Chapter 31
HARTLEY
Morning light slips through the thin gap between the curtains and spreads across the wall in a pale stripe that grows wider every few minutes.
I wake before the alarm on my phone because my brain has already started moving.
For a second, I stay still under the blankets and listen to the apartment around me.
Stellan is still asleep beside me.
He lies on his stomach with one arm stretched across the mattress toward my side of the bed, his hand resting loosely near my ribs where he reached for me in his sleep.
The faint smell of smoke still clings to his hair even after the long shower we took last night.
I felt bad leaving Alaska in the living room with the TV babysitter, but I needed to feel him, and had to make sure he was alive.
I watch him longer than I mean to.
The news footage from last night still plays in my head if I let it. Flames rolling out of windows, firefighters moving through thick smoke, and the reporter’s voice repeating the same sentence about injuries and unstable structures.
My hand moves automatically and rests against the center of his back.
Warm.
Alive.
Stellan shifts under my touch but doesn’t wake. His shoulder moves slightly as he takes another slow breath. I press my palm flat against him for a second longer before pulling my hand away.
I sit up carefully so the mattress doesn’t bounce too much, and the blankets slide down around my waist. Stellan makes a quiet sound behind me when I move.
“You sneaking out already?” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
I glance back over my shoulder.
His eyes are barely open, and his hair sticks out in every direction.
“I was trying not to wake you,” I say.
He shifts onto his side and reaches out, his hand catching my wrist before I can stand.
“You didn’t succeed.”
His thumb brushes lightly across my skin.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
The question sits there between us.
I know what he means.
The fire, the news, the way I looked when he walked through the door.
I nod once. “Yeah. I am now.”
He watches me for another second like he’s making sure I mean it, then his grip loosens and his hand slides down to rest against my hip instead.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“I was about to make some.”
“Good,” he says, closing his eyes again. “Bring it back.”
I shake my head and pull on a pair of sweatpants from the floor.
“You are unbelievable.”
He smiles without opening his eyes.
“You like me anyway.”
The hallway floor creaks when I step out of the bedroom. Alaska meets me in the hall, stepping out of her bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She looks up the second she hears me and smiles.
“Morning, sweet girl. Wanna help me make coffee?”
She nods and follows me toward the kitchen, but when we make it to the living room, she diverts. Instead, she sits cross-legged on the rug with her dolls and starts playing.
I crouch next to her and brush a piece of hair away from her forehead. She holds up one of the dolls and moves it toward the others like she’s introducing a new character into whatever story she has going.
She turns the television on, and it plays softly in the background.
Not the news, just a quiet cartoon.
The kitchen still smells faintly like the tacos from yesterday and the lingering hint of smoke that followed Stellan home. I start the coffee maker and lean against the counter while it works, watching Alaska.
She moves the dolls across the table with careful focus, making small humming noises to herself that she probably doesn’t realize she is making.
My phone rests on the counter beside me and I wake the screen. The text messages from last night still sits on the screen above Stellan’s name.
Me: You okay?
Me: Please answer.
The tight feeling in my chest tries to come back when I see them.
I look toward the bedroom instead.
The door stands slightly open.
A minute later, Stellan appears in the hallway wearing the same sweatpants he found in my drawer weeks ago and never gave back. His hair sticks up worse than before and he rubs the back of his neck while he walks into the kitchen.
“Smells good,” he says.
I pour two mugs and slide one across the counter toward him. He takes a drink and sighs.
“The fire yesterday,” I say. “They said two firefighters were taken to the hospital.”
“Yeah.”
“Were they—”
“Not us,” he says gently. “Different company. They got caught when part of the roof of the second house gave out.”
I let out a breath. “They’re gonna be okay?”
He nods once. “Broken arm. Concussion. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.”
“And you?” I ask quietly. “You’re really okay?”
“I’m here,” he says. “The roof got soft and I almost went down, but Phoenix pulled me back.”
I hold his gaze, searching for anything he’s not saying.
After a second, he lifts his hand and brushes his thumb under my eye.
“It scared you,” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I admit. "You didn't call."
He goes still. "I know. My phone was in my coat in the rig the whole time. I didn't think about it until we were back at the station and I saw your texts, and by then I was already in the truck." He sets the mug down. "I should’ve found a way.” His expression softens. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Okay. Just… don’t ever make me hear about you on the news like that again.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “I’ll do my best.”
Alaska runs into the kitchen a second later and grabs his hand while she points toward the living room. Stellan crouches so he’s level with her.
“What is it?” he asks.
She grabs his fingers and pulls him toward the couch.
He glances back at me over his shoulder.
“I think I’m being summoned.”
“Good luck,” I say.
He laughs quietly and lets her drag him into the living room where she immediately starts explaining the doll situation through a combination of signs and dramatic pointing.
I stand in the kitchen doorway with my mug and watch them. The panic from last night feels farther away now.
Not gone, just quieter.
Stellan sits on the floor beside Alaska and nods seriously while she continues her explanation. Every once in a while he glances up and catches me watching.
He smiles each time.
And somewhere in the back of my mind I realize something I’ve been avoiding.
I can’t pretend him moving doesn’t matter anymore.