The voice comes from my other side.
I turn my head—slower this time, careful—and there she is.
Ava.
Eyes swollen from crying, cheeks flushed from worry. The second I look at her, she stands—so fast the chair behind her skids.
“You’re awake,” she breathes, hand flying to her mouth, as if she’s afraid saying it too loud might undo it.
My throat is sandpaper. “You… look like hell.”
She laughs a broken laugh, and then she’s leaning over me, hands on either side of my head like she’s afraid I’ll slip back under if she doesn’t anchor me here.
“You scared the life out of me,” she says, voice shaking. “Do you have any idea—”
“I was more scared for Violet,” I rasp.
Her gaze flicks to her daughter, asleep and safe, then back to me—fear melting into something deeper. Wilder.
“She’s okay,” she whispers. “She’s okay because of you.”
I exhale, long and slow. Good.
“I told you to stay put,” I say, because even now I can’t stop trying to protect her.
“And I told you I’m an EMT,” she fires back, eyes flashing. “It’s literally my job to go into storms.”
I meet her glare, steady. “It was your job to be a mom first tonight.”
Her breath catches. Emotion trembles through the line of her shoulders. She looks like she might argue—then she looks at Violet again.
And she nods.
Once. Tiny. Devastating.
“You risked your life,” she murmurs.
“I’d do it again.”
A tear slips down her cheek, fast and angry and grateful all at once. Before she can wipe it away, I lift a hand—my fingers stiff, trembling—and cup her face.
She leans into it like she’s wanted to for a long time.
“Don’t you ever do something that reckless alone again,” she whispers.
“No promises.”
She huffs a laugh, wet and nervous, then lowers herself closer—closer—
I can feel her breath on my mouth when she says, “I should kiss you for saving her.”
“And I should kiss you,” I reply, “for letting me.”
Her lips brush mine, and the world stops. The storm, the fear, the man who tried to bury me under headlines—all of it dissolves into warmth and the quiet sound she makes when I pull her just a little nearer.
The ranger station door slams shut behind someone who wasn’t invited. Footsteps strike across the tile with a confidence I learned to hate a long time ago.
Ava jerks back as a man steps into the light.
