Chapter 13 #2
Maya and I found reasons to check on each other.
I'd bring coffee to her classroom during my rounds.
She'd text me photos of particularly creative spelling errors from her students' essays.
We'd steal moments in the hallway between classes, my hand on her back when no one was looking, her smile warming something cold in my chest.
One afternoon, on a coffee break in her classroom, I told her about the call I'd gotten that morning.
"They want me for the calendar again."
Maya looked up from her grading, eyebrows raised. "The shirtless-holding-a-puppy calendar?"
"That's the one."
"The one where you're basically a pinup for every woman in New York City?"
"It's for charity."
"Mmhmm." She leaned back in her chair, a smile tugging at her lips. "Should I be worried? All those women sliding into your DMs, asking if they can pet your dalmatian?"
"First of all, it was a different dog every year. Second of all—" I stepped closer, bracing my hands on her desk, leaning down until our faces were inches apart. "You're the only one I want sliding into anything."
Maya groaned. "That was terrible."
"You're smiling."
"I'm grimacing."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it." But she was definitely smiling now. She reached up and straightened my collar. "So are you going to do it?"
I hesitated. "I don't know. I've been thinking about saying no this year."
"Why?"
"Because I'm tired of being that guy. The calendar firefighter. The headline." I shrugged. "I want to be more than that."
Maya studied me for a moment. Then she stood, closed the distance between us, and put her hands on my chest.
"You are more than that," she said. "To me. To Zoe. But Shane, it's for charity. It raises money for families of fallen firefighters. That matters.” She smoothed down my shirt. "Besides, I expect a signed copy. Personalized. Something embarrassing I can frame and put on my desk."
I laughed. "You want a shirtless photo of me on your desk? In an elementary school?"
"I'll keep it in a drawer. For morale."
"Whose morale?"
"Mine." She grinned. "Do the calendar. Just remember who you're coming home to."
I kissed her forehead. "Always."
It wasn’t professional. I didn’t care anymore.
At night, I'd drive her home, walk her to the door, kiss her goodnight if Zoe wasn't watching. Then I'd go back to the school and finish my shift, counting the hours until I could see her again.
Three days passed. Then five. Then a full week.
No fires. No Tommy. No sign that he even knew we were looking for him.
I should have been relieved. Instead, I felt like I was standing too close to a bomb that hadn’t gone off yet.
On my days off, I found myself at Maya’s school. I couldn’t stay away. I didn’t want to. I'd bring her lunch, sit with her while she scarfed down a sandwich between grading papers and parent emails.
One afternoon, I stopped at a bodega on the way and grabbed a bunch of daisies. Nothing fancy. Just right.
Maya looked up when I walked into her classroom. Her gaze dropped to the flowers.
"These are for me?"
"No, they're for Marcus. Heard he aced his spelling test."
She laughed, took them from my hand, and kissed me. Right there in her classroom, the door open, anyone could have walked by. She didn't seem to care.
"Thank you," she said against my mouth.
"They’re just flowers."
"It's not just flowers." She kissed me again, softer this time.
I didn't fully understand what she meant. But I filed it away anyway. The way her voice caught on the word. The way she looked at the daisies like they meant more than they should.
My phone buzzed while I was grabbing coffee at the café near Maya's school.
Brian
Garrett's birthday tonight. Drinks at O'Malley's. 8pm. Bring your girl.
"I can't. I'm behind on progress reports, and if I don't finish them this week, Principal Hendricks will have my head."
"I'll stay with you. Help you grade."
"You can't read my fourth graders' handwriting."
"I can try."
Maya laughed. The sound loosened something tight in my chest. "Go. It's Garrett's birthday. You should be there."
I hesitated. I didn't want to leave her. Not with Tommy still out there, not even with the patrol car parked outside.
She read my face. She always could.
"Shane." Her voice was gentle but firm. "There's a cop in the parking lot. Millie's with Zoe. I'm going to be in a locked building, grading papers about what my students did over winter break." She touched my arm. "I'll be fine. Go be with your brothers."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." She stood on her toes and kissed my cheek. "Tell Garrett happy birthday. Buy him a drink. Be normal for one night." She reached up, touched my jaw. "I'll be here when you get back."
I went. Not happily, but I went.
O'Malley's was crowded and loud, the way it always was on a Friday night.
I found Brian and Garrett at our usual table in the back. Garrett had a beer in front of him and a rare smile on his face. Brian was already two drinks in, telling a story about a call that had gone sideways last week.
"—and then the guy's like, 'That's not my cat,' and Torres here is standing there holding this twenty-pound tabby that's absolutely destroyed his turnout gear—"
"It wasn't twenty pounds," Garrett said mildly.
"It was at least eighteen. Thing was a monster."
I slid into the booth, ordered a beer, and let the familiar rhythm of the conversation wash over me. For a few hours, I almost forgot about Tommy Vickers. About the protective detail. About the fear that had taken up permanent residence in my chest.
"So," Brian said, sliding me another beer. "You're serious about her."
I could tell by his tone that he already knew the answer.
"Yeah." I didn't hesitate. "I am."
Brian nodded slowly. "Good. You deserve something real." He paused. "Just don't forget we exist, asshole."
"Never."
Garrett returned from a dart game he'd won without really trying. He sat down and took a long drink of his beer.
"She know about the surveillance?" he asked. "That you pulled strings to be on her detail?"
"She knows."
"And she's okay with it?"
I thought about our fight. The fragile compromise. The way she'd looked at me when she said trust me.
"She's not okay with any of it," I admitted. "But she trusts me."
Garrett held my gaze for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he nodded. "That's what matters."
I went to the bar to get the next round.
That's when someone touched my arm.
"Shane Briggs."
I turned. Dark hair, red lips, a dress that was trying too hard to be effortless. It took me a second to place her.
Natalie. Six months ago, maybe seven. One night after a charity gala, when I'd had too much whiskey and too little sense. She’d been persistent.
I’d been lonely. And neither of us had pretended it was anything more than what it was.
But looking at her now, it felt like a lifetime ago.
Like something that had happened to a different person.
She stepped closer, her hand landing on my arm, fingers curling around my bicep like she had a claim to it. My skin prickled with the urge to pull away.
"Shane Briggs." She repeated. Her voice was a purr. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for months. You never texted me back."
"Yeah." I didn't elaborate. Shifted slightly, trying to create distance, but she moved with me.
"That's all I get?" She laughed, but there was an edge to it. "After everything?"
"It was one night," I said. "That’s all it was."
"It was a good night." Her fingers traced up my sleeve, nails dragging lightly against the fabric. I stiffened, jaw tightening. "I've been thinking about it. About you. We could have another one." She leaned in closer, her perfume cloying and too sweet. "I'm free tonight."
I removed her hand from my arm. Firmly. "I'm not interested."
"Come on, Shane." She pouted, but her eyes were calculating. She reached for me again, and I stepped back, putting the barstool between us. "Don't be like that. We had fun. We could have fun again."
"I'm with someone."
"So?" She shrugged, like it was nothing. Like Maya was nothing. "She doesn't have to know."
"We're done here." I flagged down the bartender for my drinks, turning my body away from her.
"Since when are you the faithful type?"
"Since I met someone worth being faithful to."
Her expression shifted. The flirtatious mask slipped, revealing something harder underneath. Something angry.
"Serious." She repeated the word like it tasted bad. "You. Serious about someone."
"Goodbye, Natalie."
"Who is she? Some model? An actress?" Her eyes narrowed. "Must be pretty special to tie down the infamous Shane Briggs."
I didn't answer. Just grabbed the drinks and turned back toward my table.
"You’ll get bored," she called after me. "You always do."
I didn't look back.
Back at the table, Brian raised an eyebrow. "Who was that?"
"Nobody." I set down the beers. "Ancient history."
"She didn't look like she thought it was ancient."
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter what she thinks."
Brian lifted his glass. "To Garrett. Another year older, still can't beat me at pool."
"I beat you three games ago," Garrett said.
"That doesn't count. I was distracted."
"By what?"
"The concept of losing."
We stayed longer than I meant to. Another round turned into two, and by the time we stumbled out of O'Malley's, the streets were empty, and my head was swimming. Brian clapped me on the shoulder, said something about getting home safe, and disappeared into an Uber.
I checked my phone. Past midnight. Maya had texted an hour ago.
Maya
Finished grading. Going to bed. Come over whenever.
I should go to her. I wanted to go to her.
But O'Malley's was ten minutes from my apartment and forty from hers. And I was drunker than I'd been in months. I smelled like beer and bar, and the thought of showing up at Maya's like this—waking her up, crawling into her bed reeking of alcohol—felt wrong.
I texted her.
Shane
Got a little too drunk with the guys. Going to shower at my place first then head over.
Her reply came a minute later.
Maya
Lol. Okay. Don't slip in the shower. See you soon.
I smiled at my phone the whole walk home.
The shower helped. Hot water, soap, the fog in my head clearing slightly. I'd just throw on some clothes, call an Uber, and head to Maya's. Twenty minutes, tops.
I sat on the edge of my bed to pull on my jeans.
Just for a second. Just to catch my breath.
I woke up to sunlight streaming through my window.
Still in my towel. Jeans on the floor where I’d dropped them. My phone was dead on the nightstand.
Shit.
I plugged in my phone, waited for it to come back to life. Three texts from Maya, spaced across the night.
12:47am:
You on your way?
1:23am:
Guess you fell asleep. That's okay. Call me tomorrow.
1:24am:
Love you.
I dropped my head into my hands. I was supposed to be there. I'd told her I was coming. And instead, I'd passed out in a towel like some frat boy who couldn’t handle his liquor.
I called her immediately. She answered on the second ring.
"Hey, sleepyhead."
"Maya, I'm so sorry. I sat down for one second and—"
"Shane." She was laughing. "It's fine. You were drunk. You fell asleep. It happens."
"I should have been there for you."
"You needed a night with your friends. And clearly, you needed the sleep." I could hear the smile in her voice. "Did you at least have fun?"
"Yeah." I relaxed slightly. "Yeah, I did."
"Good. Then stop apologizing and come have breakfast with your girls."
Your girls.
Something warm spread through my chest.
"On my way," I said. "Give me twenty minutes."
"I'll make coffee."
I hung up, threw on clothes, and grabbed my keys.
This was what mattered. Maya. Zoe. The life we were building together.
Maya was making coffee. Zoe was probably still in her pajamas. And I was the luckiest man in New York City.