Chapter 2 #2
Brian Torres had been living in the apartment next door when I moved in. I'd been carrying a box of textbooks up the stairs, too stubborn to make two trips, when he appeared on the landing and offered to help.
I'd almost said no. I didn't need help. I didn't need anyone.
But he had this smile. Easy, warm, the kind that made you feel like he was genuinely happy to see you, even though he'd never met you before. And I was exhausted, and the box was heavy, and for once in my life, I let someone do something for me.
He carried my books. Made a joke about medical students and their reading habits. Told me he was a firefighter at Engine 295 and that if I ever smelled smoke, I should bang on his door instead of calling 911 because he'd get there faster.
I laughed. I don't know why. I never laughed.
That should have been the end of it. Neighbors who nod at each other in the hallway, nothing more.
But that night, I couldn't sleep. I'd lost my first patient. I ended up on my balcony at 3 AM, staring at nothing, trying to remember how to breathe.
Brian was there too. He'd come off a bad call, he said. The kind that follows you home.
We talked until the sun came up. About the weight of holding lives in your hands. About the exhaustion that comes from caring too much. About how sometimes you just need someone who understands without needing it explained.
We'd been showing up on that balcony ever since.
Four years. He was the longest relationship I'd allowed myself since cutting off my family. And we weren't even in a relationship. We were just friends. He was the only person who'd gotten past my walls without me noticing until it was too late to push him back out.
I was in love with him. I probably had been for longer than I wanted to admit.
But needing him felt like weakness. Like giving up the independence I'd sacrificed everything to build. Like becoming my mother.
So I kept my distance. Made coffee. Showed up on the balcony. Told myself friendship was enough.
I'd been lying to myself for four years.
The train reached my stop. I climbed the stairs into the gray morning light and walked the three blocks to my building, my feet carrying me toward the only person who made the weight bearable.
I should have showered. I should have slept. Instead, I dropped my bag inside my door, scratched Watson behind the ears while he purred and wound between my legs, and stepped out onto the balcony.
Brian was already there.
He was on his side of the divider, two cups of coffee on the small table between us. Worn sweats, an FDNY T-shirt that had seen better days, hair still mussed from sleep. He looked rumpled and warm. So painfully good that something in me went soft.
"There it is."
I raised an eyebrow. "There what is?"
"That crease." He tapped the space between his own eyebrows, then slid a cup through the gap in the railing.
"Long night?"
"Is there another kind?"
I took the coffee and sank into my chair. It was perfect. Exactly how I liked it, because he'd been making my coffee for years. Of course, he knew.
Watson appeared in the doorway, then padded straight toward the divider to rub against the railing on Brian's side, purring like a motorboat.
"Morning, Watson." Brian reached through to scratch under his chin. "At least someone's happy to see me."
"He's happy to see everyone. He has no standards."
"Harsh. He's a good judge of character."
"He tried to befriend the exterminator last month."
"Like I said. Good judge of character."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while. The city woke up around us. Traffic sounds, a distant siren, someone shouting in Spanish three floors down. This was what I loved about Brian. He didn't need the quiet filled. He just needed me to be there.
Then he pulled out a worn notebook, and something in his expression shifted. Nervous. Almost shy.
"Hey, so." He cleared his throat. "I signed up for the paramedic certification program."
I looked up, surprised. "You did?"
"Cap's been on me about it. Figured it was time to stop coasting." He shrugged, but I could see the pride beneath the deflection. The hope. "I was wondering... would you help me study? Quiz me on the medical stuff? I know you're busy, but—"
"Yes."
He blinked. "Yeah?"
"Of course." I set down my coffee and held out my hand. "Give me the notebook."
He handed it over, and I flipped to a dog-eared page. Drug interactions. I shifted into doctor mode without meaning to, my voice taking on the crisp authority I used with residents.
"Patient presenting with suspected MI. You've administered aspirin. What's your next move, and what contraindications are you watching for?"
Brian answered. He was good. Better than I expected. He'd been studying already, I could tell. I watched the furrow between his brows when he concentrated, the way his hands moved as he worked through a problem. The flash of triumph when he got something right.
He was going to be a great paramedic. I was certain.
Something shifted in me. Pride. Maybe something more dangerous.
"Not bad, Torres." I handed back the notebook.
"High praise from you. I'm honored."
"Don't let it go to your head."
He grinned at me. That easy, open grin that made me feel like I was standing in sunlight after a long winter.
I looked away first.
The sun was fully up now. I needed to sleep. He had a shift in a few hours. But neither of us moved.
Watson had settled on the threshold of the balcony door, watching us with those sharp yellow eyes, tail swishing contentedly.
"He looks pleased with himself," Brian said.
"He's always pleased with himself. He has an inflated sense of his own importance."
"Wonder where he gets that from."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing." But he was still grinning. "You know, he looks threatening, but he's actually very loving. Takes after someone."
"I'm not loving."
"Sure, you're not. You just spent twenty minutes helping me study when you should be sleeping. Very cold and unfeeling of you."
"That's different. That's—"
"That's what?"
I didn't have an answer. Or I did, but I wasn't ready to say it out loud.
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
I went inside, Watson trotting after me. I showered on autopilot, then collapsed into bed. The cat sprawled across my chest, his yellow eyes blinking slowly at me before closing. He looked threatening even when he was falling asleep. It was absurd. I loved him.
I lay there in the gray morning light and thought about Brian's grin. About the way he'd looked at me when I agreed to help him study, like I'd given him something precious. About the way he made coffee exactly how I liked it, without ever being asked.
I thought about my father’s phone call. The mother who died this morning. The walls I’d built so carefully over the years.
Brian Torres was the best part of my day. That should have been a warning.
Instead, it felt like the only thing keeping me tethered to something real.
I was so careful. So controlled. I'd built my entire life around not needing anyone.
But lying in my bed with Watson on my chest, thinking about Brian's laugh and the way he looked at me like I mattered, I realized something terrifying.
I didn't just need him. I wanted him.
And that changed everything.
I wasn't ready to do anything about it. Not yet. But for the first time in years, I let myself imagine what it might be like to try.
That was either the bravest thing I’d ever done. Or the most dangerous.
Probably both.