17. I’d Burn Every Bridge Twice #3
She ran me a bath, and I watched from the doorway as she added Epsom salts that she must have bought specifically for my sore muscles, the crystals dissolving into the steaming water.
The bathroom filled with the scent of eucalyptus and mint, and she tested the temperature with her wrist, making sure it was perfect.
"In," she commanded, and I obeyed, too tired to argue, too grateful for her care to resist.
The hot water enveloped me, and I groaned despite myself, feeling my muscles begin to unclench for the first time all day.
Vera sat on the edge of the tub, rolling up her sleeves, and reached for my shampoo.
Her movements were gentle, practiced, like she'd been doing this for years instead of months.
"You don't have to—" I started, but she pressed a finger to my lips.
"Hush." Her fingers worked through my hair, massaging my scalp with firm but gentle pressure that made my eyes drift closed. "You take care of everyone and everything else. Tonight, I take care of you."
She was taking care of me. Not because I asked, not because she felt obligated, but because she could see I needed it. Because she loved me enough to know when I was breaking and needed someone to hold the pieces together.
"This is nice," I murmured, feeling the tension slowly drain from my shoulders with each pass of her fingers through my hair, each gentle scratch of her nails against my scalp.
"Good." She rinsed my hair carefully, her touch tender, making sure no soap got in my eyes. "You carry so much, Petra. Let me carry some of it for you. Let me be the one who holds you up when you're tired of standing."
"I love you." The words came out loaded with emotion I couldn't quite name. Maybe gratitude and devotion and something deeper, something fated and eternal.
"I love you too." She pressed a kiss to my damp forehead, her lips soft and warm. "Now just relax. Let it all go for a while. The station, Davids, all of it. Just be here with me."
So I did. I let myself sink into the warmth of the water, into the gentleness of her touch, into the peace she created just by being near me. And for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.
Later, after she'd dried me off with careful attention, after we'd eaten the chicken piccata she'd made—my favorite, because of course she'd remembered—after we'd cleaned up together in comfortable silence, we lay in bed with the lights off and the town and desert quiet around us.
Vera curled against my side, her head on me, her fingers tracing idle patterns over my ribs and chest, occasionally pausing on Lucas and Santi's names.
I stared at the ceiling, my mind refusing to quiet despite my exhausted body.
I didn't regret defending Vera. Couldn't regret it, wouldn't regret it even if Davids and Emerson never spoke to me again, even if Rodriguez benched me, even if it cost me everything.
She was worth more than crew dynamics, more than easy camaraderie, more than the comfort of being one of the guys. She was worth everything.
But the fear still gnawed at me. Not fear of consequences for myself, but fear of what might happen in the field.
In a fire, trust was everything. Lives depended on split-second decisions, on knowing your crew had your back without question.
If Davids hesitated because he resented me...
if Emerson second-guessed an order because of wounded pride...
if that fraction of a second delay cost someone their life...
Could I live with that? Could I carry another name on my chest, another ghost in my nightmares, another person I'd failed to protect?
Rodriguez had warned me about crew cohesion for a reason. He'd seen what happened when teams fractured, when personal drama became professional danger. And I was good at my job, one of the best, he'd said, but I couldn't do it alone. I needed my crew. I needed them to trust me.
But I also needed to protect Vera. To defend her, to make it clear that she wasn't fair game, that loving her meant something more than just warming my bed at night.
It meant she was sacred. Untouchable. Mine.
How did I reconcile those two things? How did I bridge the gap between the crew forewoman who needed her team's trust and the woman who would burn the whole station down before letting anyone disrespect the person she loved?
"Stop overthinking."
Vera's voice in the dark startled me, pulling me back from the spiral of my thoughts.
"How did you know I was awake?"
"Because you're always overthinking, baby." She shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me in the darkness, her face barely visible in the faint light from the street. "I can practically hear your thoughts churning. Come here."
She pulled me close, guiding my head to her chest, and I let myself be moved, let myself be held.
Her heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a rhythm anchoring me when everything else felt uncertain.
Her fingers stroked through my hair, gentle and soothing, and gradually, finally, I felt my racing thoughts begin to slow.
"It's going to be okay," she whispered into the darkness. "You did the right thing. And the people who matter know that."
"Rodriguez thinks the crew fracture could be dangerous in the field," I said quietly. "And he's right. If they can't trust me, if they hesitate…”
"Then that's on them, not you. You can't control how they react, Petra. You can only control what you do. And what you did was stand up for someone you love. That's never wrong. Never."
"But if someone gets hurt because of the tension—"
"They won't. Because you're too good at your job to let that happen.
Because when it matters, when lives are on the line, they'll remember that you're the best crew forewoman Rodriguez has ever had.
They'll remember that you've saved their lives before and you'll do it again.
" She pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
"And if they don't? If they let their egos get in the way of doing their jobs?
Then they have no business being firefighters. "
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her.
"I'm scared," I admitted into the darkness. "Not of the consequences for defending you. I’d face those a thousand times. But I'm scared that the crack won't heal. That it'll follow us into the field. That someone will die because of it."
"You're scared because you care. Because you're a good leader who takes responsibility seriously.
" Her fingers continued their soothing path through my hair.
"But you can't sacrifice your principles for the comfort of men who don't understand respect.
You can't make yourself smaller, can't apologize for loving me, can't pretend that what they said was acceptable just to smooth things over. "
She was right. She was always right.
"I won't," I promised. "I won't apologize. I won't back down. They either accept it or they don't, but I'm not compromising on this."
“That’s my Petra.” I could hear the smile in her voice. "Now sleep. Tomorrow will come whether you're ready for it or not, and you need rest."
I closed my eyes, breathing in her vanilla-coconut scent, letting the warmth of her body and the certainty in her voice lull me toward sleep. Her heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath my ear, and I matched my breathing to it, feeling the tension finally drain from my body.
Tomorrow probably wouldn't be better. The cold shoulders would still be there, the stopped conversations, the weight of Davids and Emerson's resentment. Rodriguez would still be concerned. The crack in our crew would still need mending.
But I'd wake up with Vera in my arms. I'd wake up knowing I'd defended the woman I loved without compromise, without apology, without backing down. I'd wake up with my principles intact and my soul unburdened by the weight of choosing wrong.
And that would have to be enough.
Because some things were worth fighting for. Some people were worth burning bridges for. Some loves were worth defending with everything you had, consequences be damned.
Vera was all of those things. And I'd choose her every time.