp and jagged, caught in all the wrong places.
Last night had been one of the best of my life, before it became the worst.
"He's never gonna look at me the same," I whispered. My voice cracked, barely audible.
Brett’s arms were wrapped around me like I might break apart if he let go. He wasn’t wrong.
“I’m here, Maisy,” he murmured into my hair, his voice steady but soft. “I don’t know what comes next, but I’m here, okay? Always.”
The words hit me sideways. Kindness wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. My chest caved in, and before I could stop myself, hot tears spilled over, soaking into his shirt. I buried my face in him, letting the sobs come, ugly and raw. I hated how weak it made me feel, but there was no holding it back now.
His hand moved in slow circles on my back, grounding me with every pass. “Let it out,” he said, low and soothing, like you’d talk to someone teetering on the edge. Maybe I was.
When the tears slowed, leaving me hollowed out and trembling, Brett leaned back just enough to meet my gaze. “Coffee?” he asked, his tone careful, like he wasn’t sure I’d answer.
I nodded, not trusting my voice yet. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something normal when nothing else felt that way.
It was so unfair. Brett and I had told each other we loved each other last night. And I had no time to think about it. I had to deal with the awfulness my dad had dropped on me.
Brett pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before easing off the bed. The blankets shifted, cold rushing in where his warmth had been. I shivered and grabbed the throw from the foot of the bed, wrapping it around my shoulders before following him into the living room.
The smell of coffee was already blooming by the time I sank into the couch, pulling my knees up tight beneath the blanket. Brett set the mug down in front of me without a word and dropped onto the cushion beside me, his arm sliding naturally around my shoulders.
I stared at the wall, my fingers curling around the warm ceramic of the cup. It felt too heavy, like I wouldn’t even be able to lift it. “He meant it,” I whispered, the words barely making it past the lump in my throat. “He won’t let me come home.” Saying it out loud made it feel final, like ripping a Band-Aid off a wound that hadn’t even started healing yet. My stomach twisted; nausea rose sharp and bitter.
Brett’s lips brushed against my temple, a fleeting touch, but it steadied me somehow. “I don’t know what to do either,” he admitted, his voice quiet and rough around the edges. He never sounded unsure—it wasn’t who he was—but now? Even he didn’t have an answer.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched thin, broken only by the distant hum of the coffee maker in the kitchen. Somewhere next door, my dad was probably lacing up his boots, getting ready for another day at the station like nothing had happened. So close it physically hurt, yet impossibly far away.
Brett pulled me closer, his thumb brushing absent patterns against my arm. I didn’t know if it helped or made the ache worse, but I didn’t ask him to stop.
"He's the Fire Chief," I blurted, my voice cracking mid-sentence. "He controls my job. Your job." I looked at Brett, searching his face for something—reassurance, maybe, or just a hint that this wasn’t as catastrophic as it felt. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his silver stubble. I could tell he was biting back whatever he wanted to say. "I fired us both.”
“He was probably just angry. Station won’t last long without us—especially without you.”
“I don’t know. He’s stubborn.”
Brett leaned forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. His hazel eyes, warm and steady under normal circumstances, glinted now with something darker. Anger? Frustration? Fear? Maybe all three. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Well look, if he sticks to it, we figure it out. There’s work in the next town over—"
"Are you serious?" I cut him off. My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t take it back. "Just like that? You think we can just . . . pack up and start over somewhere else?"
"Maisy." He turned to me, his tone softening, but his eyes held steady on mine. "I’m saying we can . If we have to. If it comes to that."
I shoved the blanket aside, standing so fast the coffee sloshed dangerously in my cup. I needed to move, to do something, anything. Pacing across the small living room, I hugged myself tight, my arms pulling against the ache in my chest. "This is my home, Brett," I said, my voice shaking. "And now my dad’s—" My throat closed up. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. " Nowhere to go doesn’t even cover it."
"I know." Brett’s voice followed me, calm but firm. "Maisy, I know. But staying here? Pretending like nothing happened? That’s not an option either." He leaned back into the couch, his shoulders broad, grounded. "And look, we don’t have to stay near Small Falls. We could pick somewhere brand new. Start fresh."
"Start fresh," I echoed bitterly, spinning to face him. "You make it sound so simple. Like we’re just picking a vacation spot." My breath hitched, and I pressed my palms against my thighs to keep from shaking. "But what about you? Everything you’ve built? The station, your life here—"
"Maisy, stop ." Brett stood, his height suddenly filling the room. He closed the space between us in two strides, his hands landing firmly on my shoulders. His touch steadied me, but it also lit a fire under my skin, too much and not enough all at once. His hazel eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, everything else faded. Just him. Just me. "None of that matters if I’m not with you.”
"How can you even say that?" My voice cracked again, anger and fear tangling together in my chest. "This place—Small Falls—it’s who you are. How can you just leave it behind?"
"Because I’m not leaving you behind," he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. His hands slid down my arms, his fingers brushing mine. "Maisy, I can’t stand here and watch you get torn apart by a man who should be protecting you. I won’t let it happen."
I looked down at our hands, the way his thumb grazed my knuckles, slow and deliberate. It was grounding and overwhelming all at once. "I don’t know how to leave. My art classes are here, too, at the college," I admitted, barely audible. The weight of those words settled deep in my chest. "Mind you, how am I going to pay for them if I’m out of work?"
“I can help. Do you have any savings?”
I laughed a hollow laugh. “No.”
“I do. Not millions, but enough to support you for a while, and enough to move if we have to.”
"I can’t have you pay for me. We’ve been together five minutes.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’d support you even if we weren’t together.”
My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t deserve him.
"Maisy, listen to me. We’ll make it work. Maybe it’s scary as hell, but it’s not impossible. You hear me?"
I nodded, biting into my bottom lip hard enough to hurt. His grip tightened, reassuring, but my stomach still felt hollow.
"Stay here," he said suddenly, the words dropping between us like an anchor. His fingers slid up to cradle mine fully, his thumbs brushing against my knuckles. "You can stay with me. Obviously."
"Obviously," I repeated, a weak attempt at teasing, but my voice cracked halfway through. I looked down at our hands, tangled together. They fit too perfectly. That scared me almost as much as everything else. "I don’t want to . . . disrupt your life," I whispered, barely audible.
"Maisy." His voice sharpened, pulling my gaze to his. His hazel eyes burned, fierce and unwavering. "You think my life made sense before you? You think I’d rather wake up alone every day, knowing you’re out there somewhere, hurting?"
My chest constricted so tightly it felt like I might break apart. Tears stung at the edges of my vision, blurring his face. "I just—" I started, but the words failed me.
"Don’t," he cut me off, his hands lifting to cup my face. His palms were rough, calloused, but his touch was impossibly gentle. "Don’t you dare think you’re bringing chaos into my life. You are my life, Maisy. Everything else is just noise."
***
T he notepad Brett found was small, the kind you’d stick in your back pocket and forget about until laundry day. It had a smudge of grease on the cover, like it had been tossed onto the bench at the fire station one too many times. He slid it across the coffee table toward me, along with a chewed-up ballpoint pen.
"Okay," he said, voice low but steady. "We start here."
I picked up the pen. My fingers shook. I hated that they shook. "What am I even supposed to write?" The words came out sharper than I meant, brittle and jagged. I couldn’t look at him. My stupid hands betrayed me, so I focused on the notepad instead, flipping it open to a blank page.
"Start with the basics." Brett leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His hazel eyes tracked my every move, soft but serious. "What do you need from your dad’s place?"
"Nothing," I snapped, though we both knew it wasn’t true.
Brett raised an eyebrow.
“You can’t wear my underwear on my head all the time, you know? You need your own clothes.
I smiled, despite myself.
The thought of walking back into that house, even for five minutes, made my stomach churn. But I didn’t have much choice, did I? "Okay. I need clothes, I guess. My toothbrush. Stuff like that." My voice cracked, so I clamped my mouth shut before anything worse spilled out.
"Write it down." Brett’s tone was gentle, but firm enough that I obeyed without thinking.
"Fine," I muttered, scrawling clothes, toiletries in messy letters. The ink dragged unevenly, skipping in places. I pressed harder, as if that might make the words feel less flimsy. "Happy?"
"Thrilled," he deadpanned, but there was a flicker of something close to a smile around the edges of his mouth. It didn’t last long. "Next: unemployment. You gotta file. Like, today."
"Yeah, because that’s a totally fun thing to add to the list," I shot back, but I wrote it anyway. The letters felt heavier this time. Final. Like they were carving themselves into my chest instead of cheap paper. "Anything else, Daddy?"
"Jobs," he said simply. "Local shops, diners, whatever’s hiring. Maybe the coffee shop? Just until we figure out something longer-term."
"Right. Sure." My hand moved automatically, jotting it down while my brain screamed this isn’t real, this can’t be real . A week ago, I was pulling shifts at the station, laughing with the guys, feeling like maybe I belonged somewhere. Now? Now I was writing daily grind? in a tiny notebook.
"Hey." Brett’s voice cut through the noise in my head. I looked up, startled by how close he’d gotten. He reached out, hesitated, then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch lingered, warm and rough. "We’ll get through this."
"Sure," I whispered, because if I said anything else, I would break.
"One more thing," he said after a beat, leaning back just enough to give me room to breathe. "We should call around. Quietly. See if any stations nearby are hiring."
"Stations?" The word tasted bitter in my mouth. "You think anyone’s gonna take us after this? After my dad—" My throat closed up, cutting off the rest.
Brett’s jaw tightened, but his eyes stayed steady. "We won’t know unless we try."
"Trying’s overrated," I muttered, but I added it to the list anyway. The page was filling up fast, black ink bleeding into white space like a wound that wouldn’t stop spreading.
"Maisy," Brett said again, softer this time. When I looked at him, he was watching me like I might bolt at any second. His hand hovered near mine, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. "We’ve got this. Okay?"
"Do we?" I asked, barely above a whisper. My voice trembled, betraying the fear I tried so hard to swallow. "Because this . . . this feels like drowning."
Brett didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took the pen from my hand and flipped to a fresh page. In bold, blocky letters, he wrote: Step 1: Breathe .
“This is pointless,” I muttered, shoving the notepad away like it burned me. My chest felt tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. "Maybe I should leave." The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. My heart thudded painfully, but I pushed on, a shaky rush tumbling past my lips. "Maybe—maybe if I’m not here, if we’re not together—they’ll let you keep your job. You shouldn’t lose everything because of me."
"Maisy," he started, but I cut him off.
"No, Brett." My voice cracked, raw and uneven. "It’s not fair. Everything you’ve worked for—it’s gone. And it’s my fault." I stood abruptly, pacing the small living room, my bare feet catching on the frayed edge of the rug. "Your whole life has been about that station. About this town. And now you’re losing it all because of me."
"Stop," he said firmly, standing too, closing the space between us in two strides. His hands found my face, his touch warm and grounding. My breath hitched as his hazel eyes locked onto mine, intense and unyielding. "You’re not a burden," he said, his voice low but steady, each word deliberate. "You’re everything."
My throat closed around a sob, tears spilling over despite my best efforts to hold them back. Brett didn’t let go—not even for a second. His thumbs brushed across my cheeks, wiping away the tears as fast as they fell. "You hear me?" he pressed, his voice softening. "Everything."
I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. Instead, I collapsed against him, my forehead pressing into his chest as my hands clung to his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me upright. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, his chin resting lightly on top of my head.
"Just yesterday . . ." My voice was muffled against him, barely audible. "We were talking about going out. Normal stuff. The arcade. Now—" A bitter laugh escaped me, sharp and humorless. "Now home doesn’t even feel real anymore."
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough with something I couldn’t name. "Feels like we lost it all overnight."
And then—CRACK.
We both froze. It wasn’t loud, not at first, but it was sharp enough to cut through the quiet. A second later, there it was again. CRACK. Like wood splitting under pressure.
Brett shifted instantly, his body going rigid as his firefighter instincts kicked in. "What the hell was that?" he muttered, already moving toward the window. My stomach twisted, unease crawling up my spine as I followed him.
"Maybe it’s nothing," I said, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me.
"Stay here." Brett’s tone left no room for argument. His hazel eyes scanned the yard outside, narrowing like he was piecing together a puzzle only he could see. Then, without another word, he turned and headed for the door.
"Wait—" I grabbed his arm before he could disappear. My fingers dug into the solid muscle there, desperate. "You’re not just gonna run out there, are you? What if it’s—" I didn’t even know how to finish. Something bad. Something worse than bad.
"Maisy." His voice softened, but his eyes stayed sharp. "I’ll be fine. Just stay here, okay? Please." There was that steady calm of his, the one that should’ve reassured me but only made my heartbeat thunder louder in my ears.