Chapter 24
Ford
At school, I used to read poems about how fire purifies. How, when something turns to ash, it has the power to be reborn and become better than it used to be. And while I appreciate the metaphor, I’ve never seen fire as a blessing in disguise.
Fire consumes. Fire destroys. Fire kills.
And now, fire engulfs every corner of this warehouse, destroying everything in its wake.
When the guys at the Richmond Fire Department called in for reinforcements, I was first in the engine. Another six of my men joined me, but the majority of our unit had to stay back at Harmony Hills to answer any emergencies there—with Ian in charge.
This is my job, my blood, my drive, and I never regret running inside a burning building. But goddamn it, this is bad.
Around me, it’s pitch-black. Dark smoke curls around my body, and I can’t even see my own feet. I sure as fuck can’t see the other firemen who entered the warehouse behind me, but I know they’re here.
Being unfamiliar with the layout makes it harder to move around, and I keep tripping over furniture or whatever the hell is in my way. The weight of my gear, mixed with the scorching heat outside it, is almost unbearable. Hell, even my balls are sweating.
“I can’t see shit, Cap,” one of my guys says over the radio. “My ears are fucking burning. Where’s that damn fire?”
“Shouldn’t have eaten that second plate of fries,” another guy announces.
“Quiet,” I command, shutting down the unnecessary chatter.
Unlike in the movies, fire doesn’t always roar. In my experience, it can be so quiet, we have to stop moving to listen for a pop, a crackle, or anything that gives away its whereabouts. It’s chaotic and calm at once.
What feels like a fucking eternity later, I spot an orange glow at the end of what seems to be a hallway. We move fast. The guys carrying the hose aim for the flames, and once water touches fire, the clouds of steam make seeing shit even harder. At least no workers are trapped inside.
“There’s another fire!” a voice I don’t recognize shouts over the radio. “North side!”
I’ve barely registered his words when there’s a groan by my side. Not the human kind, but a sound that makes my spine snap upright nonetheless.
“Everyone get out of here!” I yell. “That wall is coming down!”
Another groan, louder this time. The building shudders under its weight before a chunk of the wall to my right starts to give way. My hands find an arm in the dark, and I pull back, adrenaline fueling me, as a massive slab of concrete tilts toward us.
“Move!” I shout.
The rest of the wall buckles, sending debris crashing toward the floor. Dust coats the air, blinding me. A simmering sort of anxiety I’ve never felt before clings at my chest, and all I can see in the darkness is Ivy. I have to make it home to her.
“Everybody okay?” I ask over the radio.
One by one, I recount the six firefighters who came into this section with me and let out a relieved breath.
“We’re all right, Cap,” one of my men says, and I feel the pressure of his hand on my shoulder. “Thanks to your fucking good hearing. Let’s get this over with.”
By midnight, the fire is still raging. Rhys, dressed in his deputy sheriff uniform, comes by to check on me, but I only see him from a distance. When I’m working, I can’t afford distractions.
By two in the morning, an ambulance leaves with three firefighters on its way to the hospital. Smoke inhalation. Burns. Another collapsed wall. “They’ll live” is what the paramedics say.
By four, the number of firefighters sent to the hospital ascends to eight. Exhaustion is starting to get to me, but I fight with all I’ve got to stay alert.
It’s the thought of those blue eyes, the possibility of never seeing her again, that carries me through to six in the morning, when we get the fire under control. A new crew takes our place, and we drive the engine back to the firehouse.
I’m numb during my shower and on the drive back home. Once I kill the engine, I sit in my driveway for a moment to just… exist.
This shit never happens. I’ve put out bad fires before, dangerous ones. I’ve never had a wall or a roof collapse on me, but I’ve had other close calls in the past. Tonight wasn’t something I hadn’t experienced before.
I’m not an anxious person to begin with, and training has taught me to remain calm during emergencies. I trust myself, and I trust my crew to help me when I can’t. So why did I fucking panic earlier?
Rapid tapping on my car window brings me back to the present. My eyes collide with a pair of baby blues.
“Are you okay?” Ivy asks, the dark circles under her eyes and the frown between her brows killing me. Has she been up all night?
I open the car door. “Ivy, what—”
She throws herself at me, arms locking around my neck so tightly it almost knocks the wind out of me.
“Don’t do this to me ever again,” she breathes out, her words hot and shaky against my skin. “I saw it on TV, Ford. It was so bad. I thought you wouldn’t… I thought….”
Her voice breaks, and something inside me snaps.
“Shh.” I press my mouth to her temple, trying to steady the tremor in my own voice. “It’s okay, beautiful. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s go inside, okay?”
But even as I hold her, I can still smell the smoke in my hair, feel the phantom heat of the burning building on my skin, and I know she can too.
She pulls back, and the sight of her tear-swollen eyes hits me harder than anything else.
I want to drag her back into my arms and never let her go—or punch myself for making her worry in the first place.
“Okay,” she says at last, wiping at her cheeks like she wants to erase her tears. “I’ll text Joe so he doesn’t worry. He’s still sleeping.”
A thick lump forms in my throat as I get out of the car and then expands as I let her inside my house. It only grows when she heads straight for my kitchen and starts rifling through my cabinets like she’s been here a hundred times. All I can do is watch.
“What are you doing?” I ask her quietly.
She gets on her tiptoes to grab a mug. “Making you milk with honey. I always drink it when I can’t fall asleep. You have both things, right?”
The lump gets bigger, heavier. “Yeah. Milk is in the fridge, and the honey is in the cupboard above the coffee machine.”
“Got it. Now go sit in the living room and relax.”
My body has been dragging me down since I showered at the firehouse, and I’m too exhausted to argue. So I head for the living room, ignoring how right it feels to see her moving around my space as if it’s hers too.
This is wrong. I’m not supposed to feel any of these things.
Not so shortly after my divorce. What about the mourning period, or whatever the hell it’s called?
I don’t have feelings for my ex-wife, but aren’t there some rules I’m supposed to be following?
Because I bet one of them is to not fall for someone else this fast.
Fuck.
I’ve fallen for Ivy, haven’t I?
She walks into the living room, holding a steaming mug. Her hands aren’t shaking anymore, and her tired face lights up with a smile when she notices me sprawled out on the couch.
There she goes, making things harder for me and my goddamn heart with such an innocent gesture.
Our fingers graze as she passes me the mug. It shouldn’t send a zip of electricity through me, damn it. I’ve had her come in my lap not that long ago, have tasted her mouth. Wasn’t that supposed to quench my thirst?
She sits next to me, tucking her legs under a blanket, and I understand I never stood a chance. Not when I’m so damn enamored by every little thing she does.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
I take a sip of the milk and honey. “This is really good.”
She smiles but doesn’t say anything. I let out a tired sigh and place the mug on the coffee table before sitting back on the couch. “It’s been a rough night.”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” she reassures me. “Sitting in silence is enough.”
I consider her words. Our department has therapists available for us, and I’ve been to therapy a few times myself.
But I can’t remember the last time I spoke to someone about my hard days at the job outside of a therapy office.
I usually keep those feelings to myself, handle them on my own, but today…
I don’t want to. Today, she’s here.
I grab her hand and intertwine our fingers, resting them on my lap. “I don’t know what you’ve seen in the news.”
“I haven’t slept at all tonight, so pretty much everything,” she admits.
“You should’ve slept.”
“I’m okay. Keep going.”
Her skin is soft as I trace her hand with my thumb.
“They called all units from nearby towns to assist on the fire because it got out of control. Not all of us could go. Some of the guys had to stay back, but I offered and left Ian in charge. When I got there, it was one of the worst fires I’ve seen in my career. ”
“Did you…?” She hesitates as if she doesn’t want to know the answer. “Did you go inside?”
“Yeah. That’s where the fire was, and we had to put it out.”
“Is everyone okay?”
“No casualties.” And isn’t that a fucking miracle? “But some firefighters ended up at the hospital.”
“That isn’t your fault, Ford,” she says, reading my mind. “I’m sure many more would’ve gotten hurt if you hadn’t been there. Is that what’s worrying you?”
I keep caressing her hand. “Yes and no.”
Ivy scoots closer until her knee is brushing my thigh, the contact sparking through me like a live wire. Her quiet reassurance is all it takes to break me open.
“A concrete wall nearly collapsed on us tonight.”
She gasps. “Are you serious? How did that happen? Did you get hurt?”
I shake my head, my gaze anchored to our entwined hands as if letting go might undo this moment. I’m here. With her. We’re both okay.
“I didn’t get hurt. Nobody did.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Ivy, I….”