Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PT kicked his butt this morning. To be fair, James had told him to take it easy several times, but easy wouldn’t get him ready for the CPAT. He had less than twelve weeks left and still couldn’t take more than a few steps without his leg quivering and threatening to collapse.
“Go slow to go fast,” he’d said often enough. Miles thought he might scream if he heard such empty words again.
Not content to simply harp on Miles’s pace and work ethic, James also pried into his head with questions like, “What makes you happy? What makes the pain fade? What are you doing to find a new normal?”
He’d had an actual therapist for a couple months, but without his full medical coverage, the price had become prohibitive. Plus, with Abby’s classes, he considered himself a pretty self-aware person—especially for a guy.
Despite James, he’d put on his weight vest last night.
The sense-memory of wearing it reassured him: twenty-one and passing his CPAT the first time, twenty-five and stair climbing in the firehouse gym to train for the Stairclimb fundraiser—100 flights of stairs in twenty minutes—twenty-eight and demoing the CPAT as an instructor for the first time.
He’d set a goal to wear it for fifteen minutes while standing still.
It would help his balance, and he could always grab the counter if he couldn’t manage.
He’d made it seven minutes before shifting all his weight to his right leg.
Another three before lurching to the couch.
Twenty minutes passed before he’d recovered enough to force it over his head.
It still lay in a heap where he’d left it on the floor.
Afterward, Nix slept on the bed. Usually, Miles didn’t let him, but when he hopped up without an invitation, Miles wrapped his arms around the dog and pressed his forehead to his shoulder until his breathing finally evened.
Now, he leaned heavily on his cane, his right leg quivering and jumping from overuse, and an ache wound its way through his shoulder.
He didn’t forget he’d torn his rotator cuff when he’d dislocated the joint, per se, but he often ignored it.
Today, taking the extra weight he couldn’t rest on his leg, it reminded him with a siren blare that it, too, had been injured in a career-ending fashion.
“Ugh.” He paused outside the fire station and took several deep breaths, Nix a steady presence at his side.
His right side. He’d finally figured out his new heel position.
The door ahead swung open, and Leslie stepped out. Sort of a secretary, she answered non-emergency calls and coordinated community outreach events.
“You okay?”
He panted, the heat and pain overwhelming words for a moment. “Give me a minute.”
“There’s a chair inside here if you need it.” She held the door wider.
He estimated the distance and gritted his teeth.
God, he hated this. Of all the places to be at his weakest, he couldn’t imagine a worse place than the station.
He took four long, tottering steps, then collapsed into the chair.
The heavy door slammed shut behind him, and then Leslie knelt at his side.
“You sure you’re okay? I can grab one of the guys...”
Miles shook his head. He could not handle the humiliation if one of his brothers had to come treat him in the lobby because he’d been too stubborn to follow his PT’s instructions and then convinced himself he could still manage a visit in spite of overdoing it.
Fortunately, they were on familiar ground—his home station. He unclipped Nix’s leash and said, “Okay!”
The dog glanced up at him, wagged his tail, and peered toward the hall leading to the living quarters.
“Go on, boy. Go check the kitchen.”
At the last word, Nix took off like an ember on the wind. Miles tracked his progress through the fading sound of his claws scrabbling on the linoleum as he took the two corners, then a familiar hurrah of voices.
“Nix!”
“Hey, boy!”
“Want some hot dog?”
Miles rubbed his forehead. No wonder his spoiled dog begged for scraps at home.
Leslie went back into the office with a final admonition to call if he needed anything, leaving Miles alone to collect himself.
After a few minutes, a heavy tread in the hall warned him of impending company.
He hauled himself to his feet and managed at least a few steps before his Captain appeared in the doorway.
“Miles.”
“Captain Ross.”
They stared at each other for several long moments, then, “You need a hand, Lieutenant?”
Calling him by his rank despite his inactive status might be meant as a kindness, but Miles winced. What if he never...
No. He forced the thought away.
“I needed a moment, Sir. I’ll be along.”
Ross stood to one side, waving Miles through. He’d have an escort whether he wanted one or not. Squaring his shoulders, he forced his weight off his cane and controlled his gait.
The cane is just-in-case, not because I-still-need-it.
The short rest helped. He made it halfway down the hall before his balance wavered, and he caught himself. His shoulder roared in agony as his whole body tensed and lurched sideways, then Ross’s hand propped him up until he regained his equilibrium.
“Must have stumbled,” he murmured.
“Yeah.” Muted, the Captain’s voice barely reached Miles’s ears.
Hobbling the last few steps into the common room, he made his way to a tall, wooden chair and eased himself into it.
While the couch would have been more comfortable, he’d end up struggling to climb out of it later.
Years of movies, exhausted naps, and all-nighters with popcorn and board games had broken it beyond repair, the cushions sagging nearly to the floor.
The district kept promising funds to replace it, but they hadn’t yet materialized.
Nix danced around the kitchen island, begging for more bites of hot dog, and Miles called him over. “That’s enough, Nix. Who’s in the dorms?”
He waved down another hall, and the dog took off, sniffing at each door, then scratching at one until it opened.
The rookie, Forest, had moved into his old bunk.
Miles tamped down the burst of jealousy in his chest. They’d had to replace him with someone. It wasn’t Forest’s fault he’d been assigned to all of Miles’s shifts.
Miles sucked in a breath, then let the flicker of jealousy flare up. It wasn’t Forest’s fault, and also, he could be jealous the young man had taken his place.
Complex feelings were okay.
If not for Abby’s orientation trainings, he’d be so lost. So messed up in the head. Now, if only he could translate self-awareness into getting back on duty faster.
Wes handed Miles a bowl of franks and beans, then dropped onto the couch.
“One alarm last night in Palmetto.” He rubbed his face, dark circles bruising his eyes like he’d gone five rounds in a prize-fighting ring. “No fatalities, but two destroyed houses and a third heavily damaged.”
“Cause?”
“The owner thinks she left a candle burning. Might have caught the drapes, but they’re still investigating.”
Not uncommon. People underestimated how quickly even a tiny flame could rage out of control. Three families homeless because someone forgot to blow out a candle.
“Two kids in the second house. They slept through the alarm.”
Ah, that explained why Wes needed to talk it out. The ones with kids were the worst.
“Duane and Forest pulled them out.”
Wes never took enough credit for his role on the scene.
Everyone said Miles had saved the kid’s life the night he’d nearly died. They were wrong. Wes had saved the kid’s life. Miles had been the one to take the wrong step and doom both of them.
“Nix,” he called. “Come here, boy.”
Wes jerked, his eyes coming back from their distant focus, and he rubbed a hand self-consciously over his face. Nix’s nails clicked down the hall, and he reentered the kitchen.
“Here, boy.” Miles snapped, then pointed at Wes. Nix pressed against the other man, then jumped onto his back legs and draped his front ones over Wes’ lap.
As Wes rubbed the dog’s head, his shoulders relaxed. “Good boy, Nix.”
Miles leaned forward and thumped his dog on the flank. “The good-est.”
If he couldn’t be fighting beside them, at least he could bring his brothers a little bit of peace after the fact.