Chapter 18
Sam
"Reeves. I heard about the fire at the Donovan house."
Deputy Chief Graff crossed the bay toward me, his face set in something that looked like genuine concern. He'd been making rounds with Cap, the way brass did every few months, but now his attention had landed on me.
"Hell of a thing," he said. "How's Miss Donovan doing? And the little girl?"
"They're okay. Recovering."
"Good. That's good." He shook his head slowly. "Christ. Jack would've hated this. His family going through more loss." He clapped my shoulder. "You're a good man, looking after them. Jack picked his friends well."
I nodded. I didn't know what to say to that.
Sean looked up from the rig he'd been wiping down. "What'd the marshal say? Any idea what started it?"
The bay went quiet. Tyler stopped what he was doing. Even Cap turned to listen.
The weight of the question settled on my shoulders.
"Still investigating," I said.
It wasn't a lie. Not technically. The investigation was ongoing. The police were looking for leads.
But I didn't tell them about the accelerant. About the note on Jamie's doorstep. About the word arson sitting in my chest like a stone I couldn't swallow.
I didn't want to believe it could be someone in the department. Danny was right. These men wouldn't torch a house with a four-year-old inside just to scare off a woman pushing for reforms.
But I couldn't be sure. And until I was, I wasn't going to say anything that might tip off whoever did this.
Sean nodded, accepting the answer. Tyler went back to his work. The moment passed.
But I felt the cost of it. These were my brothers. I didn't keep things from them.
Graff's tone shifted. Lighter now, like he was moving on to easier ground.
"Speaking of looking after yourself." He tucked his hands in his pockets. "I saw the Hendersons at the club last week."
I kept my face neutral.
"They were having dinner with the Montgomerys, actually. Bryce was there." Graff chuckled. "Those two families are thick as thieves these days."
Something cold moved through my chest. The Hendersons and the Montgomerys. Bryce sitting at that table, charming everyone, playing the golden boy while Jamie slept in my bed with nothing but the clothes I'd bought her.
"Shame about you and Amber," Graff continued. "Her father had high hopes for you. Still does, from what I hear."
"We broke up, sir."
"I heard." He shrugged like it was a minor detail. "Still. That recommendation letter I wrote doesn't expire. The offer's on the table if you ever change your mind."
"I appreciate it." I met his eyes. "But I'm staying."
Graff studied me for a moment. Something in his expression shifted. Respect, maybe. Or just acceptance.
"Fair enough." He nodded. "You're a good firefighter, Reeves. We're lucky to have you."
He clapped my shoulder one more time, then walked off to finish his rounds with Cap.
Sean didn't miss a beat. "College, huh?" He grinned, tossing his rag over his shoulder. "What's wrong, Reeves? Fighting fires not good enough for you?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
Tyler smirked.
"Good." Sean's grin widened. "Because we don't need guys who think they're too good for the job."
I got back to work. I'd made my choice. I was exactly where I wanted to be.
But the weight of what I hadn't said stayed with me. The arson. The note. The possibility, however small, that someone I trusted could be responsible.
I carried it alone. For now.
The apartment smelled like bacon when I walked through the door.
Rosie spotted me first. She abandoned her crayons and launched herself across the room, wrapping her arms around my legs before I'd even set down my keys.
"Uncle Sam!"
I crouched down and hugged her back. "Hey, Rosie. What are you drawing?"
"A fire truck." She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the coffee table where her crayons were spread out. "It's red. Like the real ones."
"That's a good fire truck."
Jamie turned from the stove. She was wearing one of my shirts, the sleeves rolled up past her elbows, her hair pulled back. She had a spatula in one hand. She smiled when she saw me, and something in my chest loosened.
"Pancakes," she said. "I hope that's okay. I found the mix in your cabinet."
"More than okay."
It had been a few days since the fire. A few days of Jamie in my kitchen, Rosie's crayons on my coffee table, the sound of small feet padding down the hallway in the morning.
My apartment had never felt like this. Not even when Amber used to stay over.
This was different. Warmer. Like the walls had been waiting for something to fill them.
I knew it was temporary. I knew they'd find a new place eventually. But I wasn't in a hurry to remind anyone of that.
We sat at the table together. Rosie attacked her pancakes, syrup dripping down her chin. Jamie cut hers into small pieces, eating slowly, while her mind floated somewhere else.
"I've been thinking about the proposal," she said.
I looked up from my plate.
"We need more voices. Not just firefighters." She set down her fork. "Other first responders. People who see how Havensworth handles emergencies from the outside."
"Like who?"
"ER nurses. Paramedics." She paused. "Jenna. The woman Jack saved. She's an ER nurse. She sees what comes through those doors."
I thought of Jenna at the hospital after the fire. The way she'd appeared at Jamie's bedside and taken care of them both.
"She already knows what the system costs," Jamie continued. "She might be willing to talk. And she might know others who would too."
I watched her across the table. She'd lost everything in that fire and here she was, just a few days later, still building. Still fighting.
"You're relentless," I said. "You know that?"
She almost smiled. "I can't just sit here, Sam. If I stop moving, I'll—" She shook her head. Didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't have to. I understood. Grief was patient. It waited for you to slow down.
"It's going to be hard," I said. "Getting people to go on record."
"I know."
"But I'm with you. Whatever you need."
Her eyes met mine. Something passed between us that I didn't have words for.
"Whoops!" Rosie's juice tipped sideways, orange liquid spreading across the table. "I'm sorry!"
Jamie was on her feet instantly, grabbing napkins. "It's okay, sweetheart. Accidents happen."
I helped mop up the spill while Rosie watched with wide, worried eyes. Jamie reassured her, and by the time the table was dry, Rosie had already forgotten her distress and was asking for more pancakes.
Then someone knocked on the door.
I crossed the room and opened it.
My whole body went rigid.
Bryce Montgomery stood in the hallway. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a gift bag in the other, a stuffed animal peeking out the top. His face was arranged into what you'd mistake for concern.
"Sam." He nodded like we were old friends. "I heard about the fire. Terrible thing." His eyes moved past me, scanning the apartment. "Is Jamie here? I wanted to see if there's anything I can do."
I didn't move from the doorway.
Jamie appeared behind me. I felt her go still when she saw who it was.
"Bryce."
"Jamie." He tried to sound sympathetic."I'm so sorry about the house. Your family's been through so much already." He held out the flowers and the gift bag. "These are for you and Rosie. I know it's not much, but I wanted you to know people are thinking of you."
Jamie didn't take them.
"I also wanted to offer some help," Bryce continued. Unfazed. "I have a contact at the insurance company. Things can get tied up in red tape for months, but I can make a call to get your claim expedited."
Jamie hesitated.
I wanted to slam the door in his face. I wanted to tell him to stay the hell away from her.
But I couldn't. Because Bryce wasn't threatening anyone.
He was standing in my hallway with flowers and a stuffed animal, offering to help a woman who'd just lost her home.
And Jamie was living in my one-bedroom apartment with a four-year-old and nothing but the clothes on her back.
"I don't need your help," Jamie said.
"I know you don't need it." Bryce's smile didn't waver. "But you deserve it. After everything you've been through."
He set the flowers and the gift bag on the floor just inside the doorway and stepped back.
"Just think about it.” He raised his hands, palms out. "No pressure. My number's the same." He nodded at me, then at Jamie. "Take care of yourselves."
He turned and walked away.
Jamie stared at the flowers on the floor.
"You're not calling him," I said.
"I know." She picked up the bouquet and looked at it for a long moment. "Do you have a favorite elderly neighbor?"
I almost smiled. "Mrs. Thompson. 4B. She waters her plants every morning."
"Perfect." Jamie set the flowers on the counter.
Then she picked up the gift bag and pulled out the stuffed animal. It was a generic brown bear with a pink ribbon around its neck. She turned it over in her hands. Squeezed it. Hard. Like she was trying to strangle it.
"You don't have to take it out on the stuffed animal," I said.
"I just want to make sure that creep didn't put a camera in this."
She wasn't joking. Or maybe she was. With Jamie, it was hard to tell.
She squeezed it again, checking the seams, the eyes, the ribbon. Finally satisfied, she set it on the table. Rosie would probably love it. That was the worst part.
The card—a small white rectangle that had been tucked into the bouquet—went straight in the trash.