Chapter 14
Maya
I woke up on a Wednesday morning to the feel of lips on my shoulder, trailing a path up the curve of my neck.
"Time to wake up." Shane's voice was low, warm against my skin.
I groaned, burrowing deeper into the pillow. "Five more minutes."
"You said that ten minutes ago."
My body still held the memory of last night. The pleasant ache in my muscles, the tenderness where his stubble had scraped my neck, the way he'd whispered my name like it meant something sacred.
I turned in his arms, facing him. Light filtered through the curtains, catching the gold in his stubble, the blue of his eyes still soft with sleep. He looked younger like this. Unguarded. The hero everyone saw stripped away, leaving just the man underneath.
"I have to go in today," he said. "Twenty-four-hour shift."
I nodded. I knew his schedule by now. "What time do you leave?"
"Not for a couple of hours." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "Rodriguez has us running equipment recertifications after shift change, so I’ll be back tomorrow night. Probably late."
"I'll save you dinner."
His jaw tightened slightly. "I still don’t like being pulled off the detail."
"Shane. Hanwell’s on maternity leave. They need you on the rig."
"They could've found someone else."
"There's a patrol car outside the school every day. I'm fine." I traced the furrow between his brows, smoothing it out. "Besides, it’s been days now. No fires. No sightings. Maybe he's gone."
Shane didn't look convinced, but he let it go.
Something shifted in his expression. That look he got sometimes, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. Something shifted in his expression. That look he got sometimes, like he couldn't quite believe I was real. Like he was still waiting for me to disappear.
I kissed him before he could say whatever impossibly sweet thing was forming behind his eyes. When I pulled back, he was smiling.
"I could get used to this," he said.
"Good." I slipped out of his arms, reaching for my robe. "Because you're stuck with me now."
The morning routine had become something like choreography.
Shane was in the kitchen making coffee while I showered. I emerged to find Zoe already at the table, earbuds in place. The careful dance of three people learning to live in the same space.
"Hey, Zo." Shane set a plate in front of her. "Eggs?"
She pulled out one earbud. "Did you put cheese in them?"
"Would I forget the cheese?"
The corner of her mouth twitched. "You forgot the other day."
"That was one time."
Zoe rolled her eyes, but the hint of a smile stayed as she took a bite.
I watched them from the doorway. This small, ordinary moment. A man made breakfast for my daughter. My daughter let him do it.
Shane caught my eye across the kitchen. Smiled. That private smile that was just for me.
I could get used to this.
Maybe I already had.
"Zoe! We're going to be late!"
No response. Just the muffled thump of music from behind her closed door. The final stages of teenage preparation: changing outfits three times and agonizing over whether her hair looked stupid.
I sighed, about to turn toward the kitchen to grab my keys, but Shane was already there. His hands cupped my face, tilting it up toward his.
"I'm going to miss you."
"It's one shift."
"Twenty-four hours without you." He kissed my forehead. "Tragic."
"You'll survive."
"Barely." Shane pulled me close. His hands settled on my hips as if they belonged there.
I tilted my face up, and he kissed me slowly, the kind of kiss that made me forget we were already late.
"Ugh." Zoe's voice cut through the moment. She stood in the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression caught between genuine disgust and badly hidden amusement. "Can we go? We're going to be late."
Shane laughed against my mouth. I felt the rumble of it in my chest.
"Your daughter has no appreciation for romance," he said.
"My daughter has a math test first period." I pulled back, but not far. "She's stressed."
"I'm not stressed," Zoe said flatly. "I'm traumatized."
Shane grinned at her, then turned back to me. "Be safe."
"Always." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night."
One more kiss. Quick, stolen like we were teenagers sneaking around.
"Bye," I whispered.
Zoe was already at the door, holding it open with exaggerated impatience.
I grabbed my keys and followed her out, glancing back once.
Shane stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, lifting his hand in a wave.
The morning light caught him just right, soft and golden, and something in my chest ached at how natural he looked.
Like he'd always been part of our mornings.
I turned and followed Zoe down the hall.
Dangerous, I thought. Getting used to him being here was dangerous.
But I was tired of being afraid. Tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Shane had shown up, again and again, and maybe it was time I let myself believe he'd keep showing up.
The rest of the morning passed in a comfortable blur of routine.
First period, second period, Marcus bringing me an apple he'd clearly stolen from the cafeteria, James proudly announcing he'd finished his chapter book all by himself.
The patrol car was visible through my window, a constant reminder that Tommy Vickers was still out there — something dangerous loose in Queens.
But it had been weeks. No fires. No sightings. The task force was starting to wonder if he'd left the city—if the surveillance had spooked him into running.
Shane didn’t believe a word of it.
He was still convinced that Tommy was building toward something, that the other schools were practice, that I was always the target.
But today, in the warm fluorescent light of my classroom, surrounded by fourth graders arguing about whose turn it was to feed the class goldfish, the danger felt distant, abstract—something happening to someone else.
I should have known better.
At lunch, I headed for the teacher's lounge.
I heard them before I saw them. A cluster of voices near the window, low and conspiratorial, punctuated by the occasional gasp or murmur of disbelief. Mrs. Patterson stood at the center, phone held out like evidence, the other teachers leaning in to look.
The conversation stopped the moment I walked through the door.
Four heads swiveled toward me as I headed for the coffee machine.
"Maya." Her voice was sugar-sweet. "Do you have a moment?"
My stomach tightened. Nothing good ever followed that tone.
"I'm actually—"
"It won't take long." She was already crossing the room, phone in hand. "I just wanted to show you something. As a friend."
As a friend. Of course.
"There's an article." She held out her phone, face arranged in careful sympathy. "About the daddy-daughter dance. About you and Shane."
I shouldn't have looked. I knew better. But my hand was already reaching, my eyes already scanning.
Calendar Firefighter's New Flame: The Teen Mom Teacher He “Rescued.”
The headline hit like a slap. I scrolled down, my mouth going dry.
Shane Briggs, NYC's favorite hero and cover star of the infamous FDNY calendar, has apparently traded supermodels for soccer moms. The hunky firefighter was spotted at a local daddy-daughter dance with his new flame: a school teacher and single mom he met on a routine call...
The photo was from the dance. Shane and Zoe were on the dance floor, me watching from the sidelines. They'd cropped it so I looked desperate. Hungry. Like need itself had been caught on camera.
But it was the comments that made my hands shake.
She's got a teenage kid, he's not signing up for that.
Single mom? He'll be gone in a month.
Teen mom energy, desperate to lock him down.
Thirteen years of whispered judgment—every quiet cruelty I’d learned to ignore—broadcast to thousands. Every fear I'd ever had about myself was confirmed by strangers who'd never met me.
“I’m so sorry, dear.” Mrs. Patterson’s voice was honey-laced with arsenic.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
"I just thought you should know what people are saying." She paused, timing it perfectly. "And... there's something else."
She swiped to an image and held it up so I couldn't look away.
Shane. At a bar. A woman pressed against him. She was beautiful, dark-haired, her hand on his chest, her body curved into his like she belonged there. The photo was grainy, taken from across the room, but there was no mistaking him.
"This was taken a few nights ago," Mrs. Patterson said. "At O'Malley's. That's where the firefighters go after their shifts, right?"
A few nights ago. Shane had texted me that night. Garrett's birthday. Quick drinks with the crew. I'll call you after.
He hadn't mentioned this. Hadn't mentioned her.
"I don't know who she is," Mrs. Patterson continued, "but I thought you should see it. Men like that don't change. I'm just looking out for you."
I stared at the photo. Shane's face. The woman's hands on him. The angle that made it look like something it probably was.
Probably.
But my brain wasn't processing probabilities. My brain was processing patterns. David at his work Christmas party, his assistant’s hand on his arm. David’s late nights at the office. David’s excuses—reasonable until they weren’t.
You're too much work. No one's going to want your mess.
"I have to go." My voice came from somewhere far away. "I have a class."
I left before she could respond. Left the phone, the photo, the honey-sweet smile that had finally found the knife it was looking for.
I don't know how I made it through the rest of the day.
Teaching on autopilot. Smiling when students asked questions. Nodding at the right moments during the faculty meeting.
Everything was muffled, like I was watching my life from underwater.
That night, alone in my apartment, I finally let myself break apart.
Zoe was in her room, headphones on, oblivious. I sat on the couch where Shane had kissed me a hundred times, staring at my phone, reading the article again. And again. And again.
Teen mom energy, desperate to lock him down.
He'll be gone in a month.
My phone buzzed. It was Shane.
Shane
Hey, beautiful. Quiet shift so far. How was your day?
I stared at the message. Couldn't make my fingers type a response.
Another buzz, twenty minutes later.
Shane
Thinking about you. Can't wait to see you tomorrow night.
The words blurred through my tears. Yesterday, that text would have made me smile. Would have made me feel chosen, wanted, lucky.
Now it just felt like a lie I’d already heard before.
Another buzz.
Shane
You okay? You're usually faster with the comebacks.
I turned off my phone.
The photo of Shane and the woman was burned into my retinas. His face. Her hands. The intimacy of their posture. Maybe it was innocent. Maybe she was an old friend. A coworker. Someone meaningless.
But old friends and coworkers don’t stand that close.
‘No one’s going to want your mess.’
‘You’re too much work.’
David’s words echoed in my head.
I cried alone on the couch until my chest ached. Until my eyes swelled shut. Until Zoe's light went off down the hall and the apartment fell silent around me.
Shane texted three more times before I finally turned my phone off completely.
Shane
Maya, I'm getting worried. Just let me know you're okay.
Did something happen? Talk to me.
Then, an hour later.
Shane
Okay, you probably fell asleep. I'll call you in the morning. I love you.
I love you.
The words that were supposed to mean something. The words everyone said right before they left.
I curled into myself on the couch and waited for morning to come.
He showed up the next evening.
Of course he did. His shift ended, equipment recertifications done, and suddenly he was at my door.
"Hey, you." He leaned in to kiss me. "I tried calling. You didn't answer my texts last night or this morning. Everything okay?"
I stepped back before his lips could reach me.
The smile faded.
"Maya?" He searched my face. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"I saw the article." My voice was flat. Dead. "I saw the photo."
"What article? What photo?"
"Don't." The word cracked like glass between us. "There’s a picture of you going around with some woman at O'Malley's."
Shane went still. Then something like recognition crossed his face.
"That was... Maya, that was nothing. She's someone from before. She came up to me at the bar. I told her I was with someone."
"You didn't mention her."
"Because there was nothing to mention. She hit on me, I shut it down. End of story."
"And the article?" I held up my phone. The headline glared between us. "The comments? 'Teen mom energy, desperate to lock him down?’ 'He'll be gone in a month?’"
Shane's face darkened. "That's bullshit. You know that's bullshit."
"Do I?" My voice rose. I couldn't stop it. "Because everyone seems to think I’m some desperate single mom who trapped you, and maybe they're right. Maybe I was just a project. The struggling teacher you 'rescued.' A good story to tell your friends. A headline."
"Maya—"
"We're done."
The words fell out before I could stop them. Before I could think. Shane recoiled as if I’d struck him.
"You don't mean that."
"I do." I was crying now, couldn't help it, hated myself for it. "I can't do this. I can't wait for you to realize I'm too much work. I can't watch Zoe get attached to someone else who's going to leave. I can't—"
I closed the door before I could change my mind.
He stood on the other side. I could see his shadow through the peephole, hear his voice muffled through the wood.
"Maya. Please. Let me explain."
I didn't answer.
I slid down the door, back pressed against the cold wood, and sobbed.
When Zoe's door opened, when her footsteps padded down the hall, I wiped my face, stood up, and pretended I hadn't just destroyed everything.
"Mom?" Zoe's voice was small. Scared. "What's wrong? Where's Shane?"
I couldn't answer.
I'd done it. Cut him off before he could leave. Ended it on my terms. Controlled the damage. Or so I told myself.
It was the right choice. It had to be.
So why did it feel like I'd just set fire to my own life?