Chapter 17
Brian
Two weeks since Ava left.
Two weeks since I'd woken up in that hospital bed, reaching for someone who wasn't there.
Since I'd found her note on the coffee table.
I love you too much to let them hurt you again.
The bruises had faded. Yellow-green shadows that had finally disappeared, leaving my skin unmarked—as if the attack had never happened. Captain Rodriguez had signed off on my return to full duty three days ago. He slapped me on the shoulder and told me it was good to have me back.
Everything was back to normal.
Except nothing felt normal. Nothing would, until she came home.
The station felt the same as always—diesel and old coffee, the weight of routine, the easy rhythm of people who'd spent years learning to trust each other with their lives.
I went through the motions. Equipment checks.
Drills. The maintenance that kept a firehouse running.
I ate meals at the long table with the crew, laughed at jokes I didn't hear, and nodded along anyway.
"Torres." Shane dropped into the chair beside me in the break room, where I'd been staring at the same page of the same magazine for twenty minutes. "You eat dinner?"
"Not hungry."
"That's the third time this week you've said that." He stretched his legs out and crossed his arms. Casual. Like we were just two guys talking about nothing. "Maya's worried about you. Keeps asking if you're eating enough."
"Tell Maya I'm okay."
"I did. She doesn't believe me." Shane was quiet for a moment. "I don't believe that either."
I turned the page I hadn't read. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're going through the motions like a ghost wearing a Brian suit." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Have you tried calling her?"
"She asked me not to."
"That was two weeks ago. Things change."
"She hasn't reached out." I think I'd know if she had. I'd checked my phone so many times that the screen felt worn into my palm. No calls. No texts. Nothing but silence from the woman who'd become the center of my world.
Shane sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. "She's scared, Brian. She watched you get beaten half to death because of her. She's not thinking straight."
"I know."
"So go get her. Show up at her parents' house, talk to her—"
"And what? Drag her back against her will?" I finally looked at him. Let him see whatever was showing on my face. "She made a choice. I have to respect that, even if it hurts like hell."
"Even if she's wrong?"
"Still."
Shane was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out and gripped my shoulder. Solid. Grounding. The way he'd been gripping my shoulder for over a decade, through every crisis and heartbreak and near-miss that came with this job.
"She'll come back," he said. "She loves you too much to stay away forever."
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him.
But two weeks of silence had made me wonder if wanting something badly enough actually mattered.
The tones dropped around midnight.
Engine 295, Ladder 118, Battalion 7. Structure fire, 847 Vernon Boulevard, Long Island City. Multiple calls reporting flames visible.
I was moving before the dispatcher finished speaking, muscle memory kicking in, the familiar weight of my gear settling onto my shoulders. The station erupted into motion. Boots hitting the floor, doors slamming, the rumble of engines roaring to life.
Shane was already behind the wheel when I swung into my seat. Garrett was beside me, face set in that focused expression he wore on every call. Captain Rodriguez was in front, radio in hand, already coordinating with dispatch.
The engine screamed out of the bay and into the night.
I watched the city blur past the windows—streetlights and storefronts, the occasional late-night pedestrian turning to watch us pass. Normal. Routine. Another call, another fire, another chance to do the job I'd trained my whole life for.
I tried to focus. Tried to push thoughts of Ava aside and be present for the job. That's what she would want. That's what the crew needed.
"What do we know?" Captain Rodriguez's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Restaurant fire," Garrett said, checking his tablet. "Bellini's. Older building, looks like it's been there for forty years. Caller reported flames visible through the front windows, heavy smoke."
Restaurant fire. We'd handled dozens of these.
I stared out the window and let my mind go blank. Just another night.
We turned onto Vernon Boulevard. And I saw it.
Flames licking through shattered windows. Smoke poured into the night sky, thick and black against the city lights. An old building, brick and wood, already half-consumed by fire burning too hot, too fast.
Accelerant. This fire wasn’t an accident.
The engine rolled to a stop. Rodriguez was already barking orders, the crew moving with practiced efficiency. I jumped down from the truck, scanning the scene the way I'd been trained—entry points, ventilation, structural integrity.
Then I saw it.
Black sedan. Parked across the street. The same sedan that had been trailing Ava for months.
Charles Rothwell's security.
Here.
I'd seen it dozens of times over the past months, always parked near our building or trailing a few cars behind when Ava drove to work. Charles Rothwell's security detail. The car that had been keeping her safe.
The car that should be in Manhattan right now, parked outside her parents' townhouse.
Not here. Not at a burning restaurant in Long Island City at midnight.
I stopped walking. Stopped breathing.
"Torres—" Rodriguez started.
I was already running. Already crossing the street toward the sedan, toward the figure I could now see slumped on the ground beside it.
Larsen. Ava's bodyguard. Ex-military, tough as nails, the kind of man who didn't go down easy.
He was down now. Blood pooling beneath him, spreading across the pavement in a dark slick. Shot in the shoulder. Another in the leg. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.
Still breathing.
"MEDIC!" I shouted over my shoulder. "GSW victim over here!"
I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing my hands to the shoulder wound. "Larsen. Larsen, can you hear me?"
His eyes fluttered. Focused on my face with obvious effort.
"Torres." His voice was barely a whisper, wet with pain. "She's inside."
The world went silent.
"Kevin Lang." Larsen coughed, blood flecking his lips. "Couldn't stop him. I tried—"
"I know. I know you did." I looked over my shoulder, saw Garrett sprinting toward us with the med kit.
I ran toward the burning building. I couldn't think. I could only move.
"Torres, STOP!" Rodriguez's voice was sharp with command. "That's an order!"
I grabbed a halligan bar from the truck as I passed. Pulled my mask down over my face and felt the rush of clean air from my tank.
"Brian!" Shane's voice was desperate. "Wait for backup—"
"She's in there!" The words tore out of me. "Ava's in there!"
I didn't wait.
I went in after her.
The restaurant was an inferno.
Flames crawled across the ceiling, eating through old wood and plaster with brutal speed. Smoke so thick my mask was the only thing between me and suffocation. Heat that pressed against my gear from all directions, testing the limits of what the equipment could handle.
I stayed low and moved fast. Swept my flashlight through the chaos, searching for any sign of—
"AVA!"
The fire roared back at me, drowning my voice. I pushed deeper.
Tables overturned. Chairs were scattered like someone had fled in panic. The kitchen doorway was engulfed in flames, impassable. I circled around, checking every corner, every shadow, every space where a body might have fallen.
Nothing. Nothing.
Where are you? Where are you?
My radio crackled. Rodriguez's voice, barely audible. "Torres, report your position. Torres!"
I didn't answer. Couldn't spare the breath.
The building groaned above me. Metal expanding in heat, joints failing, the structure starting to buckle. I knew that sound. Knew what it meant.
I had minutes. Maybe less.
"AVA!"
Then, a shape through the smoke. Pale against the dark floor. An arm. Fingers curled against the tile.
I knew before I reached her.
I was there in seconds, dropping to my knees.
Ava.
She was unconscious, slumped against the base of the bar like she'd tried to crawl toward the exit before the smoke took her. Her face was pale beneath the soot, her lips tinged blue. Not breathing. Or barely breathing—I couldn't tell through the gear, couldn't feel for breath with my gloves on.
No time to check. Only time to get her out.
I hauled her up, got her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry. She felt impossibly light. Made my muscles forget they were supposed to be tired.
The front door was blocked. Flames had spread across the entrance while I searched, turning my way in into a wall of flame.
I turned. Scanned the smoke. There—a window on the side wall. Glass cracked from the heat.
I crossed the room in four strides, used my elbow to knock out the remaining shards, and pushed Ava through first. As gently as I could. Then I was following, hauling myself over the sill, hitting the pavement outside.
Cool air. I hadn't realized how much I needed it.
I ripped off my mask, dropped to my knees beside Ava, fingers already searching for a pulse.
Weak. But there.
She wasn't breathing.
I tilted her head back, cleared her airway. My hands knew what to do. The rest of me was falling apart
Rescue breaths. One. Two.
"Come on," I muttered between breaths. "Come on, Ava. Don't do this to me. Stay with me."
One. Two.
Her body convulsed. She coughed—a horrible, wracking sound, but the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard—and then she was gasping, sucking in air, her eyes fluttering open.
"That's it." I pulled her onto her side, let her cough out the smoke. "Breathe."
Shane dropped beside me with an oxygen tank and mask. I grabbed it from him, pressed it to Ava's face, and watched the mask fog with each exhale.
"Medics are two minutes out," Shane said. His voice broke. "Brian—"
"She's breathing." I couldn't look away from her. Couldn't stop watching her breathe, tracking each inhale like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. "She's breathing."
Behind us, the restaurant groaned and collapsed inward. A shower of sparks erupted into the night sky, flames roaring higher as they found new fuel.
I didn't look back.
Engine 295 and two other companies worked the blaze. Hose lines snaked across the pavement. Water arced into the flames with a hiss and roar. Rodriguez's voice carried over the chaos, calling commands. Garrett was somewhere in the rotation, doing the job we'd trained for.
They'd fight until the last ember was out. That's who we were.
I just held Ava's hand and waited for the ambulance.
She came back to me in pieces.
First her eyes—fluttering open, unfocused, struggling to find me through whatever fog the smoke had left behind. Then her hand, twitching in mine, fingers trying to grip.
Then her voice.
"Brian?"
"I'm here." I squeezed her hand, leaned closer so she could see my face. "I'm right here. You're okay. You're going to be okay."
The ambulance rocked as it tore through the streets, sirens wailing above us. Paramedics worked around me, checking her vitals, adjusting the oxygen flow, doing all the things I would have done if my hands weren't shaking too badly to be useful.
Ava's eyes found mine.
"I'm sorry." Her voice was wrecked—raw and broken, barely a whisper through the oxygen mask. "I didn't—I thought—"
"Don't." I brought her hand to my lips, kissed her knuckles. "Don't apologize. Don't explain. Just rest."
"Kevin—"
"The police have him." Shane had told me, somewhere in the chaos outside the restaurant. Kevin Lang had been found in the back alley, trying to flee the scene. He was in custody now. It was over.
"He was going to—" She coughed, a terrible sound that made my chest ache. "The gas. Sevoflurane. He used—"
"I know. The medics told me." They'd found bottles of it in Kevin’s bag when he was arrested. It explained why she'd been unconscious when I found her. A sedative gas, the kind used in operating rooms. Kevin had knocked her out before setting the fire.
He'd tried to make sure she never woke up.
I was going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. With my bare hands.
Later. Not now.
Right now, there was only her.
"Stay quiet," I told her. "Save your strength. We're almost at the hospital."
"Brian." Her grip tightened on my hand. Weak, but insistent. "I love you. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I—"
"I love you too." I leaned down, pressed my forehead to hers. "I never stopped. I never will."
Her eyes fluttered closed. Not unconscious—just exhausted. The tension drained from her face, and for the first time since I'd found her, she looked almost peaceful.
I held her hand and didn't let go.
The ER was a practiced storm.
They wheeled Ava through the ambulance bay doors and into a trauma room, nurses and doctors converging like they'd been waiting for her. Which, knowing this hospital, they probably had. Word traveled fast when one of their own was hurt.
Dr. Park appeared out of nowhere, already gloving up, his face set in that focused expression I'd seen on Ava a hundred times. The attending-in-crisis face. The one that meant everything else stopped mattering until the patient was stable.
"Torres." He acknowledged me with a nod as he moved past. "We've got her."
"I'm not leaving."
"I know." Something flickered in his eyes—understanding, maybe. Or respect. "But I need you to give us room to work. Wait outside. I'll come find you as soon as we know something."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to plant myself at her bedside and refuse to move until I knew she was okay. But I'd worked enough scenes, seen enough trauma cases, to know that sometimes the best thing you could do for someone you loved was get out of the way.
So I stepped out of the trauma room. The door swung shut behind me, cutting off my view of Ava and the doctors working over her.
Shane was waiting in the hallway.
He didn't say anything. Just stepped forward and pulled me into a hug—the kind of hug that said everything words couldn't. I held on for a second longer than I meant to, let myself lean into the support he was offering.
Then I pulled back. Scrubbed a hand over my face.
"She's going to be okay," Shane said. "Park's the best there is. He'll take care of her."
"I know."
"You saved her life, Brian. You got her out. She's here because of you."
I nodded. Couldn't speak.
The adrenaline was crashing now, leaving nothing but exhaustion and fear and the bone-deep relief of knowing she was alive. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking.
Shane guided me to a chair. Pushed me into it. "Sit. Breathe. She's going to be fine."
I sat and waited for the door to open.