Chapter 2
Chapter Two
I sat down hard in my recliner, the worn leather creaking beneath my weight, like it always did. Like it had for years. Like it was one of the few things in this house that hadn’t changed.
My phone was still warm in my hand.
What the hell, Chloe actually answered?
That fact alone stunned me. I stared at the far wall, at the faint scorch mark above the baseboard from the time a candle had tipped over years ago. We’d laughed about it then. Said it gave the place character.
I hadn’t expected her to pick up. I’d told myself I was just calling to leave a voicemail. Something simple. Something innocuous.
How’s the weather? Do you still hate the taste of broccoli? When the hell are you coming home?
Now she was on the other end of the line, breathing softly, waiting.
I didn’t know what to say. I sure as hell wasn’t going to push. I didn’t want her to hang up on me. Not now. Not when she’d finally answered the call.
“Uhm… Zarek?” she said finally. “Aren’t you going to say something? You called me, remember?”
There it was.
Not sharp. Not cold.
Light.
Was that—was that a hint of laughter in her voice?
Please God, say it was.
I leaned forward, elbows braced on my knees, phone pressed tight to my ear. When was the last time I’d heard anything like laughter from her? Not something that grated, as she tried to fake it for her sisters.
“I—yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “Sorry. I just… wanted to see how you were doing.”
The words felt clumsy, inadequate. Too small for the space between us.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Actually… I really am.”
I sat up so fast I almost dropped my phone.
“You are?”
“Yeah, kind of weird, huh? How are you doing?”
“Fine, just fine.”
Liar.
“Liar.”
When had I ever gotten away with anything with Chloe?
“Maybe,” I admitted.
“Tell me how you really are.”
A mess. A fucking mess. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that to Chloe, even if she did call me out on it.
“I’m coping. The job helps. How about you. Are you drawing?”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“Do you like it?” That was the million-dollar question. If she liked her work, then I knew there was hope for her. Hope that maybe one of us was finding a way out of the pit of hell.
“I think it’s good, Zarek. Really good. I wish you could see it.”
My stomach clenched as if someone had punched me.
“Do you really mean that?”
There was a long pause. It was so long, I took the phone away from my ear to see if we were still connected.
“You were always honest with me, but you never ever made me want to quit. You were my safe place.”
My throat ached; I felt a sob welling. “Then why aren’t I now?”
Again there was a long pause. “This isn’t about you.
This is about me. I’ve needed to get my head and heart together.
Zarek, this was so much worse than ten years ago, I felt crushed, like the world, like God, was against me.
I couldn’t see a way out. I couldn’t be that Chloe with you again. I just couldn’t.”
This time it was my turn to pause. This was the first time I understood why she left.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here,” I whispered. Then something occurred to me.
“Baby, you’re talking in the past tense.”
“I guess I am, aren’t I?” There was a lilt of humor in her voice. I clung to that like a drowning man would grab a life preserver.
“But I still have work to do. What about you, Zarek? How are you really doing?”
How did I tell my wife that where she had felt crushed, I felt an unimaginable rage? Something that burned my insides like lava.
“I’m working through things.”
Another lie. Or maybe not. I had an outlet.
“Are you sleeping?”
“Yep. Enough about me. Tell me more about what’s going on with you.”
“Trenda came by today with Bella and Drake.”
My heart lifted and twisted all at once.
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah?”
“Trenda was Trenda. Taking my emotional temperature. She went to my fridge like it was her house and fed us.”
“Sounds like her.”
“Bella?”
“Bella says your sad.”
Fuck me.
“Where did she get that idea?”
“She says when you come over you never stay long, and she can just tell.”
At least the kid hadn’t picked up on the fact that I was mad.
“She came out of the womb thirty-five years old,” I said.
Chloe chuckled. She actually chuckled! “You can say that again. Wait til she starts to date—she is going to give Simon a heart attack.”
“What else happened?” I asked, avoiding Bella’s comments.
“Drake was fussing. I-I…I picked him up, Zarek. I held him in my arms.”
Something sharp punched straight through my chest.
I didn’t know why it hurt so much. I didn’t understand the sudden wave of anger, the tight, irrational sense of betrayal that flooded me.
She held the baby.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Chloe said carefully, as if she could hear the shift in me through the phone.
“No,” I said too fast. “No, it’s fine. I just… I didn’t expect—”
I stopped. Because if I kept going, I was going to say something ugly. Something I couldn’t take back.
There was a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just… full.
“I was thinking,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady, “maybe I could come visit. Just for a bit. If you want.”
She hesitated. I felt it like a physical thing.
“Maybe,” she said slowly. “That could be… a possibility.”
Relief crashed through me so hard I nearly laughed—or whimpered.
“That’d be great,” I said, and caught myself before I added more. Before I pushed. “No pressure. Just—yeah. Let me know.”
We talked a little longer. About nothing important. About Bella’s summer break. About the weather in Gatlinburg. Normal things. The kind of conversation married people have without thinking.
That we used to have without thinking.
Then I ruined it.
“I should go,” I said abruptly. “I’ve got an early shift.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I’ll call you,” I added. “Soon.”
“Okay,” she said again.
I ended the call before she could say anything else.
The silence in the house closed in around me, thick and suffocating.
I went straight to the fridge, yanked it open, and grabbed a beer. I didn’t bother with a glass. I twisted the cap off and took a long pull, the bitter burn grounding me.
I didn’t feel better.
I parked my truck outside the Jasper Creek fire station and cut the engine.
I smiled grimly. It was good to be here. A place where I could stop thinking about personal shit.
I was halfway out of the truck when I saw him.
Michael Rankin stood near the employee entrance, arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip. Waiting.
For me.
“Great,” I muttered.
“I was waiting for you,” Michael said as I approached.
“No, really? I thought you were waiting for the tooth fairy.”
“Why? You got a loose tooth?”
“Look, I don’t need a mother. Nor do I need a keeper.”
He snorted. “Could have fooled me.”
“Fuck off.”
I reached for the door handle. Michael stepped in front of it.
“We’re going to have this talk either outside or inside,” he said evenly. “Your choice.”
“No, we’re not.”
“You’re on the edge,” he said, voice dropping. “And if you go over, you’re going to make a mistake that’ll get you killed—and probably someone else.”
I glared at him.
Images flashed through my mind before I could stop them.
The wildfire last month, when I’d gone back into a compromised structure alone to retrieve equipment that could have waited—ignoring Michael shouting at me to stand down.
The fire in the hollow two weeks later, when I’d pushed too far ahead of the crew, chasing the flames instead of working the perimeter, nearly trapping myself when the wind shifted.
Both times, Michael had been there. Watching. Covering for me.
“It’s not that bad,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
“It is,” he said flatly. “And you know it. We’ve got a counselor on retainer through the department. Mandatory debriefs after critical incidents. You’ve skipped every optional session for months.”
I scoffed. “My issues aren’t about the job.”
“No,” he agreed. “But they’re affecting the job.”
I wanted to yell. To shove past him. To deny it.
Instead, I said, “I’ve found a new way to manage this.”
Michael’s eyes sharpened. “What?”
“Never mind. Just know it’s working.”
“It’s not counseling,” he said.
“No.”
“What about your depression?”
“I’m not fucking depressed,” I snapped, louder than I meant to.
Michael raised his hands. “Fine. You’re not depressed.”
I exhaled hard. “Just watch me. I’ve got my shit together. If I screw up again, I’ll see the shrink. Deal?”
He studied me for a long moment.
Then he sighed. “Deal.”
“Good. Now are we done with our little tea party?” I asked. “Can I go to work?”
“Yeah,” he said, stepping aside.
I walked into the station, shoulders tight, jaw clenched.
Anger simmered just beneath my skin.
Confusion tangled with it.
And somewhere deep down—far below where I was willing to look—was a growing sense of helplessness I didn’t yet have the words for.
But I wasn’t ready to face that.
Not yet.