The message sends, but the little “delivered” checkmark doesn’t appear. I wait. Refresh it a few times. Check my signal.
Nothing.
I toss the phone on the couch beside me and exhale ly through my nose.
He’s probably busy. He said he had to head back to the station, maybe to cover a shift or something, I can’t remember.
Hell, maybe he left while I was still out cold because he didn’t want to deal with the reality of whatever the fuck this is between us.
And maybe he didn’t leave a note because he thought I’d just know.
Or maybe I’m an idiot. Maybe I let myself believe this was more than it was. Maybe I wanted to let his voice, his touch, hiseyesconvince me that it meant something.
I’ve seen this play out before. I’ve heard about firefighters pulling this exact move—showing up like a fantasy, leaving like a ghost.
A week of attention, a few filthy nights, some whispered promises, thenpoof. Back to their schedules, their shifts, their endless line of hookups who fall for the uniform and the intensity.
And the worst part is I know better.
I've heard enough about firefighters through the years to know the stereotype doesn’t come from nowhere. I’veheardthe jokes, the stories.
And yet, Mason didn’t feel like a story.
I rub my temples, trying to untangle the memory of his voice. How careful he was when he said he wasn’t good at this, but wanted to be. How reverent he looked when I came apart for him.
Sometime during the night, right after I’d made him crawl, I woke up aching.
Not for more sex, just for him. For the feel of him against me and the steady weight of his hand on my hip. And I lay there wondering if he felt it too. Now I wonder if he’d already let me go.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it too quickly.
I let the video call connect, and Ana’s face appears, framed by the pink hue of her bedroom walls.
She takes one look at my expression and groans.
“What happened?”
I sink onto the couch and pull the blanket tighter. “He’s gone.”
“Gonewhere?”
“Back to work, I guess. He didn’t say… I got laid then woke up alone.”
Ana winces. “No note?”
I shake my head.
“No message?”
“Radio silence.”
Ana’s face softens. “Frankie.”
“I know,” I say quickly, hating how my voice sounds. “I know what this looks like, okay? I’m not delusional.”
“You’re also not psychic.” She props her chin on her hand. “You don’tknowanything yet. And you definitely don’t have to figure it all out before you’ve had coffee.”
“I sent a message and it didn’t even deliver,” I mumble. “Like, maybe he deleted the app.”
