Chapter 2
TWO
brENDON
The call comes in, the radio crackling to life just as I’m tightening the strap on my turnout pants.
“Structure fire. Pine and Alder. Possible occupants inside.”
My body reacts before my mind does.
I move across the bay, hands sure, practiced, grabbing my coat, my helmet. The smell of diesel and metal and coffee hangs in the air, familiar and grounding. I’ve done this a thousand times in a dozen different places, but this one feels different.
This time I’m not saving the world. I’m saving my home.
Chief Aaron’s voice cuts through the movement, calm and steady as he snaps into command. Justin and Kendrick are already in motion beside me, the four of us falling into rhythm like we’ve trained together for years instead of months.
“Welcome to your first call,” Justin mutters as we climb into the truck.
I don’t answer. My jaw is too tight for that.
The engine roars to life, lights flashing as we pull out onto the road. I grip the bar overhead, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
This is what I came back for.
Not the danger exactly, but the clarity. The way everything narrows down to what matters when someone else’s life is on the line. The way doubt and memory and regret all shut up for a few blessed minutes.
Except they don’t.
Because all I can see, layered over the rushing street, is Abby’s face from earlier that morning. The way she stood by the window table, hands wrapped around a coffee pot she didn’t need to be holding.
The way her eyes held mine for one beautiful second before she looked away.
I hadn’t meant to go into the café.
That’s the lie I tell myself, anyway.
I tell myself I just wanted coffee. That it was habit, not memory, that pulled me through that door. That I didn’t already know she’d be there because my mom had mentioned it offhand the night before.
“She owns the place now,” she’d said. “Did you know that?”
I had known. Of course I had.
I just hadn’t been ready to admit that I’ve been following her moves for as long as I’ve been out of town. I knew she couldn’t be mine, but I wanted to make sure she was doing okay. To make sure she was happy.
With the life she built without me.
The truck slows abruptly, tires crunching over packed snow as smoke comes into view. Dark and wrong against the pale sky.
“Let’s go,” Aaron says.
We spring to action.
The heat hits first, even through my gear, rolling out in a wave as we cross the threshold. Smoke clings low and thick, stinging my eyes, muffling sound. The house groans around us, wood popping and cracking, fire eating greedily at anything it can reach.
“Search left,” Aaron orders.
I peel off without hesitation, sweeping my light across the room, methodical, controlled. This part of me never forgot how to do this. My body remembers even when my heart wants to wander back to things it can’t fix.
“Firefighter!” I call out. “Anyone here?”
A cough answers me faintly from down the hall.
I pivot, following the sound, my pulse kicking up a notch. The hallway is narrow, smoke thick enough that visibility drops to almost nothing. I move low, scanning, heart hammering now.
Then I see her.
A young girl is curled near the wall. Small and shaking, her hair is pulled back with a clip shaped like a daisy. Soot streaks her cheeks, and her eyes are huge behind it all, more curious than afraid.
Something in my chest tightens painfully.
“I’ve got you,” I say, dropping to one knee. “I’ll get you out of here.”
She peers at me through the haze. “Are you a real firefighter?”
“Yeah,” I say gently. “I am.”
She nods like that confirms something important. “Okay.”
I lift her carefully, cradling her against my chest, feeling how light she is, how fragile. She coughs once, then grips my coat.
“Is your tank heavy?” she asks as I carry her outside to safety.
“Pretty heavy.”
“Does it ever fall over?”
“Only when I’m not paying attention.”
That darns me a faint giggle. Relief floods me so fast it almost knocks me sideways.
We make it out moments later, cold air slamming into us like a wall. The noise returns all at once—sirens, shouting, radios crackling—as medics rush forward.
I hand her off gently, watching as they fit the oxygen mask over her face. She reaches for my glove, fingers curling tight.
“Thank you,” she says solemnly.
“You’re welcome,” I reply. “You were really brave.”
Her chest puffs up with pride.
I straighten just as movement at the edge of the crowd catches my attention. A woman breaks free from the line of neighbors, running hard despite the snow, her coat half buttoned, hair pulled back hastily.
I know it’s Abby before my brain has time to catch up.
She drops to her knees in front of the stretcher, arms wrapping around the little girl like she might disappear if she lets go. Her voice breaks as she says her name, over and over, relief and terror tangling together in a way I recognize far too well.
Daisy.
The little girl’s name is Daisy.
Daisy lifts her head, eyes bright even behind the mask. “Mom, this is the man who saved me.”
Abby looks up.
Our eyes lock, and the world tilts.
She looks wrecked and fierce and achingly familiar, her fear still raw and open. For a second, she looks exactly like she did the last time I saw her crying—like she’s holding herself together by sheer will alone.
“He’s a hero,” Daisy continues proudly.
Abby’s throat works. “Thank you,” she says, voice shaking. “Thank you.”
I nod, words failing me for once. “She did great.”
Her hand tightens on Daisy’s blanket, knuckles white.
I step back, giving them space I don’t really want to give, and peel off my helmet. The cold bites at my skin, sweat cooling too fast beneath my gear.
Aaron claps my shoulder. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.”
The fire is contained quickly after that. There’s heavy smoke damage, but with luck it won’t be a full loss. Another close call. Another what-if filed away where it can haunt me later.
I find Abby again near the ambulance, Daisy wrapped up and chattering happily now, as if the whole thing has already become a story instead of a trauma.
“Hey,” I say softly.
Abby looks up, surprise flickering across her face before settling into something cautious. “Hey.”
“She says you answered all her questions,” Abby says, glancing at Daisy.
“I was glad to,” I reply.
Daisy grins. “He knows everything.”
Abby almost smiles.
Almost.
“You’re back,” she says, like she’s still not sure she believes it.
“Yeah.”
“For good?”
I hesitate, then nod. “For good.”
Something shifts behind her eyes. Fear, maybe. Or hope she doesn’t want.
Daisy swings her legs. “Are you coming over for dinner?”
Abby stiffens instantly. I open my mouth to deflect, to give her an out.
“It’s the polite thing to do,” Daisy says. “He did save my life.”
But Abby exhales slowly. I can see the resistance slipping from her face. She always wore her emotions close to the surface.
“If you’re not busy,” she says. “We’d be glad to have you.”
I meet her gaze, heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with adrenaline.
I clear my throat. “I’m not busy.”
Daisy beams at me like I’m the best thing since sliced bread.
As Abby gathers her things, I watch them—mother and daughter, bound so tightly it hurts to look at—and something settles in my chest, warm and terrifying all at once.
A love that was once good but went bad.
A love that somehow, despite my best efforts, still burns strong inside of me.