Chapter 17
Maisy
T wo Months Later
The garage doors were wide open, and the familiar hum of the station hit me like a warm hug. Clatter from gear being stowed away mixed with the low crackle of the dispatcher’s voice on the radio. My boots scuffed against the polished floor as I stepped in, nodding at Jake, who was hauling a hose rack back into place. He gave me a quick thumbs-up before disappearing around the corner.
"Morning, Maisy," someone called out.
"Morning," I shot back, my voice carrying easily over the noise.
I tugged at my uniform shirt, smoothing it over my hips, feeling the weight of the embroidered badge just above my heart. It still gave me a thrill—a little jolt of pride every time I caught sight of it. Mine. I’d earned it. No one could take that from me now.
"Well, look who finally decided to show up."
His voice slid over me like honey, pulling my eyes toward the ladder truck parked near the middle of the bay. Brett leaned against the side of it, arms crossed, that lazy grin spreading across his face like he had all the time in the world. His hazel eyes crinkled at the corners, the way they always did when he was about to give me trouble.
"Don’t start with me," I warned, though the corner of my mouth twitched.
"Late again, rookie," he said loud enough for the rest of the crew to hear. A few chuckles echoed through the space, followed by someone muttering “classic.”
"One minute," I fired back, holding up a finger as I breezed past him. "If you’re gonna clock me, at least be accurate."
"One minute turns into ten if you don’t hustle," he countered, pushing off the truck as he fell into step behind me. His boots clunked against the floor, steady and deliberate.
"Whatever, Chief," I tossed over my shoulder, letting the title land somewhere between teasing and respect.
"Chief Wilkins, if you don’t mind," he shot back, his tone dripping with amusement. He’d been insufferable since his promotion.
"Yeah, whatever you say, Chief Wilkins ." I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the grin breaking free.
"Careful," he murmured, leaning in just close enough for his breath to tickle my ear. "Keep that attitude up, and I might have to remind you who’s in charge."
My steps faltered for half a second, heat rushing to my cheeks. But I recovered fast, shooting him a side-eye glare that only made him grin wider. Damn him and those stupid crinkles around his eyes.
"Pretty sure I outrank you in sass," I said, heading straight for the lockers to stash my bag.
"Is that so?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Guess we’ll find out later, then." His voice dipped low, full of promise, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Keep dreaming, Wilkins," I called back, refusing to let him see how much he’d rattled me.
"All day, sweetheart," he replied, his chuckle trailing after me as I ducked into the locker room.
I pressed my palms flat against the cool metal door of my locker, taking a breath to steady myself. This was going to be a long shift.
I pushed open the door to the locker room and dropped my bag on the bench with a satisfying thud. The noise echoed faintly, swallowed by the hum of voices and the distant clatter of boots on the station floor.
The hallway outside the lockers was quieter, the kind of quiet that held its own weight. I turned left, passing the row of offices, each door cracked just enough for light to spill across the scuffed linoleum.
There it was. The chief’s office. His office. Dad’s office. Where he’d sat for so long. But it wasn’t his any more.
I lingered in the doorway longer than I meant to, the ache sitting low in my chest, heavy but dull. My dad wasn’t here anymore. He wouldn’t be storming through the halls, barking orders or giving me that sharp-eyed look that always made my stomach twist.
Chief Wilkins. It still sounded strange in my head, but it felt right when I saw him step into those boots. He filled them differently than my dad had.
I turned to leave, but something caught my eye. On the wall beside the doorframe hung the old crew photo. Everyone crammed together, shoulders bumping, faces sweaty but grinning after some big save. My dad stood front and center, arms crossed, jaw set like stone—but his eyes were smiling. It was before my time, but it was nice that Brett had kept it on the wall.
After the fire, Dad retired. He told me he’d been thinking about it for a while, but the fire pushed him over the edge. Since then, he’d been much more mellow, less stressed. It was the right decision, for sure, but it made me feel a little strange. Like closing a book I wasn’t sure I wanted to finish.
The sigh slipped out before I could catch it. Not frustration, not sadness. Just something in between. Acceptance, maybe.
Dad had apologized. Twice. Then a third time, just to be sure he’d covered all bases.
Therapy, he said, was helping. He’d invited me back home, made it sound like he was building some kind of sanctuary out of the wreckage we’d both barely crawled out of. But I couldn’t do it, not yet. Brett’s place was quieter, safer—closer to what I needed. Still, I saw Dad often, and he called a lot, too, just to check in. Just to ask how I was doing without really asking.
He’d taken up painting, which sounded nice. It was so unlike him, though.
"Daydreaming again, rookie?" A low voice hummed against my ear, warm breath tickling my skin. My heart jumped before I felt the arm snake around my waist, steady and sure.
"Jesus, Brett," I muttered, leaning back into his chest despite myself. His reassuring scent wrapped around me like it always did, pulling me down to solid ground. "You trying to give me a heart attack or something?"
"Just keeping you on your toes," he teased, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Can’t have you slacking off on my watch."
"Your watch?" I twisted enough to shoot him a look, though the corner of my mouth betrayed me with a smirk. "I think you mean our watch. You may be Fire Chief, but I’m the Major of Mischief.”
"That so?" His hand tightened slightly at my hip, a soft rumble of amusement vibrating through his chest. "Guess I’ll have to make time to discipline you later, won’t I?"
"Noted," I shot back, biting down on the grin threatening to take over. “Now, I better get back to work. Jake has a scheduling issue.”
“First time for everything,” he joked. “I’ll see you this evening. For some fun?”
Fun. That sounded good.
“Mmhmm.” I glanced around to make sure no-one else was near. “Looking forward to it, Daddy.”
He gave me a wicked look, and my panties practically melted off.
***
I t was about half an hour later when Dad called me. He knew my hours (he knew basically everything about the station like the back of his hand) and he normally didn’t ring while I was working. I wondered what this could be about.
I slipped out the side door into the lot. Cool air hit my face as I answered.
"Hey, Dad." My voice came out steady enough, though my chest tightened like it always did when he called.
"Maisy." His tone caught me off guard—lighter than usual, almost… relaxed? "Sorry to bother you at work. Hope I’m not interrupting anything important."
"Not unless you count re-labeling the med kits," I said, leaning against the wall. "What’s up?"
"I’m in the yard. Retired life keeps me busy."
"Good to hear," I closed my eyes, listening. A faint chirp of birdsong filtered through the line. It tugged at something deep in me—memories of summers with the windows open, the smell of fresh-cut grass, his heavy boots on the porch steps.
"Built a new birdhouse this morning," he went on. "Got wrens already pokin’ around it."
"Retirement suits you, huh?"
"Maybe more than I thought," he admitted, softening. "Funny how much easier things get when you stop holdin’ your breath all the time."
"Glad to hear it," I said, swallowing the lump threatening my throat.
"Maisy . . ." His voice shifted, deeper, lower. "I wanted to say—I’ve been meaning to say—I’m proud of you."
My chest constricted hard enough to make me grip the wall.
"Thanks," I managed, but it barely scraped out above a whisper.
"Really," he pressed, his words slow and deliberate. "You’ve come so far. And I know I haven’t made it easy."
"Let’s not get sappy, old man," I joked, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite land. I wasn’t used to hearing him express feelings like this.
"Fair enough," he said, chuckling faintly. But then, he hesitated. I knew that sound—like gears grinding before something big.
"Actually, there’s something else."
"Okay…" Anxiety prickled along my skin.
"Your mother."
My stomach dropped.
"She’s back in town," he said quickly, as if rushing to get it out. "I reached out. After everything. We talked. She agreed to come back for a visit."
"Wait—" My voice cracked. "She’s here? Now?"
"Arrived yesterday." He paused, and I heard the faint tremor behind his words. "She wants to see you. If you’re willing."
A sharp inhale filled my lungs, but it felt like I couldn’t let it out.
"Maisy? You still there?"
"Yeah," I croaked, gripping the phone tighter like it could anchor me.
"Look, I know this is a lot," he said gently. "I can arrange it. Whenever you’re ready. No pressure."
"Okay," I whispered, because it was all I could manage.
"Okay," he echoed, relief softening his tone. "Take your time. Just . . . think about it."
"Yeah." My voice wavered, raw. "I’ll—I’ll think about it."
"Good." He exhaled audibly, the kind of release that hinted at how long he’d been holding it in. "Let me know when you’ve decided."
"Okay," I said again, useless and on repeat. My head spun.
"Love you, kiddo," he added quietly, and it broke me all over again.
"Love you too," I murmured before ending the call.
I stared at the phone in my hand, the world tilting just slightly sideways. Mom. Back in Small Falls. Wanting to see me. My pulse pounded loud in my ears, drowning out everything else.
For years, I’d blamed her for leaving. For silence. For gutting our family and walking away. But now . . . ? Now, I knew better. Dad’s voice had been steady, but his words? They’d cracked something wide open in me. He was the reason she stayed gone. His threats, his anger, his judgement. All this time.
My throat burned. Forgiveness. Could I give her that?
"Maisy?"
I blinked, and Brett was already crossing the lot toward me. Two long strides, maybe three, and he was right there, hazel eyes locked on mine. Concern etched into every line of his face. "Hey," he said softly. "What’s wrong? You just taking a break?"
I didn’t trust my voice at first. It wavered when I tried. "It’s my mom," I managed, swallowing hard. "She’s back."
His brows furrowed. "Back? Like—"
"Here. In town." The words tumbled out, raw and uneven. "Dad called. She wants to see me." My hands were trembling, so I shoved them in my pockets. "God, Brett, I don’t even know what to think right now."
"Okay," he said, calm as ever. That steady tone of his, like an anchor. "Okay. Come here."
Before I could argue, his arms wrapped around me. Not tight, not smothering, just enough to let me know I wasn’t alone. My forehead hit his shoulder, and I exhaled shakily, letting myself sink into the warmth of him.
"Whatever you decide," he murmured, his voice low against my hair, "I’m with you. You hear me? All the way."
"Yeah," I whispered, my fingers gripping the edge of his uniform shirt. "I hear you."
***
T he rest of the shift passed in a haze. Everything felt distant, muted, like I was moving underwater. Morning rounds blurred into paperwork, which blurred into a call about a kid with a sprained wrist. Easy stuff, routine stuff. Normally, I’d be cracking jokes or chiming in with the crew, but today? I couldn’t even fake it.
After one call—a false alarm—I caught sight of Brett across the garage. He glanced my way, his expression softening when our eyes met. I grabbed a pen from the desk near me and scribbled on a scrap of paper: Leaving early to meet her.
I walked it over to him, slipping the note into his hand. He read it quickly, then looked at me. No words, just a small nod and a squeeze of my hand. That was all I needed.
I texted Dad, and moments later, he replied with an address—it was a Bed and Breakfast ten minutes from town. I wondered if she’d deliberately stayed far away so we wouldn’t bump into each other. Probably.
By the time the end of my shift rolled around, I was numb. Functional, sure. But numb. Every task, every conversation, every laugh echoing through the station—it all felt surreal. Like the normalcy of it didn’t belong to me anymore. Like I was standing in two places at once, teetering on the edge of something I couldn’t quite see yet.
The second my shift ended, I bolted. My hands shook as I double-checked the address, then I slid into my car, gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles went white. The engine rumbled to life, steady and familiar, but it didn’t help. My heart was pounding out of sync with everything else. I could barely hear the music from the radio over the rush in my ears.
The drive wasn’t long, maybe fifteen minutes from the station, but it felt like hours. Every street sign, every turn, dragged me closer to this thing I wasn’t sure I was ready for. A bed-and-breakfast. Of all places. Quaint. Quiet. Like some kind of neutral ground.
Memories hit me out of nowhere. Her laugh—soft, lilting, like wind chimes. The way she used to tuck me in, her hand smoothing my hair back. Just flashes, really, but enough to tighten the knot in my chest.
For a moment, I felt a deep, painful sympathy. Mom was a Little, like me. And the person she’d loved the most—my dad—not only had rejected her, he’d threatened to expose her if she’d so much as contacted me.
Poor woman.
I swallowed hard, trying to shove it all down as I pulled into the gravel lot.
The place looked exactly how it sounded: modest, like something out of a Hallmark movie. White porch, flower boxes bursting with color, a cheerful little sign hanging crookedly over the door. It was charming. It was also the world’s tiniest stage set for the biggest drama of my life.
I killed the engine and just sat there for a second, staring straight ahead. My fingers wouldn’t let go of the steering wheel. Breathe in. Hold. Out. Again.
"Okay, Mais," I whispered. "You’re here. You’re doing this."
But my legs didn’t get the memo right away. They stayed frozen until I gritted my teeth and forced them to move.
She was there before I even reached the steps.
Standing on the porch, leaning lightly against the railing. Her figure was thinner than I remembered—not that I could trust my memory much—but her hair caught me off guard. Streaks of silver ran through it now, softening the brown waves that fell over her shoulders.
But it was her face that stopped me cold. Her eyes.
My eyes.
It was like looking into a mirror, except older, worn down. Familiar and foreign all at once.
Her lips parted slightly, and I saw the moment she recognized me. Her expression shifted, a mix of hope and fear that mirrored the storm inside me. She didn’t move, though. Neither did I.
"Hi," I managed, my voice cracking a little.
"Maisy," she said, and just hearing her say my name knocked the air out of me.
We stared at each other, tentative smiles forming and falling apart within seconds. Tears prickled my eyes before I could stop them. Hers too. We were both just standing there, blinking them back, awkward and raw.
I took a shaky step forward, and so did she. Then another. And another. The space between us shrank until we stopped, just a few feet apart, close enough to see the way her hands trembled at her sides. Mine weren’t much steadier.
"Maisy," she whispered, her voice breaking on the second syllable. It wasn’t just my name—it was years of absence, regret, maybe even hope. My chest tightened, and I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up again.
My throat felt like sandpaper. "It’s me."
Her eyes darted over my face, like she was trying to memorize every detail in case I disappeared again. Then she covered her mouth with one hand, muffling a soft, broken sound that cut straight through me. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry it’s been this long. I’ve been such a terrible mother.”
For a second, I couldn’t speak. I swallowed hard, blinking fast, but one tear escaped and slipped down my cheek. “It’s okay. I understand.” I managed finally, my voice quieter than I expected. “I’ve spoken to Dad about it. He told me that he pushed you away, threatened you.”
She nodded quickly, her own tears spilling over. “Even so. I should have tried. How do I—” Her hand dropped from her mouth, shaking. “How can I ever make this right?”
"You already started," I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. "The first step is the hardest. And you’ve already taken that."
She looked at me like I’d just handed her something fragile and precious. Her breath hitched as she nodded again. "Okay," she whispered, and then she stepped forward and pulled me into her arms.
I froze for half a second before I melted into her. She smelled faintly of lavender and something earthy, like old books or dried leaves. Her grip was firm but trembling, and when I felt her press a kiss into my hair, my tears really started falling. Hers soaked into my shoulder, warm and quiet. For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just held each other, breathing unevenly.
When she pulled back, her hands came up, hesitating before one brushed against my cheek. Her palm was cool, her thumb skimming along the edge of my jaw like she couldn’t believe I was real. “I’ve missed you. You’ve grown so much,” she said, her voice soft and unsteady. “You’re—God, you’re beautiful.”
"Thanks," I mumbled, looking down because my chest felt too tight to handle eye contact. “I’ve got . . . a lot of questions. Like, a lot . But I don’t even know where to start.”
"That’s okay," she said quickly, her hand dropping away but not far. “We’ll figure it out together. One thing at a time.” There was a small, hopeful smile tugging at her lips, and somehow, it didn’t feel like a lie.
"Yeah," I said, nodding more to myself than her. "One thing at a time."
“I got you something.”
“You did?”
She nodded, then reached into her bag. She took out a stuffie, a little unicorn with big eyes and a wide smile. “It’s not much. I just wanted to give you something. She used to be mine. Sometimes, when I was lonely, I’d hug her and imagine she was you. Now she’s yours.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. “Thank you. Now you can just cuddle me, if you need to.”
She smiled.
I gestured toward the porch. She followed my lead. A swing stood there, and we sat in it, settling into a slow, gentle rhythm. The movement reminded me of childhood. Of happiness.
“I…” Her voice broke the stillness, tentative. “Maisy. I want to try. To be here. If you’ll let me. Even if it takes time. I don’t expect miracles. Just . . .” She exhaled, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Just a chance. I’d like to move back to town to be near you.”
"Okay," I said after a beat, my chest loosening just a little. “But you should know: I’m not great at this stuff. Like, emotional . . . mom-daughter stuff.”
"Neither am I," she admitted, a small laugh slipping out. It made her seem younger somehow, less like a stranger. “Guess we’ll learn together.”
"Guess so." I glanced at her, and for the first time, I felt something crack open in my chest—something warm and cautious and new. Maybe joy, or the start of it anyway. My fingers instinctively reached out, brushing against hers. She hesitated, then tangled our hands together lightly, like she was afraid of squeezing too hard. I didn’t mind. It felt . . . good. Solid.
Her shoulders relaxed fractionally, and she tilted her head toward me. “So,” she said, her tone lighter now, teasing almost. “Your father tells me you have a boyfriend.”
"Ugh, seriously?" I groaned, rolling my eyes but smiling despite myself. “Yeah. Brett. He’s . . . yeah.”
"Good?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Better than good," I said, smirking a little. “And no offense, but he’s probably gonna freak when he hears about this. Can’t wait for y’all to meet.”
"Me too," she said softly. Her fingers squeezed mine, just a little.
“What about you? You have a boyfriend?”
“Darling,” she said, smiling, “I’ve got ten years of life to tell you about, if you want to hear.”
“I do.”
We sat there, side by side, the swing swaying gently. I leaned back, letting the ache in my chest ease just a bit. No big promises, no dramatic speeches. Just this. A beginning.