"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, looking down at her hands. "I should have told you about this sooner. About Santoro, about the pressure at work. I was trying to protect you from it, but that just made me... closed off. Distant. And then today happened, and I realized I can't keep doing that. If we're going to make this work, I need to trust you with the hard stuff."
She settled back against me, and for the first time since she'd arrived, some of the tension seemed to leave her body.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For listening, for understanding, for wanting to help. I know today was a lot, and I probably dumped too much on you."
"You didn't dump anything on me," I said. "I want to be here for all of it. The good days and the bad calls and everything in between."
She nodded against my chest, but I could feel something had shifted between us. The easy intimacy we’d had this morning felt strained now, complicated by words said and unsaid.
We sat in silence for a while, both of us processing the conversation in our own ways. I held her close and told myself that love was about more than just matching dreams for the future. That supporting her career was just as important as sharing her vision of children and family.
But deep down, I knew that something fundamental had changed between us. She'd shown me her heart's desire, and I'd failed to meet her there. The idea forming in my mind felt like an apology, a way to prove I could be the partner she needed, even if I couldn't be the father she wanted.
I just hoped it would be enough.
chapter
twenty-seven
The alarm tonesat 0041 should have been a relief — something concrete to focus on, a problem with a clear solution. Instead, as I swung into the officer's seat of Engine 18 and listened to dispatch rattle off the details of a kitchen fire on Rio Road, all I could think about was the careful space Jimmy had put between us on his couch three nights ago.
“Structure fire, 412 Rio Road. Single family residence, kitchen fire, occupants evacuated.”
"Engine 18 responding," I radioed, forcing my voice into its usual crisp professionalism. But my mind wasn't on the call. It was stuck on the moment when I'd told Jimmy I wanted children, wanted a family, wanted it with him — and watched him go completely still, like I'd just told him I wanted to burn his apartment down.
"L.T.?" Martinez's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "You good?"
I realized I'd been staring out the passenger window for the entire three-minute response, not doing my usual pre-arrival assessment. Thompson was giving me a look from the back seat that suggested he'd noticed, too.
"Fine," I said quickly, grabbing my radio. "Just thinking through positioning."
But I wasn't fine. I was the opposite of fine. I was a woman who'd finally found the courage to be vulnerable with someone, only to discover that vulnerability came with a price I wasn't sure I could afford to pay.
The kitchen fire turned out to be a grease fire that had already burned itself out by the time we arrived. Fifteen minutes of ventilation, a quick inspection for extension, and we were clearing the scene. Routine. Simple. The kind of call that usually left me feeling satisfied with our efficiency.
Instead, I felt hollow.
"Nice work, everyone," I said as we backed into the bay at Station 2. "Thompson, make sure the exhaust fan on the engine gets cleaned. Martinez, I want the attack line repacked and pressure-tested."
Standard post-call routine, but my crew exchanged glances. I was being more formal than usual, more distant. They knew something was off, but they were too professional to call me on it in front of the others.
Back in the station, I tried to lose myself in paperwork. Incident reports, training schedules, equipment logs — all the administrative busy work that came with the lieutenant's bars. But every few minutes, my phone would buzz with a text from Jimmy.
Jimmy
Hope the shift is going well. Miss you.
Thinking about you. Can't wait to see you tomorrow.
Love you, beautiful.
Sweet messages. Normal messages. The kind of things he'd been sending me for weeks. But now they felt different. Careful. Like he was trying to paper over the crack that had opened between us with forced normalcy.
I stared at the latest message, my thumb hovering over thekeyboard. What was I supposed to say?Love you too, but I'm terrified that wanting children makes me incompatible with the man I'm falling for?Thanks for the sweet text, but can we talk about why you looked like I'd suggested we join a cult when I mentioned kids?
Instead, I typed:
Love you too. See you soon.
