“Then why do it?”
“Because it needs doing, and I can do it.”
His tiny frown in the rearview mirror kills me. “But you do itscared.”
I nod once. “Every firefighter is scared when they walk into a fire. That fear keeps you alert, so you pay attention to your surroundings. The day you stop being afraid is the day you stop paying attention, and that can get you hurt or worse. So the fear is a good thing. Does that make sense?”
Mason sits with that until we sit in the drop-off line. “It’s like when you color.”
“How’s that?”
“The lines keep you where you’re supposed to be. If you didn’t have the lines, then you wouldn’t know where to go, right?”
“So, you mean the fear is like the lines?”
He nods. “You color in the lines, and you get a good picture. You go into a fire when you’re scared, and you get to be safe.”
“That’s exactly it.” We pull into the drop spot. “Have a good day, bud.”
“Okay!” He jets out, off to see his friends.
I doubt he has any idea how much these mornings mean to me. How could he? But the morning talks in my truck are everything.
Harper picks him up in the afternoons, and when I come home, there’s a sense that something has held together while I was gone. She usually has dinner on the table within minutes of my arrival. It’s blissfully domestic.
It’s also dangerous.
Because it’s easy to forget what’s waiting at the edges when things feel this good. It’s easy to pretend that this is sustainable, that David is just a voice on the phone instead of a presence that can walk right through the front door and claim what’s his.
He calls more than once this week. Sometimes Harper lets it go to voicemail. Sometimes she answers. Every time, I see the tension hit her shoulders before she even speaks. I make a point of closing Mason’s bedroom door when it happens, turning on his tablet, giving him something loud and distracting so he doesn’t hear the conversations that leave his mother tight-lipped and pale.
By Thursday night, she stops pretending it doesn’t bother her. “You don’t get to suddenly care about custody, David. You’ve missed the last three visits.”
I can’t hear what he says in response. I don’t need to. She presses her fingers into her temple like she’s fighting off a headache. The anger blooms hot and immediate in my chest, sharp enough that I have to step into the kitchen and grip the counter until it passes.
Hating David comes easily. Respecting that this isn’t my fight does not.
I tell myself that staying quiet is the right move. That Harper would never forgive me if I tried to step in and manage this for her. She loves her independence too much. She’s fought too hard for it, and she fights for it every time that asshole calls her.
I won’t be the man who swoops in and takes that from her. All I can do is be here, steady and available, even when every instinct in me wants to do more.
By Friday night, the knock on the door feels inevitable.
David looks exactly like the kind of man I expect him to be. Polished. Preppy. Effortlessly put together in a way that feels deliberate, like he dressed for this moment instead of stumblinginto it. His jacket is pressed, his hair perfectly in place, his expression relaxed in a way that immediately sets my teeth on edge. He stands in the doorway like he belongs there, like this is just another stop on his schedule.
We size each other up in the space of a single breath.
He’s taller than I expected, lean instead of broad, the kind of man who looks like he’s never had to use his body for anything harder than a gym membership. I’m aware, suddenly and acutely, of how different we are. Of how easy it would be for him to write me off at a glance.
I’m just a firefighter. Blue collar to his white collar. The type of person he hires, not a man he would ever see as an equal.
“So, you’re the guy my ex-wife is hooking up with?” David says lightly, his gaze flicking past me toward Harper as she joins us by the door. “Interesting choice, Harper.”
Harper goes pale.
My hands clench at my sides, fingers curling into fists I don’t let rise. This isn’t my moment. This isn’t my fight. As much as every instinct in me wants to step forward and shut this down, I know better.
Harper would hate me for it. She doesn’t need a savior. She can save herself.
