Chapter 15 #2
But underneath it, something softer. Something just for me.
"Shane and Maya are having us over for dinner tonight. Brian and Ava too. You in?"
"I'll be at the office late. Marianne's going to want to go through the piece line by line, and Rebecca's photo means a separate conversation with legal." She squeezed my hand. "Tell everyone hi."
"You sure?"
"Go be with your firehouse family." She smiled. "I'll be at your place when you get back."
She kissed me. Quick, warm, already halfway gone in her head. Then she was walking toward the subway, phone to her ear, that purposeful stride I'd watched from across fire scenes for years.
I stood on the sidewalk.
Pride, for what we'd built. Relief, that the house was safe.
And underneath, something darker. Becks in the firehouse kitchen. The smile I'd trusted. The questions I'd answered without thinking twice.
Shane and Maya's apartment smelled like garlic and rosemary. Zoe and Lily at a sleepover, the evening claimed for adults.
Dinner was loud and easy. Braised short ribs, roasted potatoes, the kind of meal that made you want seconds before you'd finished firsts.
We talked about Rodriguez's face when he got the call, how the man had actually smiled.
A real one. Brian swore he saw Rodriguez's eyes get wet, but Rodriguez would deny it to his grave.
Over dessert, Ava set down her fork.
"We have news." Something in her expression, nervous and excited and barely contained. She looked at Brian, who reached for her hand.
"We've decided to start trying," Brian said. "For a baby."
Maya's hand flew to her mouth.
"We've been talking about it for a while," Ava continued. "And with everything that's happened this year, life feels too short to keep waiting for the perfect time."
Maya was out of her chair, pulling Ava into the kind of hug that only women who understood each other could give. Shane clapped Brian on the back. Brian looked the way he always looked when something good happened to him. Stunned. Like he still couldn't believe he got to have this.
"Engine 295 is becoming a nursery," Shane said.
We clinked glasses to that.
The conversation settled into the easy rhythm of people who loved each other.
Maya was telling Ava about the differences between her first pregnancy and this one.
How she'd been seventeen years old with Zoe, and now she was doing it again with teenagers in the house and a husband who teared up every time he felt the baby kick.
"Shane cried at the ultrasound," Maya said. "Twice."
"I did not cry twice," Shane protested. "There was something in my eye."
"Both times?"
"It was a dusty room."
Shane kept circling back to it. A son. He'd said the word four times already, like he couldn't quite believe it.
The conversation lulled. The comfortable silence of people who didn't need to fill every gap.
Then Shane's eyes found mine.
"So." He leaned back. "You and Harper."
"What about us?"
"Relax, Stone." Brian set down his glass. "We're not ambushing you. We're just... curious."
"We've watched you around her for years," Shane said carefully. "Every time she showed up at a fire scene, every time her name came up in conversation, you'd get this look. Like someone was twisting a knife."
"We never asked," Brian added. "Figured it was your business."
"But you're together now. And you seem happy. Actually happy." Shane paused. "So what happened between you two?"
I looked around the table. Shane and Maya side by side, his hand on her belly like he couldn't help it. Brian and Ava, fingers laced together. Four people who'd fought for the lives they had. Who understood what it cost.
"We were engaged." The words came slowly. "Eight years ago."
Nobody spoke. Maya's hand found Shane's. Ava's eyes softened but she didn't look away.
"Two years together. Moved in, planned the wedding." Like excavating something from deep down. "Then she got pregnant."
Shane went still.
"I was already thinking about names. Picturing what our kid would look like." A breath. "She miscarried."
"Garrett..." Brian's voice was soft.
"She was alone when it happened. I don't even remember asking my captain—I just told him I had to go and I was gone.
" The memory lived in my body. Breaking every speed limit between the station and our apartment.
The front door. The hallway. Finding her curled on the tile, covered in blood.
"After that, she changed. Pulled away. I tried to be there for her, but the harder I tried, the more she retreated. I didn't understand it then."
"Postpartum depression," Ava said quietly. Not clinical. Gentle. "After a miscarriage, especially later in the pregnancy, the hormonal crash can be devastating. It's the same mechanism as after birth. The body doesn't know the difference."
Maya's eyes were bright. She pressed her hand against her belly, instinctive and protective.
"We didn't know that. Neither of us had the language for it." A long drink. "She felt broken. Thought being around me was making it worse. So she left. Went to DC."
"And?" Shane asked.
"I waited. Three years. She stopped writing. Stopped calling." I stared at my glass. "By the time I accepted she wasn't coming back, I'd already lost her."
The table was quiet. From somewhere outside, a siren passed. Faded.
"She came back five years ago. Got the job at the Times. We were in the same city for years and I didn't know until I saw her at a fire scene." I shook my head. "Neither of us was brave enough to say anything. So we just... existed."
"Until the arson case," Shane said.
"Until the arson case."
Maya wiped her eyes. Didn't try to hide it.
"I'm thinking of asking her to move in."
Brian almost laughed. "Brother. She has a key to your apartment, half her wardrobe in your closet, and she just helped save your firehouse. She's already moved in. You're just making it official."
"He's right," Ava said. A small smile. "Ask her."
"Don't waste any more time," Maya added, her voice still thick. She looked at Shane. He looked back at her. Something passed between them that didn't need words. "You two have wasted enough."
Sloane was asleep on my couch when I got home.
Laptop still open. Files across the coffee table. Shoes by the door, press credentials draped over the couch arm. My old FDNY t-shirt, the hem riding up over her thighs.
I stood in the doorway.
Then I closed the laptop, gently. Slid the files into a neat stack. Found a blanket and draped it over her legs. She stirred when I sat down beside her, eyes blinking open.
"Hey," she murmured. "What time is it?"
"Late. How'd the piece go?"
"Published at nine. Marianne's happy. The phones haven't stopped ringing." She stretched, wincing. "I fell asleep sitting up. My neck is going to hate me tomorrow."
"Come to bed."
"In a minute." She sat up, tucking her legs beneath her. "How was dinner?"
"Good. Maya's ready to have that baby yesterday. Shane's a mess about it, but the good kind."
She smiled.
I hesitated. "Brian and Ava are going to start trying. For a baby."
Sloane's expression shifted. Surprise, then something warm spreading through it. "Really?"
"Yeah. They told us tonight."
"That's wonderful." She meant it. I could hear it in her voice, see it in the way her whole face softened.
"I remember when Shane first reached out to me.
He wanted to clean up his reputation so badly.
Wrote me that email about the Tommy Vickers case, and I could tell he was terrified I'd say no.
" She shook her head, smiling at the memory. "He did all of that for Maya."
"That sounds like Shane."
"And Brian and Ava. After everything with Kevin Lang, the threats, watching her testify." She trailed off. "They deserve this. All of them. They deserve to be happy."
Something moved across Sloane's face. Soft and careful and a little bit raw.
I reached for her hand. Waited.
"Everyone's building something," she said quietly. "Shane and Maya with the baby. Brian and Ava starting their family." She looked at our joined hands. "I used to think I'd missed my chance at that. That I didn't deserve to want it anymore."
"Sloane."
"But being here with you again." She met my eyes. "I think I want that. Someday. When we're ready.
"My chest tightened. Not the old grief. Something new.
Hope. Fragile and steady.
"We don't have to rush anything." I kissed her knuckles. Held them there. "We have time."
"I know. That's why I can say it now."
I brought her hand to my mouth. Kissed her knuckles. Held it there.
"I do want to ask you something, though."
She raised an eyebrow. "Should I be nervous?"
"Terrified." I held the face for about two seconds. "Move in with me."
She blinked.
"You already have a key. Your shampoo's in my shower. Your laptop lives on my coffee table." I held her gaze. "Stop going back and forth. Just stay."
She was quiet long enough that my heart started to pound.
"You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything." I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "We lost eight years. I don't want to lose another day."
Her eyes were bright. She pressed her lips together.
Nodded.
I pulled her into my lap. She came easily, legs folding around me, her arms around my neck. I kissed her forehead. Her nose. The corner of her mouth.
"Welcome home," I said.
She pressed her face into my neck. Breathed in. Held on.
"I'm already home," she whispered. "I have been since the day you opened the door."