Chapter 3
Sam
She felt smaller than I remembered.
Maybe grief did that to people. Shrank them down to something fragile, something that could break if you held too tight.
Jamie's face pressed into my chest. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt. She was shaking, these small tremors that moved through her whole body. I could feel the moment she stopped trying to hold it together.
The hospital lobby hummed around us, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except the woman in my arms and the brother we'd both lost.
Then I saw him.
A man stood a few feet behind Jamie, watching us with an expression I couldn't quite read.
He was tall, well-dressed, the kind of put-together that came from money and confidence.
Everything about him said New York—the sharp cut of his jaw, the way he held himself like he was used to being the most important person in any room.
After a while, her breathing slowed. Jamie pulled back. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy, and she was still the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and turned slightly, gesturing to the man behind her.
"Sam, this is Mark. My boyfriend."
The word landed somewhere in my chest and stayed there.
"Mark, this is Sam Reeves. Jack's best friend."
Mark stepped forward and extended his hand. His grip was firm. "Sam. I'm sorry we're meeting under these circumstances."
"Thank you for coming with her. For not letting her do this alone."
He nodded once. That was all either of us had.
Jamie stood between us, her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold her own pieces together.
"Where is he?" Jamie's voice was barely above a whisper.
"They moved him to the morgue. But they said only family can see him." I swallowed. "I can take you there."
We walked together, the three of us, through hallways that seemed to stretch longer than they should. When we reached the door, I stopped.
"I'll give you some time," I said. "Take as long as you need."
Mark put his hand on her shoulder. "I'll be right here."
Jamie nodded. She looked at me one more time before she pushed the door and walked into the room where her brother's body was waiting.
"She didn't cry once on the flight," Mark said after a moment. "Not until she saw you."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"You've known her a long time," he said. Not a question.
"Since we were kids. She was always tagging along after Jack and me. She used to drive us crazy. In the best way."
Mark smiled, but it was tight. Sad. "She doesn't talk about Havensworth much. I think it's hard for her. Being back here."
I didn't know what Jamie had told him about her past, so I said nothing.
Through the window, Jamie stood beside the table where Jack's body was laid. She wasn't moving. She wasn't touching him. She was just standing there, looking at what was left of her brother.
Mark walked into the room. He stood beside Jamie and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and he held her while she cried.
She found a good man, someone steady. Someone who shows up. That's what matters.
I told myself I was happy for her.
Amber's car was in the parking lot when I pulled in.
I sat in my truck for a moment, staring at the light glowing through my apartment window. She'd let herself in again with the key I'd given her months ago, the one I kept meaning to ask back.
I didn't have the energy to tell her to leave.
She was on her feet the moment I walked through the door, crossing the room, wrapping her arms around me.
"I heard what happened," she said. "I'm so sorry."
I hugged her back. My arms went around her and I waited to feel something.
I didn't.
She pulled away to look at my face. "Do you know when the funeral is?"
"We're still working out the details. I'm going to the firehouse tomorrow to find out more."
She nodded. "That's good. Staying busy helps."
She tried again. Wrapped her arms around me. Said all the right things about how sorry she was, how Jack was a good man, how she was here for me if I needed anything.
I felt nothing.
I didn't want to talk. I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week and wake up in a world where Jack was still alive.
I pulled away. Sat on the edge of the couch. Put my head in my hands.
"It's my fault," I said.
The words came out before I could stop them. I hadn't meant to say them out loud. But once they were in the air, I couldn't take them back.
Amber sat down beside me. "Sam, no—"
"He wasn't supposed to be on that shift." My voice cracked. I hated the sound of it. "I asked him to cover for me."
"There's no way you could have known what would happen."
"He went back into a burning building for a little girl." I shook my head.
Amber's hand found my back again. Small circles, the kind of comforting gesture you learn from a lifetime of being comforted.
"It's not your fault he went back in, Sam. That was his choice. He didn't have to be a hero."
I went still.
She didn't mean it the way it sounded. I knew that. She was trying to help, trying to lift the weight off my shoulders, trying to say the thing that would make me feel better.
But the words landed wrong. He didn't have to be a hero. Like Jack had chosen this. Like saving a little girl from a burning building was some kind of ego trip, some optional act of bravery he could have skipped if he'd been more sensible.
She didn't understand. She'd never understand. Not Jack, not the job, not what it meant to run into a fire to save people’s lives. Not the promise I'd made in that hospital room. Not the debt I now owed to a dead man.
I wanted to argue. To explain. To make her see.
But I didn't have the energy.
"I'm going to take a shower," I said, and stood up before she could respond.
The water was too hot. I let it burn.
Steam filled the small space, and in the privacy of it, I let myself feel everything I'd been holding back.
Jamie and I divided the tasks that morning.
She would handle the hospital—the death certificate, Jack's personal effects, whatever paperwork needed to be signed before they could release his body to the funeral home.
I would handle the fire department. There were protocols when a firefighter died in the line of duty.
Honors. Recognition. A funeral with dress uniforms and bagpipes and a flag-draped casket carried by the men who'd served beside him.
The last line of duty death in Havensworth was 1965. Forty-two years without losing one of our own. Jack would be the first in nearly half a century, and the department would make sure he was honored the way he deserved.
That's what I told myself on the drive over.
"Jack died the way a firefighter should." Sean's voice cut through the quiet of the station kitchen. "Saving lives. Going back in when it mattered. That's what this job is."
Tyler nodded from across the table. A few other guys had come in on their day off when they heard—Martinez from B-shift, a couple of the older guys who'd known Jack from his early days.
The kitchen was more crowded than usual, but quieter.
Coffee cups no one was drinking. Hands that needed something to do.
"How are you holding up?" Martinez asked me.
"I'm alright."
No one believed it. No one called me on it either.
This was how firefighters grieved. Not with words, but with presence. With showing up. Sitting in the same room, drinking bad coffee and waiting for someone to tell us what came next.
Cap had been in his office since I arrived, on the phone with the brass. Working out the details.
The door to Cap's office opened. He stood in the frame for a moment. Something was wrong—the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched.
"Sam. Can I talk to you for a minute?"
The kitchen went quiet. I stood up, walked across the room, and followed him inside.
Cap closed the door behind me. He didn't gesture to the chair. He just stood there for a moment, his back to me, one hand braced against the filing cabinet.
"Cap?"
He turned around. He looked tired in a way that went deeper than sleep. But there was something else in his face now. Anger.
"I just got off the phone with the chief's office," he said. "The city attorneys weighed in this morning."
City attorneys. The words sat wrong in my chest.
"They're not classifying it as line of duty."
The air left my lungs.
"That's not—" I started. "He died from smoke inhalation. From the fire. That's textbook LODD."
"I know." Cap's voice was tight. "That's not their argument."
I waited.
Cap exhaled. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy. "The building had been deemed unsafe for entry. Command ordered everyone out. The structure was too unstable to continue interior operations."
I knew this. I'd heard the radio traffic afterward. The whole department had.
"Jack went back in anyway," Cap continued. "Against a direct order."
"He saved a little girl."
"I know he did." Cap met my eyes. "But the city attorneys are calling it insubordination. Willful disregard of safety protocols." He shook his head. "They're saying if they classify it as line of duty, they're admitting liability. Opening the city up to a lawsuit."
"A lawsuit? His daughter is four years old. She just lost her father."
"I know, Sam." Cap's voice cracked, just slightly. "I've been on the phone for two hours trying to fight this. It's not coming from us. It's coming from downtown. The lawyers made the call and the chief's office signed off."
I stared at him. Tried to make the words make sense.
Jack saved a child. He walked through fire to bring her out. And now some attorneys in an office downtown were going to bury him like he was a liability instead of a hero.
"What about the benefits?" My voice sounded far away. "Rosie. She's supposed to get—"
"If it's not classified as LODD, the federal benefits don't apply." Cap looked like he wanted to put his fist through the wall. "I'm sorry, Sam. I tried. There's nothing else I can do."
I nodded. The motion was automatic. My body going through the motions while my mind tried to catch up.
"We'll still be there for his family," Cap said. "Whatever they need. The men will show up. We always show up for our own, even when the city won't."
"Thank you, Cap."
The words came out steady. Polite. The way you're supposed to sound when the world stops making sense.
I walked out of his office and back through the kitchen. The guys were still there. Martinez. Tyler. The older guys who'd come in on their day off.
They looked up when I passed. Saw my face.
I didn't stop.
Jack died the way a firefighter should. Saving lives. Going back in when it mattered.
But the city called it insubordination.
And now it didn't count.
I had to tell Jamie.
The whole drive to Jack's house, I kept turning it over in my head. Jack died covering my shift. The least I could do was make sure he got the recognition he deserved. That was my one job today. Handle the department side. Make sure Havensworth honored him the way a firefighter should be honored.
And I'd failed.
I pulled into the driveway and sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel.
Part of me wanted to see her. Just being near Jamie made the weight in my chest feel lighter, like I could breathe again.
But I was about to walk in there with nothing.
No honor guard. No flag-draped casket. No official recognition that her brother had died a hero.
Loretta answered before I could knock. She looked like she'd aged ten years in the past two days.
"Sam." She pulled me into a hug. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course."
"Jamie's out back. On the porch."
I found her sitting on the steps that led down to the yard, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at the darkness beyond the porch light.
She turned when the screen door creaked. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, but she managed something that was almost a smile.
"Hey."
"Hey." I sat down beside her. "How are you holding up?"
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I have no idea. I think I'm still waiting to wake up."
We sat in silence for a moment. The crickets were loud, filling the space where words should have been.
"There's something I need to tell you," I said.
Jamie's posture shifted. I could feel her attention sharpen.
"The city isn't going to classify Jack's death as line of duty."
She was quiet for a moment.
"What does that mean?"
"It means no honors. No flag-draped casket. No federal benefits for Rosie." I stared at the yard because I couldn't look at her. "The city attorneys made the call this morning."
"On what grounds?"
I took a breath. "The building had been deemed unsafe. Command ordered everyone out. Jack went back in anyway."
"For a child."
"Yes."
"He saved her life."
"Yes."
"And they're calling that insubordination?"
I couldn't say anything.
Jamie was quiet for a long moment. I watched her face in the dim light—the way her jaw tightened, the way something shifted behind her eyes. She was filing this away. Storing it.
"City attorneys," she said. Not a question.
"That's what Cap told me. It came from downtown. The lawyers made the call and the chief's office signed off. Cap tried to fight it. He couldn't get anywhere."
"So they're protecting themselves from liability." Her voice was flat. "My brother saved a little girl's life, and they're treating him like a liability."
"I'm sorry." The words felt useless. "I tried, Jamie. I thought—"
"It's not your fault."
I went still. She meant the LODD. The city's decision. But hearing her say those words while I sat there knowing the truth—
"Sam." Her voice was softer now. The steel was gone, replaced by something fragile. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being here. For waiting at the hospital. For handling the department stuff so I didn't have to." She reached over and took my hand. Her fingers were cold, and I wrapped mine around them without thinking.
"Jack was lucky to have you," she said. She squeezed my hand. "We all are."
I sat there in the darkness, holding her hand, accepting gratitude I didn't deserve for a sacrifice I'd caused.
And I said nothing.