Chapter forty-two Tessa
Chapter forty-two
Tessa
“Can we go now?” Jake whines, rocking back and forth on his heels with his backpack slung over his shoulders. He’s eager to get to school and see his friends, completely unaware of the turmoil clouding my mind.
Logan should’ve been here by now.
His twenty-four-hour shift was over at eight a.m., and we don’t live too far from the station.
When no major calls come in during the night or early hours of the morning, he usually makes it here within fifteen minutes of getting off.
Last night, when we spoke on the phone before bed, he was looking forward to joining us for breakfast and driving Jake to school.
I’ve sent him a handful of text messages and tried calling, but they have all gone unanswered.
Something’s wrong.
I don’t know how else to describe the feeling swirling in the pit of my stomach.
If everything were fine, he would be here.
I don’t want to let the dark thoughts intrude, but I don’t know how to shove them away when everything inside of me is screaming that this isn’t right.
Logically, I know he’s probably just been pulled away for a fire or some other type of emergency, but the fact that I haven’t heard from him is starting to get to me.
Jake doesn’t need to see that I’m worried, though.
“Yeah, let’s get going. Are you excited for school today?” I ask, trying to force any hint of unease away from my voice.
“Yeah, because my teacher said we get to play with Play-Doh today for building letters,” he says, the words tumbling out of him in a jumbled mess.
He has been talking about making Play-Doh letters all morning.
At the beginning of the school year, the teacher asked for donations of individual containers of the colorful molding dough and explained that students would use it for learning experiences in the classroom.
I never would’ve thought to have Jake practice building letters out of the colorful clay.
It sounds like it’ll be a lot of fun for the kids.
He continues to rattle on about the letters and sight words he thinks they’ll be building while we make the short drive to his school.
In the drop-off line, he practically jumps out of the car and almost forgets his backpack due to his eagerness to get the school day started.
A slight laugh bursts free as I reach behind the passenger seat and grab his bag, handing it to him.
“I love you, buddy. I hope you have a great day.”
“I love you too, Momma!” he calls back, slamming the door before running off toward the kindergarten playground.
A smile crawls across my face as I watch him, but it quickly disappears when the nervous energy from unanswered calls and text messages slips back into focus.
The morning rush of customers at Lori’s Diner gives my brain a momentary reprieve, but it doesn’t keep me from checking my phone as often as possible.
I sent Liv a text this morning letting her know I needed her, and thankfully, with The Stampede not being open this early, she’s on her way in to keep me company while I work and try to keep my mind from its downward spiral.
Tom Mercer stops in, as usual, and seeing him brings a momentary smile to my face.
Jake spent twenty minutes on the phone last night, video chatting with Zack and telling him all about “Momma’s firefighter boyfriend.
” My heart stings when I think of Zack and how he felt the need to move all the way across the country to Haven Beach, California to get away from our town and the heartache it holds.
But if there’s anyone who understands what he’s been through, it’s me.
As far as I know, Tom has never been anything but supportive of his children, though a little hard on them at times, and he seems happy with Zack’s decision.
He and his girlfriend, Quinn, flew in for Jake’s fifth birthday, and we’ve been better about keeping in touch since.
Ryan would have wanted Zack to be in our son’s life.
“Good morning, Tessa,” the older gentleman says as he slides into one of the red vinyl booths, the local newspaper in one hand. I’m fairly certain most of the articles in that thing are about town gossip.
“Morning, Tom. What can I get for you?” I ask, leaning a hip against the side of the table as I force a smile down at him. I don’t think I can handle being asked how I’m doing right now, and if I let the happy facade slip, that’s exactly what will happen.
“Just coffee for now,” he says, setting the newspaper on the table. “Aaron and Leah should be here shortly.” The two don’t typically join him for breakfast. Aaron’s either busy with work or volunteering at the station, and his sister, Leah is a stay-at-home mom to two small children.
I raise a brow. “Any special occasion?” I don’t remember the last time I saw Leah come in. Aaron often stops in for coffee, and between the fire station and Luke’s bookstore, I see him pretty frequently.
“Trying to plan a surprise birthday party for my wife.” He chuckles. “But nothing gets past her. Figured it was safer for us to meet here instead of having ‘em come to the house.”
I laugh. “That makes sense. I’ll grab that coffee for you and be right back.
” Standing in front of the shelves of colorful coffee mugs, my eyes wander over each one, debating which would be perfect for the retired police officer.
Settling on a navy blue mug with white lettering that says “Not all heroes wear capes,” I fill it with coffee and creamer, keeping it simple the way he usually orders.
The bell above the door chimes as Liv walks in, moving her sunglasses to the top of her head. I offer her a tight-lipped smile as I take Tom his coffee. “Here you go. I’ll check back in with you once the other two have arrived.” He thanks me and turns his attention to his newspaper.
I move back toward the counter, slipping behind it as Liv slides onto one of the barstools.
“Okay, tell me what’s going on,” she says, folding her arms on the counter in front of her and leaning forward.
Her auburn hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, a few strands hanging down to frame her face.
The smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones is highlighted by the hint of blush dusting her cheeks.
She’s wearing an oversized black logo shirt from The Stampede with a loose knot tied in front.
The logo includes a horseshoe sitting sideways to frame the outer edge of the letter P, designed by a local artist in town.
“I haven’t heard from Logan.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, intensifying the feeling of unease.
I run through all of my thoughts with her, explaining how he was meant to join us for breakfast and was looking forward to taking Jake to school, but he didn’t show up.
I even tell her how, realistically, I know he’s likely been pulled away for work.
I’m no stranger to a first responder’s schedule, and this isn’t the first time he has been late for something or we’ve needed to change our plans due to his work, but it’s the first time without communication.
She reaches across the counter and settles her hand on mine. “What can I do to help? I can text Grayson and see if he knows what’s going on, but if he is on duty, I doubt he’ll answer. If they were called out, that means he’s busy too.”
The offer settles something inside of me. I’m not the only person who has someone they care about at Hartridge F.D.
“I’m trying really hard not to panic. I know that odds are, he’s fine. They both are. But—”
“What happened to Ryan was an accident, Tess. I get that it’s something a part of you will always hold on to.
But you have to trust that whatever is going on, Logan knows what he’s doing.
Just because he hasn’t called or texted back doesn’t mean something is wrong.
It just means he’s busy. He likely doesn’t even have his phone on him if they got called out.
He would be putting himself and the rest of the crew at risk if he were to take the time to text you back instead of focusing on whatever it is they’re dealing with. ”
I know she’s right. But there’s still a piece of me that desperately needs the confirmation. I don’t think I’ll be able to relax until I see him for myself.
The bell above the diner’s entry door chimes as it swings open, a woman with dark hair walking over to Tom Mercer’s booth and sliding in on the opposite side of him.
Leah Mercer.
There’s an invisible tether in my chest pulling me back over to their table, my feet dragging along the floor.
“Sorry I’m late, Dad,” Leah says, setting her purse beside her. “Aaron can’t make it. He left me a message a little bit ago saying he was on his way to help with the fire at Rideout Ranch.”
And just like that, every worst case scenario I can possibly imagine comes crashing through my mind—each one hinges on the fear of again losing the man I love.