Chapter 15
Callum
I'm in the locker room pulling off my shift gear when Marco appears in the doorway looking like someone kicked his dog. I know before he even opens his mouth that I'm about to agree to something I shouldn't.
"Hayes." He's got his phone in one hand, his jacket half-on, and the frantic energy of a guy who's been striking out for twenty minutes.
"I know you're off. I know. But my sister just called.
My mom's in the ER—they think it's her gallbladder, but she's asking for me.
Jen can't swap, Torres is already on tomorrow's rotation, and—"
"I'll cover it," I say.
The words are out before my brain even registers them.
It's a bad habit. I've been Marco's first call for two years running.
Every emergency, every last-minute swap—Hayes will do it.
But tonight is the night Milo bought a new sweater for.
The night I'm supposed to meet his friends.
The night his entire world decides if I'm worth a damn.
Marco sags with relief, clapping my shoulder and thanking me as he bolts for the door. Jen pokes her head around the corner, giving me a look that's half-grateful, half-skeptical.
"You had plans tonight," she points out. Not a question. I've been talking about it all week.
"It's fine," I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. The words taste like ash. It's exactly what Milo says when things aren't fine at all. "I'll figure it out."
Jen shrugs and disappears down the hall. I pull out my phone and stare at the blank screen. I already know what Milo's response is going to be, which makes typing the text that much harder. Marco's got a family emergency. Nobody else can cover. I'm really sorry. Can we push tonight to tomorrow?
I read it three times before hitting send.
The response comes back in under a minute.
Milo: Of course! Don't even worry about it :) I hope Marco's okay. We'll figure out another night.
Fuck. The exclamation point. The smiley face.
The don't even worry about it. I've watched Milo perform that exact routine since the day I met him.
My stomach drops. I pocket my phone and get to work.
I spend the next ten hours doing my job, checking my phone on every break.
All I get are more supportive, casual, too-bright messages from him.
He's already forgiven me because it's easier than admitting he's hurt.
By midnight, I'm dead on my feet. I crash in the bunk room—the same bunk where I swiped right on his KnotMe profile three weeks ago. I close my eyes and I'm out before I even set an alarm. Rookie mistake.
I wake up at five in the morning. My phone is lying on the mattress next to my face. I have one missed text from 11:47 PM.
Milo: Hey, are you up? Want me to come over?
Eleven forty-seven. He waited until almost midnight to ask. Not assumed, not demanded. Asked. And I was asleep.
I stare at the ceiling. This isn't just about one shift.
It's a pattern. I say yes to every emergency, every request, calling it duty.
I'm reliable. But the person paying the price for that reliability is lying in an apartment that smells like warm sugar and spice, wondering if his mate is going to text him back.
I said yes to Marco in under a second. I took forty-five minutes to text Milo. That's fucked.
***
I shower in four minutes flat, throw on a clean-ish T-shirt from my locker and yesterday's jeans, and drive to Byrne's. My hair is still wet. I smell like firehouse soap and regret.
The parking lot is half-full for a Thursday. I sit in my truck with the engine off, gripping the steering wheel. I'm twenty-two hours late to the most important night of my life.
Through the window, I can see them. The corner booth. Jude is gesturing wildly with a french fry. Benji is scrolling on his phone, though I know he's listening to every word. Soren and Shay are in their usual spots, Rhys at the end with his arm around Jude. And Milo.
He's tucked in beside Soren. The dark green sweater makes him look small. His drink is barely touched. He smiles at something Jude says, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It's that flat, automatic smile I used to see at Ava's dinner table before I knew what it meant.
I put that smile there.
I get out of the truck and push through the heavy wooden door.
The booth clocks me instantly. Jude's expression shifts from loud to lethal. Benji's eyes narrow into slits. Rhys gives me a calm, unreadable look that screams tread carefully. Soren is holding Milo's arm.
I ignore them all and go straight to Milo. I don't slide into the booth. I crouch right next to him, getting at eye level. I don't give a shit if the whole bar is watching.
"I fell asleep after shift and missed your text," I say, my voice rough. "I saw it this morning. I should have been awake. I should have been here. I'm sorry."
Milo stares at me. His big, dark eyes are shining, his face carefully controlled. I can practically see the old script loading behind his teeth. The it's fine, don't worry about it, you had to work.
His mouth opens.
But he doesn't say it.
His chin tilts up. His lips press together. He looks at me, quiet and steady, and it clearly costs him everything.
"I know your job is important," he says softly. "I just need to know I matter, too."
It hits me like a backdraft. Every nerve in my body snaps to attention. This is Milo choosing the hard thing. Two weeks ago, he would have smoothed this over so I didn't have to feel like a dick. Not tonight. He's holding the line, and his bravery makes my chest ache.
Across the table, Jude starts to lean forward. Rhys drops a heavy hand on his thigh, holding him back.
"Can I sit?" I ask, glancing at the booth.
Milo nods. Soren slides out, giving Milo's arm a light squeeze before he goes, and I drop into the space across from my mate. The noise of the bar fades into a dull roar. Milo's hands are flat on the wood. I want to grab them, but I haven't earned it yet.
"You're right," I tell him. "I should have said no to Marco. I didn't, because saying yes is just what I do. It's easier than saying I can't because I have plans with my mate. Saying that feels..." I trail off, trying to find the word.
"Selfish," Milo whispers.
The word hangs between us. I look at him, realizing we're fighting the exact same demon. His tells him his needs are a burden. Mine tells me my needs come last.
"Yeah," I agree. "I've been calling it responsibility, but it's not.
It's just easier to be needed at work. There's a fire, I go in.
There's an open shift, I take it. But this?
" I meet his eyes. They're wet, but he's holding my gaze.
"You are my priority. Not the station. Not Marco.
You. I'm going to talk to Captain Reeves tomorrow.
Tell him I'm not the automatic yes for last-minute swaps anymore.
If I have plans with you, I'm not available. That's the change."
Milo doesn't rush to say it's okay. He sits with it. I watch the tension slowly drain out of his shoulders.
Then, he reaches across the table and covers my hand. He doesn't clutch. He just presses his palm flat against my knuckles, sliding his fingers between mine. Solid. Warm.
"I run into burning buildings for a living," I mutter, "and I can't figure out how to say no to a shift swap."
His mouth twitches. The first real sign of a smile since I walked in.
"You're an idiot," he says softly.
"I'm aware."
"A big, strong, garlic-bread-making idiot who doesn't know how to prioritize."
"I'm working on it."
"Work faster." He squeezes my hand, the smile finally reaching his eyes.
My phone buzzes on the table. The screen lights up with a KnotMe notification. You have matches waiting! Perfect fucking timing.
Milo glances at the screen, then up at me.
"You know," I say, scowling at the little flame logo, "the thought of anyone else seeing your profile still makes me want to punch a wall."
"I deleted it," Milo says, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Weeks ago. After the bite. It felt done. You?"
I pick up my phone, open the settings, and find the app. I look right at Milo as I hit delete. Are you sure? Yes. The icon vanishes. The last anonymous escape hatch, gone.
"Now," I say.
"Did he just delete it?" Jude's voice comes across the bar, shattering the moment. "KnotMe's second accidental success story, I take full credit—"
"You had nothing to do with this," Benji snaps.
"I AM THE ARCHITECT OF LOVE—"
Milo bursts out laughing. His fingers are still laced with mine, his face bright and alive. Hearing that sound, right here, surrounded by his people, is worth every ounce of guilt I've carried all day.
I stand and pull him up with me. We walk back to the main table.
Jude immediately starts interrogating me about my cooking.
Benji informs me he has a shovel and no alibi.
Shay just gives me a single, sharp nod. Soren looks me over and smiles.
Rhys catches my eye and tilts his beer—a quiet, alpha-to-alpha I know what it costs, it's worth it—and I nod back.
Milo slides into the booth next to me, his fingers pressing into my thigh under the table. It's not sexual. It's anchoring. The same way he presses into the blankets when he's building his nest, making sure everything is exactly where it belongs.
I'm the thing he's keeping in place.
Jude asks me if I've ever actually carried someone out of a burning building, Benji rolls his eyes, and Milo leans his weight against my side. I wrap my arm around him, breathing in his warmth, and realize this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.