Last Night With My Lost Ex

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Bobby

The alarm clock blared, though I had already been awake for the last half hour, staring at the ceiling.

I turned it off with a sharp slap and let out a slow breath, rubbing my face.

Another night of barely any sleep. No surprise there.

Sleep never lasted long—not when my dreams kept dragging me back to that day.

I sat up, my muscles stiff, and ran a hand through my hair.

My body was awake, but my mind was still stuck in the past, reliving something I couldn’t change.

Liam’s voice. His laugh. The way his sneakers had scuffed against the pavement. Then the way he disappeared.

I exhaled and pushed the memories down. It had been six years. Six damn years. And it still felt like yesterday. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the cold floor, and stared at my hands. No use sitting here. Routine. That was the only thing that kept me moving.

The apartment was dark except for the faint orange glow filtering through the blinds.

The streetlights outside flickered as the city stirred awake.

I made my way to the kitchen, flipping on the coffee machine, listening to it gurgle and hiss.

The smell filled the air, familiar, steady.

I leaned against the counter, staring at the chipped rim of my favorite mug.

Routine. Coffee at dawn. A morning run if there was time.

Work until exhaustion took over. Rinse and repeat.

It was the only way I knew how to keep my mind from spiraling.

By the time I got to the firehouse, the guys were already moving around, gearing up for another shift.

The smell of brewing coffee mixed with sweat and the faint traces of smoke clinging to our uniforms. Someone laughed across the room, a joke I wasn’t in on.

I liked it that way. I didn’t mind the noise, but I kept my distance.

“Norman, you look like hell,” Mike called from the other side of the locker room, his smirk lazy as he grabbed his gear. “Bad dreams again?”

I shot him a look as I pulled my jacket over my shoulders. “I always look like hell.”

“Yeah, but some days are worse than others.”

I didn’t answer. No point. He already knew. Mike had been my closest friend since I joined the department. He didn’t pry, but he noticed things.

Carter snickered as he slammed his locker shut. “Maybe Bobby here just needs a woman in his life. Can’t live on fire and whiskey forever.”

I rolled my eyes, adjusting the strap on my helmet. “Yeah, Carter. I’ll get right on that.”

The usual banter filled the room, but I wasn’t in the mood to play along. I focused on the movements—checking equipment, tightening straps, anything to keep my hands busy.

The firehouse was loud, full of voices, the clang of metal, the constant motion of people coming and going. I liked it. It gave me something to focus on. It was the only place where my thoughts didn’t have room to settle.

Chief Daniels walked in, flipping through his clipboard. “Got a call last night about a missing kid,” he said, his voice even. “Parents think he was snatched. Cops are handling it, but keep an eye out.”

My stomach twisted. I kept my expression blank, but I felt Mike’s gaze flick toward me. I ignored it, checking the gauge on my oxygen tank.

Missing kid. The words hit harder than they should.

The morning passed in a blur. A couple of false alarms, nothing serious. It wasn’t until the afternoon that the first real call came in.

The radio crackled to life. “Small kitchen fire in an apartment complex on 8th. Contained but still active. Residents are evacuating.”

We moved fast, climbing into the truck, sirens blaring as we cut through the city streets. I gripped the bar above me, my eyes trained on the road ahead. Fires were simple. Flames could be put out. People could be saved. Unlike the past, unlike him, this was something I could fix.

When we arrived, smoke curled from a second-floor window, but the tenants had already evacuated.

We moved in quickly, making sure nothing reignited, checking for structural damage.

I worked on autopilot, focused on the task, moving through the motions like I had a thousand times before.

It was easy. The rush of it. The routine.

It was only after the fire was out that my mind drifted back. That creeping feeling. The silence settling in my chest.

And then she was there.

Not physically—thank God—but in my head. Gabbi. The name alone made my jaw clench.

What if she had just listened? What if she had stayed home that day? Would Liam still be here? Would I be different?

I exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away. It didn’t matter. The past was the past. No changing it.

By the time we got back to the firehouse, I felt the exhaustion creeping in, but I ignored it. Pushing through was easier. Keep moving. Keep working. Anything but letting my mind wander too far.

I stayed later than I had to, going through reports, reorganizing gear, cleaning my station even though it was already spotless. Eventually, Mike clapped a hand on my shoulder.

“Go home, man.”

I shrugged him off. “I’m good.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, watching me. “But whatever. See you tomorrow.”

I didn’t argue. Just grabbed my things and headed out.

The drive home was quiet. The city blurred past, neon signs flickering, pedestrians moving in groups, living their normal lives. It felt like a different world. A world I had no place in.

When I stepped into my apartment, I kicked off my boots, shrugged off my jacket, and went straight for the whiskey bottle sitting on the counter. I poured a glass, watching the amber liquid swirl, then took a slow sip.

One drink. Just enough to take the edge off.

I settled onto the couch, staring at the worn-out coffee table. My fingers drummed absently against the glass. There was an old photo album shoved onto the shelf under the TV. I hadn’t touched it in years. Didn’t need to. The memories never left anyway.

I took another sip, letting the burn settle in my chest. The night stretched ahead, quiet and empty. And I already knew—sleep wouldn’t come easy. It never did.