Chapter 16
ANDERSON
The truck pulls back into the station, and I hop out, following the rest of the crew.
We strip out of our gear and fall into easy conversations as we go through the motions of our post-call duties.
I’m tasked with restocking medical supplies while others clean and decontaminate our equipment, refill oxygen bottles, and get our gear cleaned.
Jack, as the Lead Firefighter, conducts our post-incident briefing and assigns some paperwork and patient care reports before we fall into downtime between calls.
“What time is dinner tomorrow?” Jack asks as the two of us settle on the sofa in our common area. A rerun of some cop show is playing at a low volume on the TV, the afternoon sun reflecting off the snow on the ground and beaming in through the blinds.
I tilt my head, cracking my neck on one side and then the other. “Isn’t it at your house?”
“For your information, smartass, I’ve been tasked with cleaning the entire house for you fuckers to come over, as if you and my sister are actual guests.
” I snort at the way Jack has the delivery of a cranky old man, even though his words just show how thoughtful he actually is when it comes to the people he cares about.
“Aw, are you saying you see me as family?” I can’t help but push his buttons, especially with how easy it is to piss him off. He rolls his eyes. “But seriously, dude. Do you even read the messages in the group chat?”
“You’re uninvited."
I bark out a laugh. “Relax, boss. Dinner is at six o’clock.”
Jack crosses his arms, our gazes on the TV in front of us, watching as the cop on screen tackles some guy in the street. “And what is this super secret news you and Ava have to share with all of us tomorrow?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “Nothing too crazy.” My voice comes out even, and I have half a mind to pat myself on the back for how nonchalant my delivery was.
I’m getting better at this whole talk about Ava thing without blushing like a schoolgirl.
“Then why has my girlfriend been texting me all day to find out more about you and your girlfriend?”
My mouth opens to correct him, to tell him that she’s my wife, but I quickly roll my lips together to avoid voicing the ridiculous thought. She’s not even my girlfriend, let alone my wife.
Yet.
And I ignore my mind telling me to add the word “fake” just as my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Pulling it out, I can’t help but chuckle to myself. “Speak of the devil,” I mutter, finding Ava’s name.
“And saved by the bell,” Jack adds as I stand to take her call.
I roll my eyes, my lips curving into a smile too big for something as trivial as an afternoon phone call.
But Ava never calls me.
All week, we’ve only exchanged texts, and they're reminiscent of someone you’re trying to buy used furniture from—not professional enough to be considered business-like but not personal enough to be considered friendly.
She and Georgie are supposed to move into my place on Sunday, one of the three bombs we’re dropping on our friends tomorrow night.
She must be calling about one of them, considering that’s the only reason she contacts me now—I pretend not to be disappointed every night I don’t get a late-night text from her.
Logically, I know us having sex is off the table now, even though we didn’t ever have a formal conversation about it. I know Ava well enough by now to know that she won’t want to make things more complicated for us than they already are.
But I can’t lie and say I’m not disappointed she’s not reaching out anymore.
Not even because I miss the sex.
I miss seeing the version of her she was in those late hours, naked in my bed.
I truly think it’s the only time I get to see the real her—weightless and carefree.
“Hey,” I greet Ava. “I was just thinking about—”
I don’t have time to say “you” because Ava starts speaking a mile a minute. “I’m so sorry to bother you at work, but I need to ask you a huge favor.”
“Anything,” I answer immediately, rubbing a hand over my mouth to hide the grin on my face.
She knew I was at work?
She wants to ask me for a favor?
I don’t make it a habit to leave work for anything less than an emergency, but for Ava, I think I can make an exception.
I know Chief Sanders would understand—and not just because he’s my uncle.
With the station emphasizing that all their firefighters must pass the same tests and have the same qualifications, nepotism really doesn’t apply.
“I’m on my way to my mom’s house right now,” she says, and my mood immediately changes.
Maybe this is an emergency.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, expecting her just to throw me a yes and tell me what she needs.
I’m surprised when she says, “No, not really.” She pauses for a few seconds, and it sounds like she’s mumbling something to herself.
I don’t have time to register what it is before she says, “She called me earlier today, and it was the first time I’ve heard from her since the night I picked Georgie up.
She was pissed about CPS coming to interview her and about me taking Georgie, and when I hung up on her after telling her she could only contact us through Patricia from now on, she apparently started throwing all of Georgie’s shit into garbage bags, and then she passed out.
I guess she left the front door open with some of the bags thrown on the lawn, and the neighbor found her. ”
“You’re joking,” I say, a protectiveness over Georgie lighting a fire in my chest. The intensity surprises me, but it isn’t uncomfortable.
Something about it feels so natural that I don’t fight it.
“Do you want me to go with you?” I don’t know much about Ava’s mom, and there’s no doubt in my mind that Ava can handle whatever she’s running headfirst into—but I can’t help the feeling of wanting her to know she doesn’t have to do it alone.
“No, it’s better if it’s just me. I’m honestly hoping she drank enough to be out the whole time I’m there.
I called Patricia to meet me there, and I’m planning on just grabbing Georgie’s shit and being out of there as quickly as I can.
She’s been asking to go get her stuff all week, but I didn’t want her going over there. ”
“What do you need from me?” I ask her.
“Rumi isn’t answering her phone, and Emerson is working.” She’s quiet for a moment, like she’s deciding whether or not she wants to say anything. “School’s over in twenty minutes. Can you pick Georgie up?”
“Done.”
I’m in line at the Northshore Middle School’s parking lot with less than a minute to spare.
After I got off the phone with Ava, she called the school to add me as Georgie’s secondary contact.
Since taking her mom off and making herself the primary, it makes sense for the situation at hand.
It’s a detail we didn’t include in our plan when we were thinking about how we were going to intertwine our lives for the sake of CPS, but she can always remove me later.
I park my car in an empty space, so I can stand outside to look for Georgie just as a sea of middle schoolers start filing out the doors.
I’m still in my cargo pants and Northshore Fire Department crewneck, but I didn’t even consider wasting time to change before coming over here.
When I hung up the phone, I ran to the chief’s office, Jack right behind me, when he noticed something was up.
When I told my uncle that my girlfriend needed someone to pick up her sister from school—that it was an emergency—he told me to go and that he and Jack would take care of finding someone to cover the rest of my shift.
I’m sure they’ll both have questions when everything has settled down, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
Scanning the crowd of students, I spot Georgie walking out the front doors with her head down, looking at her phone. I’m assuming Ava texted her that I was picking her up, but I don’t know what else.
When she looks up, I watch her gaze move from left to right a few times, so I hold up my arm, waving to get her attention.
When she finally spots me, she starts walking my way, the hood of her navy parka held over her head, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
She’s in white sweatpants, and the collar of her matching white hoodie is pulled up over her mouth to help shield her from the cold.
“Hey, G.”
“Hey,” she echoes, but it comes out muffled from under the fabric of her sweatshirt.
I open the passenger side door of my car, closing it behind her once she’s all the way in.
I didn’t realize how cold I was standing out here waiting for her until she’s safe in the car. I blow into my hands to try to warm them up as I round the hood, hopping into the driver’s seat and cranking up the heat to the highest setting.
Reaching to turn down the music playing—I was sure to put on one of the albums she listened to earlier this week when she and Ava came over for dinner—I ask, “How was school?”
“Fine,” she answers, but her attention is on her phone in her lap.
Pulling out of the school’s parking lot, I contemplate forcing more conversation, but I ultimately decide against it.
If she doesn’t want to talk, I’m not going to make her.
I turn the music back up, and I notice Georgie puts her phone into the side pocket of her backpack lying by her feet.
Within a few seconds, I hear her quietly singing along, and I feel the corners of my lips lift.
I can’t help but mouth the words as the music fills the silence, the lyrics being enough for the two of us right now.
When I pull into Ava’s apartment complex, I check my phone for any updates from her. There’s nothing since she texted me that she got to her mom’s house, and that was a half hour ago.
“Thanks for picking me up,” Georgie says just as I pull into an empty parking space.
“Anytime,” I answer, unlocking the door.
She reaches down to grab her backpack, and I can’t ignore the voice in my head telling me not to just let her head into the apartment alone. It doesn't feel right to leave her, even though Ava didn’t ask me to stay.
Georgie reaches to open the car door, and I turn off the car, opening my own door. “Why don’t I walk you in?”
“You don’t have to. I have a key,” Georgie quickly says before she adds. “It’s no big deal.”
“I know, but I just want to make sure you get home okay,” I tell her, stepping back into the cold February afternoon, the wind blowing against my face hard enough for it to sting.
Georgie scoffs. “Home,” I hear her mutter as she gets out of the car. “Yeah, right.”
We shut our car doors, walking side-by-side toward the front entrance. I glance at her, catching the way her shoulders hunch, and her gaze stays on the ground in front of her. “You want to tell me what that’s about?” I ask, keeping my tone light even though I’m already on edge.
She shrugs, adjusting her backpack higher on her shoulder. “It’s whatever.”
It’s not whatever. I don’t know her well enough to push, but I know enough to recognize when someone’s pretending they’re fine.
We walk side by side toward the front entrance. The wind is strong, and without thinking, I step slightly in front of her, blocking most of it.
“I don’t need you to walk me all the way up,” she says as we reach the front doors. “Seriously.”
I shake my head, pulling it open for her. “Humor me.”
Because the truth is, I don’t trust the universe with her yet, not after everything it’s already done to her.
And I don’t trust myself to walk away like she’s not starting to matter to me.
She walks through the door I hold for her, and I lean my head back dramatically.
“Plus, Ava will kill me if something happens to you.” I follow her in, letting the door shut behind me.
Georgie pulls out a key chain from her jacket pocket, a fob and a key on the silver ring.
She scans the fob against the scanner to get us through the second set of doors, and I see her press her lips together, like she’s trying to hold back a smile.
“And she scares me,” I add, and Georgie’s lips turn up a little more.
“Ava’s not that scary,” Georgie offers as we make our way through the apartment lobby, heading toward the elevator.
Her smile is gone, but I don’t say anything at the risk of her closing back up.
She pulls out her phone, spending a few seconds typing something out before sliding it into the pocket of her sweatpants.
“I like staying with my sister, but this apartment doesn’t really feel like my home. ”
“Where is home to you?” I ask her softly as I reach to push the button for the elevator. I wonder if Georgie might miss her mom, despite everything that’s happened. Sometimes, all we want is the person who takes care of us, even when they are the one to hurt us. “Is home with your mom?”
Georgie shakes her head, looking down at her shoes as we wait for the elevator.
Maybe I pushed her too far, made her uncomfortable with my questions. I regret bringing it up as the ding of the elevator sounds and the doors begin to open, and we step in.
I shift my weight back and forth in my heels as the silence stretches between us, wishing I knew what to say to bring us back to the light-hearted conversation from before, from Monday night at my house.
But my mind goes black.
Then, just as the doors close, Georgie whispers, “That place hasn’t felt like home since my dad died.”