24. Ari
TWENTY-FOUR
ARI
A faint hum from the truck bay filled the upstairs like background music—boots thudding, lockers clanging, someone laughing too loud.
Maybe it still hadn’t hit me that I was done.
The room I’d worked on, the one with scuffed floors, busted lockers, and walls the color of old bones was finished.
Every brushstroke, every stenciled letter, every panel mounted and corner polished. Done.
A whole damn chapter of my life closed with a final coat of varnish.
I finally understood what Reid was doing when he gave me this room.
It wasn’t just about paint or fixing up a space. It was him saying, I see you. I believe in you. You can finish what you start.
He never said it out loud—but he didn’t have to.
He gave me something to finish.
And I did.
Same with the swing on Mom’s back patio.
I’d walked past that swing for weeks, telling myself I’d get to it. Then one day, I did. Scraped the rust, repainted the armrest, swapped the cushion, replaced the chain. Now it doesn’t moan in the breeze anymore. And it’s actually... comfortable.
Just like this room. Just like me.
I was starting to feel solid. Capable.
And I loved my Daddy for that. For seeing the parts of me I’d stopped trusting. For grounding me when I spiraled. For the way we fit—grit and softness, structure and surrender.
Daddy and boy.
Balanced.
"Looks incredible, man." Marco said, pulling me back to the present. He leaned in the doorway, arms folded, nodding toward the mural stretching across the back wall. A full-on tribute to the station’s past and present—old helmets, ladder silhouettes, a skyline in dusk tones. A soft glint of gold leaf caught the light where I’d painted the first engine number. Subtle. But proud.
"Thanks." I wiped my fingers on a rag, stepped back, and took it in one more time. Pride curled under my ribs.
Mayor Price had called that morning while I was still bleary-eyed, sitting cross-legged on my bed with a half-eaten granola bar and no shirt. She sounded chipper, like someone who’d already had a full day before eight a.m.
“Your work for the Fourth was beautiful, Ari,” she’d said. “Those banners? The whole setup had a vibrancy we haven’t seen in years. You’ve got a gift—and we’d like to offer you a position teaching art at our summer camp. Weekdays. Paid, of course.”
I’d nearly choked on a raisin.
She’d laughed, told me to think about it. But I already knew. I’d said yes before we hung up, voice too eager, heart racing like I’d just been handed a lifeline.
Somehow, that wasn’t even the biggest thing happening today.
Daddy was going to tell Sage.
No more secrets. No more sneaking kisses in stairwells or ducking out behind the truck bay like teenagers. My brother—Daddy’s best friend—was finally going to know.
And it didn’t scare me the way I thought it would.
Not after last night.
Not after Mom knocked on my door and asked if I was busy.
“Hey, sweetheart. You working on something?”
She hovered in the doorway, clutching her tea mug like she wasn’t sure if she was interrupting. I was cross-legged on my bed, sketchbook balanced against my knees, pencil smudged between my fingers. I shrugged and smiled.
“Just messing around with ideas. You can come in.”
She stepped inside, settled on the edge of my bed like she used to when I was a kid with the flu. Her tea smelled like peppermint. Her eyes flicked to my sketchbook, then to me.
“You’ve been drawing a lot lately,” she said, voice easy but watchful.
“I guess.” I hesitated. “I’m starting to feel like myself again.”
She nodded, then took a sip from her mug. “You’ve seemed... lighter lately. Happier.”
I glanced down at the page. I’d been shading a sunflower, looping the petals with lazy lines, but now my hand had gone still.
“I’m trying to be.”
We sat in silence for a few seconds. Then she said, “I didn’t get to ask—what’s your week looking like?”
I relaxed a little. “Wrapping up at the station tomorrow.”
Her eyes brightened. “That’s wonderful, Ari.” She smiled into her tea. “I’m proud of you. You're creating again. And you’re smiling. That’s not something I take for granted.”
I looked at her then, and she was already watching me.
“What?” I asked quietly.
“I didn’t see you two together,” she said after a moment. “Not holding hands. Not kissing. Nothing like that. But I know about you and Reid.”
My heart gave a hard, uneven thump. “You—how?”
She let out a soft breath. “The day he came to see you after the hospital? The way you looked at him told me everything I needed to know. And the way he looked at you...” She reached out and brushed a curl from my forehead. “It wasn’t subtle.”
My stomach twisted. “Are you mad?”
“No, baby. Of course not.”
Her voice stayed calm, but her eyes were full.
“I’ve watched you retreat from everything that made you who you are. That boy at Westbrook hurt you in ways I’m still angry about. But lately... you’ve been coming back. You paint. You laugh. You open the windows again when it rains. You look like you belong to yourself.”
She squeezed my hand gently. “I think Reid has something to do with that. And I think you deserve to have someone in your corner who sees how special you are.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. “So you’re... okay with it?”
“I’m more than okay with it. I’m happy for you. He’s a good man. And he clearly loves you.”
I blinked hard. “We haven’t said that yet.”
Her smile was soft. “You will.”
Tears had come quick. Sharp. Unexpected.
She’d kissed my temple and whispered, “You deserve to be loved well, baby. And I think he’s doing just that.”
Footsteps scuffed down the corridor pulling me gently back to now. My chest felt light and full at the same time, like I’d swallowed helium and joy in the same breath.
Happy didn’t even begin to cover it.
Daddy was mine. My mom knew. My brother would know soon.
And maybe—for the first time in years—I wasn’t holding my breath anymore.
I moved toward the open door. Just outside, fire hoses looped across the asphalt in careful arcs, ladder trucks gleaming in the morning sun. Boone stood by the engine, gesturing toward the hose line, while Ledger double-checked some clamps near the base.
Daddy stood off to the side in his uniform, clipboard tucked under one arm, squinting like he was cataloguing every movement. Even in uniform, he looked unfairly sexy—broad shoulders, sleeves snug around biceps that had no business looking that good.
He turned slightly and caught my eye. His face softened. Just for me.
That look still got me. Every time.
Ledger adjusted his grip, reaching for the latch. Something slipped. Boone’s voice cut through the yard—urgent. “Watch it!”
The ladder jerked hard to the left.
Daddy moved fast. One foot stepped up, arm outstretched to steady it—then his boot caught on the edge of the platform.
He fell sideways.
Not a warning. Not a shout. Just the jarring thud of his body hitting the asphalt.
Flat on his back. Hard.
Everything around me froze.
Marco’s voice punched through the silence, clipped, panicked. “Morgan!”
My breath caught so hard I thought my ribs might snap. I bolted—heart crashing against bone—only to be snagged by Boone halfway across the bay.
“Hang on,” he said tightly, fingers strong around my arm. “Let them check him.”
I strained against his grip, heart pounding so loud it swallowed every voice, every sound. Just that one awful rhythm was all I could hear.
The ladder crew closed in, forming a half-circle.
Daddy pushed himself up slowly. One hand braced behind him, the other at the base of his skull. His eyes were half-lidded. Mouth tight.
“I’m fine,” he said. But the words came loose, like he couldn’t quite grip them.
Marco knelt beside him. “You slurred that, man. You might be concussed.”
“I’m not—” Daddy blinked. Wavered. His hand dropped, fingers dragging lightly over the pavement. “I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t.
Griff already had a phone to his ear. Trent crouched low, saying something I couldn’t hear. Ledger stood back, frozen, his mouth open, face gray.
Then Daddy swayed.
Just slightly. A lean to one side. Eyes losing focus. Like he was still upright only because his pride hadn’t registered the danger.
Fear spiked through me. Clean and hot.
“Hey,” I said, breath catching. “Da–Reid. Hey. Look at me.”
I didn’t mean to let it slip—not even half the honorific. But fear doesn’t ask permission.
His eyes tried. Struggled. Found me.
“Ari,” he mumbled.
A moment passed where he looked like himself. Then his head dropped forward.
Marco caught him.
The ambulance pulled in just minutes later, but it felt like a lifetime. Doors slammed. EMTs jumped out, fast and professional. Words flew past me. Head injury. Possible concussion. Pupils not equal. Keep him awake.
“I said I’m good,” Daddy muttered, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up on one elbow. His arm buckled. He collapsed back against the pavement with a grimace.
Marco reached to steady him, but Daddy waved him off. “It’s just my back—knocked the wind outta me. I’m good, Marco. Just gimme a second.”
His words slurred again. Not as bad this time, but enough to make Marco’s mouth tighten.
“Morgan,” Marco warned, crouched low beside him now. “Stay down.”
“I’m not dying,” Daddy mumbled, clearly annoyed that no one was buying it.
He looked right at me again as they brought the gurney over. Tried for a smile and barely managed it.
My breath broke in my chest.
“I’ll ride with him,” I said.
One of the EMTs shook her head. “Only space for staff. You can follow us.”
They moved quickly. Boone stepped back to let them through.
Daddy turned his head on the stretcher. His eyes found mine—glassy now.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
No, it wasn’t.
Not when he was strapped down. Not when his hands weren’t steady. Not when the guy who could carry three people out of a burning building could barely keep his eyes open.
Boone’s grip didn’t let up, his palm like iron on my bicep.
“Boone,” I rasped. “Please.”
He glanced down at me, eyes full of conflict. “You can’t help him right now, Ari. Let them do their job.”
I watched as they slipped the oxygen mask over Daddy’s face. The neck brace clicked into place. Every sound landed like a hammer to my chest.
I hadn’t said it.
God, I hadn’t told him I loved him.
Not once. Not out loud. Not when it was quiet and safe and we had all the time in the world.
And what if we didn’t?
Boone’s fingers loosened. Just barely.
“Don’t get in their way,” he muttered. Then let go.
I moved forward, legs shaky, ribs tight like something inside me might shatter.
My throat closed so tight it felt like I couldn’t breathe. My mouth moved, but nothing came out. Not at first.
But then Daddy looked at me again—eyes unfocused, the barest twitch of a smile on his mouth.
Something cracked open inside me. I couldn’t hold it back.
“I love you!” The words ripped free, too loud, too raw. “I love you! Daddy—do you hear me? I love you!”
Every head turned. Even the EMT paused.
And Daddy’s eyes fluttered, just a little.
Then they loaded him up.
Boone laid a hand on my shoulder. "Come sit down. We’ll call Sage. He’ll get you to the hospital."
I nodded, but my knees didn’t feel like they belonged to me. My legs felt useless. Boone guided me to the bench outside the station. Marco handed me a bottle of water. Griff kept watch like I might unravel.
Ten minutes passed. Or a year.
Sage pulled in, jaw tight, worry etched across his face. “Come on,” he said.
I climbed into the passenger seat. Shut the door.
I stared out the window, fingers fisted in my lap. Outside the window, everything looked normal. Birds on a wire. Sunlight skipping across rooftops. But nothing in me felt normal.
And neither of us said a word.
My heart was already at the hospital. Waiting on someone to tell me that the man I loved—the man I hadn’t gotten to love for nearly long enough—was going to be okay.