17. Reckless #3
"That's why when that beam came down on me two years ago, I was ready to die." I felt her body go still. "Because deep down, I've always believed the wrong brother survived."
Nora pulled away from me slowly. She leaned back enough to look at my face. Her eyes were full and her lips were pressed together and she was looking at me like she was seeing me for the first time.
"When you held me together and told me to stay with you, I—"
I put my hand on her cheek.
"It made me rethink everything. Why I survived.
What I was still doing here." My thumb traced her cheekbone.
"You've been in my dreams for two years, Nora.
Every time I close my eyes, you're there, holding me together, telling me to stay.
And when I found you, the dreams stopped.
For the first time since that night, they stopped. "
My hand came down.
"Then Travis got hurt, and they started again."
Nora held my face. She wiped the tear off my cheek with her thumb, leaned in, and kissed me.
"I'm glad I found you," she said. "I'm glad we found each other again."
She wiped my eyes again, gentle, taking her time.
"I never met Gage. But I'm an older sibling.
I know what it means to love someone so much that you'd walk into anything to keep them safe.
" Her voice was steady but her eyes were wet.
"He would have been so proud of what you've made of yourself, Knox.
And wherever he is right now, I know he's proud.
Because you chose to keep living. For him. "
I kissed her. It was slow and salt-streaked.
I pulled her into me and held her, my arms wrapped all the way around her, her heartbeat pressed against mine.
She was warm and solid and she wasn't going anywhere, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, the weight I'd been carrying felt like something I could set down.
I held her until my breathing matched hers and the tears stopped coming.
I dropped Nora off at the ER entrance the next morning. She squeezed my hand before she got out, and I watched her walk through the doors before I went to find Travis.
Carl and Jill were coming out of the main entrance as I walked up. Carl had his arm around her shoulder and she looked like she hadn't slept.
"How is he?" I said.
"He's good. Complaining about the food." Carl clapped my shoulder. "Andy and Wyatt are up there with him. Room 412. Greene and his wife are taking their turn after them."
"Thanks, Carl."
He nodded, and they walked toward the parking lot.
When a firefighter goes down in the line of duty, the crew takes shifts at the hospital.
Nobody organizes it. Nobody sends a sign-up sheet around.
You just show up, sit with him, and stay until the next person gets there.
It goes until he walks out. That's how it works. That's how it's always worked.
I knocked on the door of Room 412 and pushed it open.
Andy and Wyatt were inside, Andy in the chair by the window and Wyatt leaning against the wall.
Travis was propped up in the bed. Left arm in a cast, burns on his neck and jaw dressed in white gauze.
He looked rough. His eyes were tired and his voice was hoarse, but when he saw me, he grinned.
"Sullivan. Get in here."
Andy stood. "We're going to grab coffee for everyone. You want anything?"
"I'm good."
Wyatt put a hand on my shoulder as he passed.
The door closed. I stood at the foot of the bed. I'd rehearsed what I was going to say the whole drive over, and now that I was standing here looking at the cast, the gauze, the IV line, none of it felt like enough.
"Travis, I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Don't."
"I put you in that building. You were in there because of me."
"I was in there because Thompson told me to go in." He coughed, winced, and cleared his throat. "That's the job, Knox. Someone's in trouble, you go in. I'd do it again tomorrow."
"You shouldn't have had to."
"Maybe not. But I did, and I'm here, and I'm fine." He held up the cast. "Besides, I'm getting a commendation for this. You know that, right? Line-of-duty injury during a structural collapse. That's a medal, brother. I'm getting decorated."
I stared at him.
"I'm going to be the most decorated firefighter at 110 who's never been promoted." He was grinning again. "They'll have to make a whole new section in the trophy case."
Something in my chest cracked open. Something lighter than the grief from last night. Travis reached over with his good hand and shoved my arm.
"Don't worry about it, brother. Seriously. Don't."
I looked at him. For everything I'd put him through, he was still Travis. Banged up, burned, casted, and still sitting there making sure everyone in the room was laughing.
"Thank you, Travis."
The door opened. Lori came in with a chart and checked the IV drip, adjusting the flow with a couple of quick turns. She noted something on the chart, then looked up.
Travis had his good hand on his neck, fingers working under the edge of the gauze.
Lori swatted his hand away. "Stop scratching."
"It itches."
"I don't care. You scratch those dressings and you're going to slow down your healing and scar worse." She pointed at him. "Hands off. I mean it."
Travis lowered his hand slowly, like a kid caught reaching into a jar.
Lori looked at him for a second. Then she tucked the chart under her arm and walked out.
Travis watched her go. He turned back to me with his eyebrows raised.
He really had no idea.