Chapter Two
Smoke In My Lungs, You In My Head
Darren
Some calls get under your skin.
Most of the time, you suit up, you do the job, you come back to the station, you wash the smoke out of your gear and the adrenaline out of your blood.You crack jokes.You eat whatever disaster someone calls dinner.You sleep if you’re lucky.
And then there are calls like this.Calls that don’t wash out.Calls that look at you with big, terrified eyes and wrap their shaking fingers into your jacket like you’re the only solid thing left in the world.
Calls with names like Olivia.
“Cole!C-side!Watch the collapse zone!”Captain Draven yells, pointing with his gloved hand toward the rear corner of the house where the roof is sagging like a broken spine.
“On it!”I shout back, even though my head is still half in that ambulance pulling away.
Focus.There’ll be time to think later.Right now, it’s water, heat, angles, and structure failure that require my attention.We move in rhythm, the crew and I, like we share one brain split between different bodies.Hoses thrum, ladders slam into place, and radios crackle.The house screams as flames chew through what used to be walls and photo frames and a life.
I hate house fires.
Commercial buildings are awful, sure, but houses?Homes?Those feel personal.These are where people sleep.Where they laugh and cry and make breakfast and argue about stupid shit.Where they think they’re safe until the world, or some asshole, proves them wrong.
“Cole, watch your right!”Matt barks.
I pivot just as a section of gutter detaches and takes a suicidal dive toward my head.It glances off my shoulder instead, just a glancing blow, but still enough to send a jolt down my arm.
“I’m good,” I call back, shaking it off.
We drown the beast inch by inch.It fights tooth and nail.They always do.
By the time the flames are more steam than fire, my muscles are singing and sweat sticks to my back beneath the gear.The night air bites at any exposed skin, cold and sharp, a slap back to reality.
But my mind?It’s still in that bedroom.Still lifting her.Still feeling the way she curled into me like I wasn’t just some random guy doing his job but something ...more.Like I mattered.Like I was safe too.
Olivia.
Soft, scared, and beautifully stubborn even in a crisis.‘I’m heavy,’ and, yeah, that one punched the air right out of my chest.Christ, the shit people make women believe about themselves.About their bodies.About their worth.
If I ever meet the man who did that to her...My jaw locks.
No.Not if.When.
Because women don’t get that kind of fear etched into their bones from nowhere.That kind of shrinking doesn’t grow naturally, somebody waters it.I know the pattern too well.I grew up watching it play out in slow motion until it ended with a sheet over my sister’s face.
Rae.Her name is a scar I don’t cover.
