Chapter 47
FORTY-SEVEN
WARREN
“I stayed the night.”
Kevin nearly topples out of his chair as I stride into his office, shocked at my abrupt and early arrival. I’m usually dragging my feet to his office, and today is the first time I’ve felt propelled to attend a session.
“This is good news, I presume?” He shuts his laptop and waves me over to our usual seating arrangement. “No incidents?”
“None.” I collapse onto the leather chair I’ve grown acquainted with. “I woke once and couldn’t fall asleep again for a while, but I stayed.”
He’s genuinely pleased. “I’m not suggesting you weren’t ready, but what brought on this next step?”
I suddenly feel like a teenager under microscopic scrutiny for staying out late. It’s not like I need Kevin’s approval, but we’ve talked at lengths about my sleep pattern and ways to improve it without medication. Outside of anti-depressants, other medications make me sluggish and distant.
Spending the night with Harriet—and most of the morning—definitely wasn’t an option we discussed.
It could still be a fluke. The last forty-eight hours have been a non-stop rollercoaster.
I’m riding the high of moving forward with Harriet and staying the night, but the wake of the accident and the emotional toll from telling her about my PTSD darkens the edges.
“Harriet was in a car accident. A minor one,” I quickly add. “I’d rather talk about that near the end, but after the hospital gave her the all clear, we went back to her house. I told her about my PTSD.”
Kevin remains his impassive self. “That’s a huge step. Not just for you, but for your relationship. I’m guessing she reacted well.”
My chest warms. The once icy, cavernous crater beats wildly from remembering the understanding and care Harriet showed.
As if I expected anything else. I hadn’t prepared to tell her that night, and a part of me still flinches at the reminder, worried she’ll regret it or think better than to tie herself to me.
I replay it all to Kevin, who jots some notes down and asks some clarifying questions before closing his notebook.
“It’s important you not only understand what a monumental step this is, Warren, but how it can hopefully improve your quality of life.
You’ve spent the better part of seven years functioning on a few hours’ sleep while keeping up with the demands of your job.
” He performs a classic Kevin head tilt.
“Have you considered inviting Harriet over to your house?”
“No.” I wince at my sharpness. “I’m not ready. It’s easier for me to go to her anyway.”
Patient as ever, Kevin waits for me to calm.
“I’m going to sell it.” I crack my knuckles. Selling my house isn’t a spur-of-the-moment idea; it’s one I’ve sat on for years. “I’ve been holding on to the memories of that house while doing my best to forget them.”
“That’s understandable. Those memories won’t disappear with the house, though, and it’s important you concentrate on sharing them with Harriet and anyone new who comes into your life. While difficult, they are a part of you.”
I frown. “You said ‘you,’ not ‘we.’ Are you going somewhere?”
He cocks his head. “Warren, this is our last session.”
My mouth opens, ready to argue, but I do the math, and he’s right. This is our eighth and final session before he makes his recommendation to the board on whether I’m fit to return to duties.
The elation from when I arrived quickly dissolves into anxiety.
“You seem sad to hear this. Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of our appointments,” he jokes.
“Fond isn’t the word I’d use,” I mumble. There’s no denying I was impatient for today’s appointment and how we could work toward another goal or milestone in my journey.
“I’m not cruel, so I won’t drag this out.
” I wait with bated breath. “I don’t believe you to be a risk to your team or the public in any capacity, so long as you follow orders and protocol.
I especially don’t believe you to be at risk to yourself.
I’ll be recommending close supervision for your own benefit.
You’ve made strides since our first meeting and should be proud of yourself.
Being here may not have been your choice, but it’s clear you’re putting in the effort, and I’ve no doubt you’ll continue to do so after you leave here today.
“Many first responders walk through my door and never fully recover from the traumas they’ve experienced.
There’s never any shame in whatever you choose to do, but I know the department would lose an extremely talented and dedicated member.
” He leans forward. “This is all on you, Warren. You put in the time and effort. Recognize and pride yourself on that knowledge.”
A timid voice in my head says we’re not ready to graduate. I’m stubborn to a fault, yes, but there’s so much more I need to accomplish, to tell Harriet. This can’t be the end. I should be jumping for joy I’m returning to work, and yet, all I feel is discontent.
I’m not done healing.
“Do you only work for the department?” I ask.
He frowns, unsure where this is headed. “No. I take on all sorts of clients, though I mainly work with first responders.”
I unclench my jaw. “I’d like to become a private client. Starting next week, if possible.”
I’d prepared myself for the nerves on the run up to my first shift back. I’d spent the morning overthinking and obsessing over every tiny detail, reminding myself of the stages following the tone. The exact order of my turnout gear. The protocols and procedures.
Turns out, it’s all muscle memory, and the nerves? Non-existent. If anything, I’m numb to it, like I was never away.
Riley Anders, our newest probie, is the last to climb into the truck, seating himself on my left, and then, we’re off. We fly out of the station, bumping over potholes, the sirens blaring overhead.
He rubs at his eyes, groaning and mumbling.
I’m silent, listening alertly to dispatch over the radio, waiting for instructions and cataloging every detail.
The universe eases me into my first day. It’s a minor call. Grease fire. Commercial kitchen. Two injured. Minimal injuries. Flames controlled.
The chatter in the engine fades as I run through hundreds of scenarios, preparing myself for any outcome. This has been my routine en route to every call for years. My crewmates are used to my silence.
Riley is new and almost half my age.
He’s alive with adrenaline.
And a fucking chatterbox.
“O’Connor, did you catch the game last night?” He jabs me in the ribs with his elbow. “Spencer took a swing at that last ball like it was his last day on Earth.”
I grunt in response and scoot away from him, which he takes as his invitation to get comfortable and spread his legs.
“I’m hosting a barbecue at my complex in a few weeks. You should come. Most of the crew are coming. Baseball. Ribs. Beer. Partners are welcome too,” he rambles on and on and on.
There’s a snort from the front seat. Marcus turns toward us, a smug grin on his face.
“Anders, new lesson for you,” he says.
Riley perks up like a puppy, paws raised while he waits for a treat or good boy. “Yeah, Captain?”
“O’Connor doesn’t socialize. Save your breath. We’ve tried for years.” He gives me an incredulous look, almost daring me. A bet he’d usually win.
I don’t break eye contact. “I’d love to come. I’ll bring my girlfriend. Maybe she can bring a plate of something.”
Marcus’s brows shoot to his hairline. It’s the first time I’ve referred to Harriet as my girlfriend. She’s so much more, but it does the trick in shutting him up.
“Oh. Is this the same girlfriend who baked us cookies?” Riley asks.
“Sure is.”
I wouldn’t put my crew through her strange concoctions again. Though, if she offers, I’m not telling her no, and they’ll have to persevere and eat every crumb.
My gaze drifts to the window, ignoring Marcus’s probing stare. This is Riley’s second week. He’ll learn I’m not the warmhearted big brother type soon enough, but I pride myself on showing new members the ropes and keeping them on track. My knowledge is his knowledge and I want him to succeed.
We arrive at the location. Marcus talks to the owner while Riley and another crew member head inside to ensure the fire is completely contained. This leaves me to tend to the two injured line cooks, both sitting on the curb with icepacks on their burned arms.
I stomp toward them with my medical bag slung over my shoulder. “Take them off,” I instruct.
My bedside manner could do with some work, I’ll admit, but neither of them protest as they follow my instructions.
After treating the burns, I advise them there’s no risk of infection or need for hospital treatment and walk them through the appropriate aftercare for first-degree burns. Job done, I dispose of my bag and head to where Marcus waits by the rig.
“Am I needed inside?” I ask.
“Nah, they’re almost done. Small grease fire a line cook tried to extinguish.” He grinds his jaw. “With water.”
“Fucking hell.” I grimace. “Fire safety is a myth these days.”
Thirty minutes later, we wrap up, but not before the owner of the restaurant is given strict instructions to train his staff or he’ll be slapped with a notice from the local fire safety officer.
Somehow, I end up sitting next to Marcus, who usually sits with the driver. He’s not subtle, and I concentrate on the passing city lights until he breaks the silence.
“Girlfriend?” His tone is casual.
“Yes.” I knew this was coming. “Get whatever you want to say off your chest. You have until we’re at the firehouse.”
He snorts. “So defensive. Wait until your sister and mom find out.”
“You will not be the one to tell my mother. It’s new and…”
“A big step.” He pats me between the shoulder blades. “I’m fucking happy for you, brother. I’m also proud.”
I twist to face him, surprised to see emotion lining his face. Marcus has stuck with me through thick and thin. Where most friends would fade or grow tired of my shit, he hasn’t once turned his back on me.
He lowers his voice. “I know the therapy sessions were the last thing you wanted to do, but you stuck with them. Doctor Brunswick did nothing but sing your praises. It’s good having you back where you belong.”
He doesn’t just mean on the job.
“I’m selling the house.”
Marcus rears his head at the sudden subject change.
“It’s time. I’ve put it off for too long, and I want to move forward.
With Harriet. I’ll find somewhere closer to her.
” My voice turns lighter, a lot like how I’m feeling whenever Harriet occupies my mind, which is often.
Everything feels lighter recently. “We’re giving this a real shot, and it’s time to put the past behind me, once and for all. ”
“I’ll do what I can to help.” He pats my back. “You’ve told her everything?”
My attention remains facing forward. “She knows about my PTSD and April thirtieth.”