The water runs grey for a while before my dark skin shows through again.Steam curls around me, but it isn’t the same as the smoke.It doesn’t choke.It doesn’t cling.I brace my hands against the tile and bow my head under the spray, letting the noise drown out the echo of sirens.
I see Rae’s face if I close my eyes too long.So I don’t.
I towel off, pull on sweats, and flop onto my assigned bunk.My phone stares at me from the little shelf next to the bed like it knows exactly what I’m considering.
Don’t get involved, the rational part of my brain says.Too late, the rest of me replies.I grab my phone.
Hospitals all smell the same—disinfectant and fear and overcooked coffee—and I hate them for that.I tend to avoid them at all costs if possible.But I hate not knowing more.I pull up the ER number, staring at it long enough to feel ridiculous.
I’m not family.I’m not anything.Not yet, some stupid reckless part of me whispers.I hit CALL before I can talk myself out of it.
“Emergency department, this is Casey,” a tired female voice answers.
“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat.“Uh.This is Firefighter Darren Cole with Kidds Beach FD.I brought in a woman from the house fire on Willow Road tonight.Her name’s Olivia Reed.I just wanted to make sure she’s okay.”
There’s typing on the other end, the clack of keys.“One moment.”
I drum my fingers on my thigh.Please be okay.Please don’t be another ghost.
“She’s stable,” Casey says finally.“Mild smoke inhalation and no significant burns.We’re keeping her overnight for observation, but she’s resting comfortably.”
The breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding leaves me in a rush.“Thank you.”
“Do you want me to pass along a message?”
My mouth works before my brain gets a vote.“Yeah.Just tell her Darren checked in.Darren Cole.And that ...I meant it when I said she’s safe now.”
There’s a smile in the nurse’s voice when she replies.“I’ll tell her.”
I hang up and collapse back against the thin pillow, staring at the bunk above mine.
This is stupid.This is fast.This is everything I swore I wouldn’t do again—wrap myself around someone’s pain like it’s my responsibility to fix it, to shield them, to make up for the fact that I couldn’t save my sister.
But this doesn’t feel like penance.It feels like fate.
I think about the way Olivia said, ‘I’m with you,’ breathless and raw behind that oxygen mask, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.Like it was a truth that slipped out anyway.
Yeah.I’m with you too.
Sleep takes me in fits and starts, full of smoke and wide brown eyes, and when morning finally filters weakly through the station windows, I already know where I’m going before anyone suggests breakfast.
Matt raises a brow as I pull on clean jeans and a hoodie.
“Errand?”he drawls.
“Hospital,” I say simply.
He grins.“Tell soot-smudged librarian I said hi.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Coward.”He laughs freely as he ribs me.
I flip him off on my way out, which only makes him laugh harder.
The drive is short.The walk from the lot to the sliding glass doors feels longer.My heart kicks up in a way that has nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the fact that I’m about to see her again without the world burning down around us.
Inside, fluorescent lights hum overhead.I check in at the desk, get directed to her room, and force myself not to run.
