20. Evan
CHAPTER 20
Evan
T he flames roared around me as I charged back into the burning apartment complex, the heat touching my skin even through my protective gear. Smoke billowed thick and acrid, stinging my eyes and lungs, even with the mask and SCBA I wore. But I couldn't stop. Not when there might still be people trapped inside, relying on me to save them. We’d cleared everything but the second floor, and the neighbors thought the old man in Unit 2D had been home.
"Eli, take the west corridor!" My voice didn't waver. It couldn't; too many were counting on me.
"Copy that, Evan," came the crackled response over the radio. I could hear the man’s trust in my decision.
"Keep talking, and watch for structural damage," I reminded them, though they knew this dance as well as I did. We'd trained for moments like these, when the world narrowed down to flames and survival.
I moved methodically from room to room, my senses straining for any sign of life amidst the smoke-filled air. Sweat poured down my face, my breathing labored, echoing in my ears through the mask. Yet a strange calm settled over me, the kind that only comes when you're doing exactly what you were meant to do.
I opened the door to what I assumed was a bedroom. There, I finally spotted him, huddled by the closet, near the floor where the air would be cleanest.
“I’ve got him.” I looked back toward the hallway and grimaced at the rapidly deteriorating conditions before shutting the door behind me. “I don’t know if we can make it back. I need ex-fil from the Bravo side.” We’d just have to go out the window.
I held out my hand to the man, just as a thunderous groan shook the structure. I whipped my head up to see the ceiling buckle, then give way with a deafening crack. Flaming debris rained down, headed straight for the man cowering against the wall.
I lunged forward, covering him with my body. Fiery chunks of wood and plaster struck my back, but I barely felt them. All that mattered was shielding this stranger with my own body, keeping him safe.
As the dust began to settle, I found myself somewhere else entirely. Somewhere I tried never to go. The scent of smoke gave way to the stench of stale beer and sweat. Pulsing lights and throbbing music filled my head. Screams of terror, not from this fire, but from one long ago.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the onslaught of memory, but it was too late. I was back in that nightclub, desperately searching for my little brother amidst the chaos. The sickening realization that I'd failed him, that I hadn't been there when he needed me most. The guilt, the grief, the searing pain that never fully healed.
"Mercer, status?" The chief's voice cut through the noise.
Tears burned my cheeks as I clung to the trapped man, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I knew I had to keep going, had to finish the job.
I choked out a response, forcing the last bit of air from my crushed lungs. “Trapped. Ceiling. Bedroom.”
My vision blurred, and the world tilted sideways. I fought to stay conscious, to push through the pain and the memories. But it was a losing battle.
"Mercer! Mercer, you copy?" Someone was shouting my name, their voice barely reaching me.
The last thing I saw was my brother’s face—not the man I was shielding, but Mason, caught in the haze of smoke and memory, his features blurred by soot and shadow, just like that night all those years ago. Even though I hadn’t found him that night, this was how I always saw him.
In the end, it didn't matter how many times I faced down the beast or how many lives I saved. The one that mattered most was beyond my reach, a debt I could never repay.
Then the darkness took me, and I saw no more.
---
The sterile beep of machines pulled me back from the void, their rhythm steady and reassuring. I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room, so different from the flickering dance of flames I last remembered.
I tried to speak, but it came out more as a moan. The air here was devoid of smoke, replaced by the antiseptic tang that clung to the back of my throat. My limbs felt heavy, leaden, reluctant to respond after being rag-dolled by falling timber and the fierce grip of unconsciousness.
A gentle squeeze on my hand drew my awareness. Blinking against the fluorescent glare, I turned my head and found Samantha standing by my side, her fingers entwined with mine.
"Hey," she murmured, her voice a soft caress against the sterile hum of the hospital room. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her professional composure frayed at the edges. Samantha always had this look about her—like she could handle anything—but right now there was a vulnerability there that I'd never seen before. Not even when Sophia had been in the hospital had she looked so out-of-control.
"Hey yourself," I replied, trying to muster a grin despite the dull ache in my chest. "You look beat." The attempt at humor felt hollow, but it was instinctive, like breathing or reaching out to shield someone from falling debris.
She sobbed a laugh. Or laughed a sob?
She shook her head, swiping her eyes as if she could erase the emotion from her face. "Well, you look like a ceiling fell on top of you."
“Is that what happened?” I took stock of my body, slowly becoming more aware of the throbbing ache in my shoulder, the sting of raw skin along my arm. "Huh. Guess that explains the headache."
Her lips pressed together like she wanted to scold me for making light of it, but something in her expression softened instead. "You could’ve died, Evan."
I knew that. Of course, I knew that. But hearing it in her voice—strained and barely above a whisper—made it feel heavier somehow.
"Yeah," I admitted. "But I didn’t."
She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. "You can’t just—just brush that off like it’s nothing."
I tilted my head slightly, taking her in—the way she stood rigid, as if bracing for something, the way her fingers clutched at the hem of her sweater. She wasn’t just upset. She was scared. For me.
"Sam," I said gently. "I’m here. I’m okay."
Her eyes flicked up to mine, searching for something—reassurance, maybe. A promise neither of us could really make.
She exhaled slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "You scared me," she admitted again, quieter this time.
I wanted to reach for her. Wanted to pull her close and promise I’d always come back. But I couldn’t do that. Because we both knew there were no guarantees.
So instead, I just said, "I’m not going anywhere."
And I meant it.
I wanted to say more, to bridge the gap between us with words, but sometimes words just weren't enough.
"Sometimes, I think God's been nudging me in directions I've been too stubborn to follow," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You? Stubborn?”
A ghost of a smile traced her lips. “I know. Hard to believe.”
She let out a soft breath, her fingers smoothing over the edge of my hospital blanket like she needed something to do with her hands. “But I’m serious. I spent so long being angry at you, Evan. At what happened. At what didn’t happen. And now you’re here, and I don’t know what to do with that. It feels like God brought you here, but I don’t know why.”
I swallowed, my throat dry. “You don’t have to know. We can figure it out.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “See, that’s the thing. You say that like it’s easy. Like all we have to do is try, and everything will fall into place.” Her hands clenched into fists in her lap before she exhaled and forced them open again. “But I have a daughter to think about. And I don’t get the luxury of hoping this works out. I have to know.”
I let her words settle between us before whispering, “Will you ever forgive me?”
“Will you ever forgive yourself?”
Her question hit harder than I expected. Harder than anything her anger or silence had ever done.
I started to look away, but she didn’t let me. Her eyes held mine, steady and unrelenting. There was no accusation in them now, just something deeper—something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
“I don’t know how,” I admitted, my voice hoarse. “I’ve spent so long carrying this, I don’t know who I am without it.”
Her expression softened, and she squeezed my hand. “Then maybe it’s time to put it down.”
Put it down. As if it were that simple.
But wasn’t that what I was supposed to do? Hadn’t I spent years believing I had to atone for my mistakes, to be good enough, strong enough, selfless enough to make up for what happened? And yet, here I was, still weighed down by the same guilt, the same shame.
I closed my eyes, pressing my head back against the pillow. “I don’t deserve that kind of grace.”
She was quiet for a long moment before she whispered, “Neither do I. But that’s the thing about grace, Evan. It’s never been about what we deserve.”
The words settled into my chest, sinking deep like rain into dry earth.
I thought about all the times I had tried to fix things on my own. All the years I had spent believing I had to carry this burden, to make up for what I’d done. And yet, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much I punished myself, the guilt never left.
Because I wasn’t meant to carry it alone.
I opened my eyes and looked at her again. Really looked at her. Sam, who had every reason to hate me, to push me away, and yet here she was, offering me something I didn’t know how to accept.
A way forward.
“I don’t know how to let it go,” I admitted again, my voice barely more than a breath.
She gave me a sad, knowing smile. “You don’t have to. You just have to let Him take it.”
God.
The answer had been there all along, but I had spent so many years only peripherally approaching him, convinced it was all I could ask for. That I had to earn my way back. But maybe… maybe I didn’t have to. Maybe I just had to surrender.
A lump formed in my throat, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to pray. Not out of obligation, not because I was trying to make a deal with God, but because I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t carry the guilt of my mistakes anymore. Not for sleeping with Sam, which God had obviously used for something as miraculous as the little girl who held my whole heart. I couldn’t carry the weight of Mason’s death anymore.
I took a shaky breath, my fingers still tangled with Sam’s.
“I don’t expect you to just trust me overnight,” I admitted. “But I meant what I said, Sam. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”
She studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine like she was looking for cracks in my resolve.
“I lost everything that night. My brother. You. And I spent years trying to make peace with the fact that I didn’t deserve to get any of it back. But you’re right. It’s time to let go of that guilt.”