Chapter 4
Riley
Three days after I proposed to a coworker I’d barely spoken to outside of work—someone I knew by shift schedules and shared calls, by the way he moved under pressure and followed orders—I sat across from my sister and tried to find the words to explain what I’d done.
I’d trusted him with my life in burning buildings. That was different from trusting him with Mia. Different from trusting him with the mess I’d just dragged us into. The distinction mattered. I just wasn’t sure how to explain that to a twelve-year-old who was already watching me too closely.
The kitchen table between us was barely big enough for two plates.
The apartment was like that: everything compressed, nothing wasted, no room for error.
I’d rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in my head.
But now Mia sat there with her cereal going soggy, watching me over the rim of her bowl, eyes already narrowed in suspicion.
She noticed things. Always had. And with her sitting there like that, every version I’d practiced felt wrong.
"I need to tell you something," I said, folding my hands on the table to keep them still.
Mia's spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She didn't say anything. Just waited, the way she always waited when she braced for bad news.
"I'm getting married."
The spoon slipped from Mia’s fingers and clattered against the bowl. Milk splashed the table, but she didn’t look down. She just stared at me, eyes wide and searching, like I’d suddenly started speaking a language she didn’t recognize.
"You're what?"
"Getting married. To Liam Murphy."
The name didn’t register right away. I could see her sorting through it, running it against what she knew, what fit, what didn’t. Her brow furrowed.
“Murphy?” she repeated. “The one with the ranch? The one who makes bad jokes during equipment checks?”
"That's him."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest, gaze drifting past me to the wall like she needed distance to think. Confusion gave way to something tighter. Not anger yet. Assessment. The kind that comes before a question you don’t want to answer.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t laughing. That felt important.
“Since when have you been dating Murphy?”
The answer should have been simple. It wasn’t.
I’d never dated anyone seriously. Never let anyone get close enough for it to matter.
Every time I thought about handing someone that kind of power—letting them see the parts of me I kept hidden—my chest locked up and my breath stalled.
Distance was easier. Safer. Keeping people at arm’s length meant they couldn’t hurt us.
“It’s not about dating,” I said. “It’s about keeping our family together.”
Mia’s face shuttered. The shift was immediate. I watched the walls go up, brick by brick—the same walls I’d taught her to build without ever meaning to.
"Mom said that too." Her voice had gone cold. "Remember? When she married Todd. She said it would fix everything. She said we needed a real family, that the court would take us away if she didn't have a husband, that this would make things better."
The words hit like a fist to the sternum.
I remembered. Of course I remembered. My mother, desperate and high and convinced that a man was the answer to everything, dragging us to a courthouse not so different from the one I'd be standing in tomorrow.
Todd in a cheap suit, smiling wide while his eyes stayed flat and calculating.
My mother crying happy tears while I stood in the corner and felt something cold settle in my stomach.
She'd been trying to keep us, in her own broken way.
The state had been threatening to intervene.
Her addiction was getting worse, her ability to hold down a job nonexistent, and someone had called in a report.
She'd thought marriage would fix it. A two-parent household.
Stability on paper, even if the reality was anything but.
It hadn't fixed anything. It had made everything worse.
"This is different," I said again, but the words felt thin. "Liam isn't Todd."
"You don't know that."
"I do." I reached across the table, but Mia pulled her hands into her lap, out of reach. "I've worked with him for two years, Mia. I've seen him run into burning buildings for strangers. I've seen how he treats people when no one's watching, when there's nothing in it for him. He's a good man."
"Mom thought Todd was good too. In the beginning."
I flinched. I couldn't help it. Because she was right.
In the beginning, Todd had been charming.
Helpful. The kind of man who brought flowers and fixed the leaky faucet and made my mother laugh for the first time in months.
It wasn't until later that the mask slipped and we learned what truly lived underneath.
"I know." My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "I know she did. But I'm not Mom, Mia. I don't need someone to take care of me. I'm doing this with my eyes open, and I'm doing it for one reason only. To keep you safe. To make sure Todd never gets his hands on you again."
Mia pressed her lips together, fighting to keep her composure. Her eyes were shining, but she wouldn't let the tears fall. She'd learned that from me too.
"Do you trust me?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
She grabbed her backpack, shoved her chair back from the table, and headed out for school without saying goodbye. It was the first time she’d ever done that. The door slammed behind her like a verdict.
I sat alone in the silence, staring at her abandoned cereal, and wondered if I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
The courthouse steps were cold through the thin fabric of the dress that Lucy loaned me.
It was nothing fancy. Soft blue, it was the kind of thing a normal woman might wear to a nice dinner or a job interview.
I'd never owned anything like it. My closet was full of practical things: cargo pants, tank tops, oversized flannels I'd bought from the men's section because they were cheaper and I didn't have to think about how they fit.
I didn't dress to impress anyone. I dressed for comfort.
But today I was standing on courthouse steps in a blue dress and low heels that made my ankles wobble, feeling more exposed than I had in years. Like I'd left my turnout gear at home and shown up to a fire in my underwear.
Liam's truck pulled into the parking lot. I watched him climb out, and something in my chest did a strange little stutter.
He was wearing a suit. Dark, well-fitted, clearly not cheap.
It looked wrong on him somehow, like a costume he'd borrowed from someone else's life.
I'd only ever seen him in station gear, the standard-issue navy pants and department T-shirts we all wore.
I was surrounded by firefighters every day, men who stayed fit because the job demanded it, and I'd long ago stopped noticing.
They were coworkers. Background. Part of the scenery.
But Liam in a suit was different. The way it sat across his shoulders, the way he moved in it—confident even though he clearly wasn't comfortable.
For the first time, it hit me that Liam Murphy was actually handsome.
Not in the obvious way some of the guys at the station were, with their gym selfies and carefully maintained stubble.
Something quieter. Something that snuck up on you.
I shoved the thought aside. Dangerous territory.
He stopped when he saw me. Just for a second, just long enough for me to notice.
His eyes traveled from the dress to my face, and something flickered across his expression.
Surprise, maybe. Or something else I didn't have time to unpack.
My skin prickled with sudden awareness. I suddenly didn't know what to do with my hands.
Ridiculous. I'd stood next to this man in burning buildings.
"You look different." The words landed too close. I tugged at the hem of my dress, grounding myself in the familiar motion.
"It's the lack of turnout gear," I said, uncomfortable with his attention. "And the fact that I'm not covered in sweat and smoke."
He almost smiled. "The dress is nice."
"I don't usually dress like this. Lucy had to talk me into it."
"She has good taste."
We stood there for a moment, coworkers in costume, about to become husband and wife. A week ago, I wouldn't have picked Liam Murphy out of a lineup as my future spouse. The absurdity of it pressed against my ribs like a physical weight.
Cal and Lucy arrived before the silence could stretch too long. Lucy pulled me into a hug that lasted a beat longer than necessary, squeezing my arm as she pulled back.
"You okay?" Her voice was low enough that the men couldn’t hear.
"Fine."
She gave me a look that said she didn't believe me, but she didn't push. Lucy always knew when to let things be.
We went inside. The security guard waved us through the metal detector one by one, bored and barely looking up from his phone.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in that flat, washed-out glow that made everyone look slightly ill.
Our footsteps echoed on the linoleum floors, too loud in the hushed corridors.
The building smelled like floor wax and bureaucracy, that particular institutional scent that lived in courthouses and DMVs and every government building I'd ever set foot in.
Nothing about this felt like a wedding.
Nothing about this felt real.
I reminded myself that was the point. Keep your feet on the ground. That had always been my motto. Don't let hope make you stupid. Don't let wanting things cloud your judgment.
This was a legal transaction. Nothing more.
The ceremony took place in a judge's office.
Wood paneling lined the walls, dark with age, decorated with framed certificates and a mounted fish that had seen better days.
A slightly dusty American flag stood in the corner.
The desk was cluttered with files and coffee-stained papers, a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in wax paper pushed to one side.
Family photos crowded the windowsill—grandchildren grinning in school portraits, a wedding photo from what looked like the 1980s.
Judge Warren was a tired-looking man in his sixties, responsible for officiating our marriage and clearly juggling a dozen other things he needed to get done today. He wanted to get through this as quickly as possible.
Fine by me.
He shuffled through his papers, found the right form, and cleared his throat. "We are gathered here today to unite Riley Marie Santos and Liam James Murphy in matrimony."
The words washed over me, formal and hollow. I’d heard them before—in movies, at other people’s weddings. They were supposed to mean something. A beginning. A choice. A promise made because you wanted the same future.
This wasn’t that.
This was leverage. A calculated risk. A line I was stepping over because the alternative was worse. My pulse stayed steady, but my jaw ached from how hard I was holding it in place. I kept my eyes forward, hands still, every instinct focused on control.
Paperwork with extra steps. A legal shield. A move on the board. If this worked, it bought us time. Safety. Distance from Todd’s reach.
If it didn’t—
I cut that thought off. I didn’t have the luxury of imagining failure.
"Do you, Riley Marie Santos, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
My mouth went dry. The words I'd practiced, the simple "I do" I'd said a hundred times in my head, suddenly felt enormous. I was standing in a stranger's office, about to legally bind myself to a man I barely knew, betting everything on a plan that could fall apart at any moment.
Mia's face flashed through my mind. I was doing this for her. For us. For the family we'd scraped together from the wreckage of everything we'd lost.
"I do."
The words came out steady. Practiced. They didn't feel like mine.
"Do you, Liam James Murphy, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
"I do."
His voice was rougher than mine. I glanced at him, caught something in his expression, and looked away.
"The rings?"
I’d expected something from a drugstore. Cheap. Temporary. A placeholder to sell the story. Instead, Liam reached into his pocket and produced two bands.
They were simple. Smooth. Real gold, warm even in the flat courthouse light. No stones, no engraving—just weight and finish, the kind of ring that wasn’t meant to be replaced later. The kind you bought once because you didn’t plan on taking it off.
My stomach tightened. This hadn’t been discussed.
These weren’t props. They were commitments disguised as simplicity.
My eyes flicked to his. A question I didn't ask.
He didn't answer it. Just took my hand, and I tried not to notice how warm his fingers were, how steady his grip was, how my pulse jumped when his skin touched mine.
He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. I wondered when he'd had time to figure out my size, and then I stopped wondering because that way lay dangerous thoughts.
"By the power vested in me by the State of Colorado, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Seven minutes. That's all it took. Seven minutes to change everything.
Cal clapped Liam on the shoulder. Lucy caught my eye and smiled, small and knowing, like she could see something I couldn't. We signed the papers, initials and signatures on lines that would bind us together for the next year of our lives.
And then it was done.
We were married.
Just like that.
Outside, the spring sunshine felt surreal. Too bright, too warm, too cheerful for what we'd just done. We stood on the courthouse steps, legally bound, functionally strangers, and I had no idea what to say.
Liam cleared his throat. "So. Wife."
I almost laughed. Almost. "Husband."
The word felt ridiculous in my mouth. Like trying on someone else's name.
"This is weird," he said.
"Incredibly weird."
We stood there, neither of us sure what came next. A couple walked past us, hand in hand, glancing our way with polite smiles. They probably thought we were newlyweds. In love. Starting a life together.
They had no idea.