Chapter 34
“You have my number. Text me the details.”
Her words cut straight through me. I fight a gasp as she moves toward the exit. If I let her walk now, this is the end. And I really don’t want it to be.
“Maya, wait.”
My voice cracks but carries enough weight to make her stop.
She glances over her shoulder. The gesture feels like a slap in my face.
Her trust in me gone—everything we had between us broken—and for what?
You can’t let it end like this. I close the distance between us and gently brush her elbow with my fingers.
“Please,” I whisper.
When she finally turns, she does so slowly.
Her eyes cautious but searching. For the first time in days I get a good look at her.
There are dark shadows under her eyes, her cheeks are sunken, and she looks terribly pale.
My stomach turns so violently that I fear I’ll throw up.
I inhale sharply. This is my doing. I did this to her.
“No…” I exhale, the shock coursing through my body. “God, no…”
My lungs protest as my breathing speeds up and I let out a high-pitched wheezing sound. Maya’s guarded expression immediately falters and is replaced with worry. Her hand shoots out to steady me as her eyes search my face.
“Elena?”
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. Her hand moves from my arm to my shoulder, where she starts rubbing in slow circles.
“What happened?”
Her voice is so small and so filled with worry that I force my eyes open again.
How can I say no to her, to this? To the woman who cares more about me than her own feelings.
Because even at my worst, even after hurting her, she still goes out of her way to make me feel safe.
Denying her, denying us, is the greatest mistake of my life.
My career means nothing anymore, not if it means losing her.
I can’t. Not after having a taste of what it could be like.
“I was wrong,” I rasp.
She frowns and looks at me, the question clear on her face.
“There was a girl. Trapped in a car, we needed to extract. She was terrified, Maya. And all I could hear was your voice, begging me to do something about it. To help her.”
Her eyes grow large but she stays quiet.
“Between the accident, her unconscious mother, and the cutter, I thought it would be nice for her to see a friendly face.”
“You took your mask off,” Maya gasps.
The terror that shows on her face at that realization makes me wince. I reach for her and shake my head. Again, the feeling of disbelief washes over me.
“A stupid lapse in judgment, really.”
“But your lungs?”
“Minor smoke inhalation. Just an irritated throat and a mild cough. Nothing that won’t pass over the next couple of days. Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”
Her lips tremble at that, but she only nods.
Even in this moment she understands what the job means.
The risks that come with it. I reach up to cup her face and brush my thumb over her bottom lip.
Her eyes close instantly and she leans into my touch.
The tears that were brimming in my eyes now flow over.
“Maya… I…”
Her eyes snap open and she stares at me, her eyes flicking quickly from one side to the other.
Her jaw tenses under my fingertips and she rolls her shoulders forward, ready to bolt at any moment.
But she doesn’t move away from my touch, from me.
She just stands there, like a deer caught in the headlights.
“I don’t want this to be it,” I whisper, my voice raw.
I look up at her for an answer when the door swings open and she pushes herself away from me. My hand is still suspended in the air when Torres enters. He freezes instantly, his eyes sliding from me to Maya and back.
“Keep. Moving.” I growl low.
He scoffs and pushes past us, pressing me to the other side of the hallway. His eyes roll as he walks by. The anger inside me flares up instantly and I have to fight the urge to drag him down by his hair and punch him in the face.
I grit my teeth and flare my nostrils, but he completely ignores me. Fucking rat. He doesn’t deserve to call himself a firefighter, betraying his coworkers like that. People like him are a disgrace to the uniform.
“El?” Maya’s soft whisper pulls me out of my fury and my eyes are instantly on her.
“I… he…” I sigh. “It’s not relevant.”
She nods once, understanding. She glances at the door quickly, and then back at me. I can see the hesitation in her eyes, the tremble in her body. I hold my breath waiting for her to decide if I am worth staying for.
“I don’t want this to be it, either,” she sighs.
She rubs her hand over her face as if she is tired of fighting. I know I am.
“Then stay.”
Her nod is weak, but the answer is clear. In this moment, in this dinky hallway of this smelly firehouse, Maya Carter chooses to stay. She chooses to stay for me.
***
21:08 E. Gonzales –
Thank you for staying today.
21:09 Maya Carter –
Of course.
I’ve been staring at her reply for the past five minutes, uncertain of what to say.
In a way, her response has closed the door to continue the conversation.
Not that I can blame her. Even if I felt the relief from her staying, the day had been awkward at best. Still, I am sitting here needing her to know…
what exactly? How much I want things to go back to how they were.
Except I don’t. Because this—all of this—is caused by how things were.
No. What I want is for us to have all the good parts, without the extra drama around it.
I need her to know that I am willing to choose her. If she’d still have me.
21:16 E. Gonzales –
Can we talk?
Three white dots flash on the screen—disappearing, reappearing, then disappearing again.
My heart sinks as her status jumps to offline.
I let out a defeated groan. There’s nothing else I can do.
My own actions led to this, and now I’ve lost something beautiful before it even really started.
Way to go, Gonzales. I slam my phone down so hard that it vibrates.
But just as I want to curl up, it buzzes again.
I snatch it off the table and stare at the screen.
Incoming call: Maya Carter
“Maya?”
Her name falls from my lips on a hasty breath. My chest rises quickly, and I hear my blood rush in my ears.
“Hi…” she says more quietly than I’ve ever heard her.
“Hi.”
“You… you wanted to talk?”
I close my eyes and let myself fall back onto the couch, relief washing over me.
“Yes, please.”
Maya stays quiet for a beat before breathing out an okay. There is something so fragile but hopeful in her tone that I latch onto it. I force myself to breathe slowly before I answer.
“Can we meet? Talk face to face?”
Another beat.
“I can come over to your place…” she trails off for a moment. “…unless you’d rather meet somewhere public?”
“No! No… no. Please, come over.”
I nearly trip over my own tongue. Her soft chuckle in response makes my ears turn red and I bite my lip to stop myself from grinning like a teenager.
“I’ll be there in thirty.”
I am trembling when I hang up the phone, that small chuckle still echoing in my ears.
God, I love that sound. I love it so much, I want to drown in it.
An unpleasant heat pools somewhere between my chest and my stomach.
The kind that radiates and pulses, with nowhere to go.
A chemical fire consuming me from the inside out.
I push myself up from the couch and start pacing. My breathing is shallow as if it tries to stay as far away as possible from that burn. I shake out my limbs and jump up and down on my feet. Movement. I need movement.
Before I can think about it, I let myself drop to my hands and start doing push-ups.
My spine straight, my gaze forward, my arms tugged close.
By the time I reach the thirties, my biceps are burning, but my breathing is steadier.
By fifty, sweat is pearling on my forehead, and my core reminds me that I should do this more often.
I lie down on the floor and press my head against the wooden boards. My breathing is nice and steady again, and I no longer feel a stranger in my own body.
I take another deep inhale when there is a soft knock at the door. Startled, I glance at my phone. Only sixteen minutes have passed—it can’t be her. Can it? I push myself off the floor, my shirt sticking to my body, and pad to the door. My heart suddenly racing again.
My fingers tremble when I turn the lock, and I have to take a grounding breath before opening the door.
She has her hands in front of her and her hair frames her pale face.
The comfortable-looking sweater she wears has slipped off her shoulder—showing her collarbone—and my eyes are instantly drawn to it.
By the time my brain catches up and I lift my gaze, her eyes meet mine.
Her pupils are large and her cheeks are flushed. She’s just as nervous.
“Please, come in.”
I step aside. When she brushes past me, her scent hits me. Fresh linen and coffee, like Sunday mornings spent in bed. My body responds to the memory of that smell, and I gasp. Loud and deep. Maya spins on her heels immediately. Her eyes are filled with worry and her hand reaches for me.
“Are you okay?”
Her eyes travel over my face and my body as if she is scanning for injuries. Always putting others first. Always caring before feeling for herself. Maya is pure goodness. Light where there is only dark. Sap. My eyes fill with tears and I no longer trust my legs.
I fall back against the wall, barely able to suppress the sob coming from my chest. Her mouth falls open as she rushes to hold me. She pulls me into a tight hug and I just melt into her. This is exactly where I belong.
My fingers grasp at the fabric of her sweater as I press my face against her neck. My tears fall now, and my breathing stutters. Maya doesn’t back away, but instead holds me even tighter.
“Lo siento, Maya,” I hiccup against her skin. “Lo siento.”
She doesn’t tell me everything is okay or not to cry.
She just rubs calming circles over my back while her own tears fall against my cheek.
I lean back to look at her, my eyes watery and probably red-rimmed.
Her lip is trembling and slow tears are rolling down her cheek.
I pull her back into my arms, nearly crushing her.
My hand cups the back of her head and she leans into my shoulder, finally allowing herself to break down too.
“Why?” she gasps in between sobs.
She doesn’t have to explain. The way her body tenses against me tells me more than her words could. Maya needs answers. She deserves them. The fog in my brain lifts, and a clarity dawns on me. My breathing evens out, so I inhale deeply.
“Because I am scared. And that made me stupid.”
She leans back, her face wet with tears and her eyes blotchy. Her gaze carries something that looks a lot like offense.
“You are not stupid,” she croaks, her voice thick with emotion.
“Maybe not, but I did act like it.”
“Mm-mm,” she agrees, no sign of amusement in her eyes. “Now what?”
The question is uttered casually. I blink. It’s not casual, Gonzales. She needs reassurance. And suddenly I see it. The haunting look in her eyes, that desperate need to know. That ache that I’ve put there. So, I say the only thing that I can truly offer her in this moment.
“Now, you tell me how to fix us.”