He met his father’s eyes. “I won’t.”
Wendell nodded, satisfied, and moved toward the door again. But again, he paused with his hand on the knob. “I’d like to meet that dog of yours sometime. If that’s alright.”
“He’d like that.” Anson swallowed. “I would too.”
Another nod, and then his father was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Anson stared at the space where he’d been. The conversation hadn’t been perfect. No tearful embraces, no grand promises about weekly phone calls or rebuilding their relationship overnight. But it had been honest. Real. A door left open instead of slammed shut.
That was more than he’d had yesterday.
He settled back against the pillows, exhaustion dragging at him like weights. His hands throbbed in time with his heart, each pulse a reminder that he was alive, that he’d survived again. Four people saved from the flames. He’d have to tell his father about that sometime. About balance. About redemption.
But not today. Today, they’d taken the first step. The rest would come in its own time.
Anson dozed, floating in the hazy space between sleep and waking, where pain existed but didn’t matter. The medication had finally kicked in, dulling the sharp edges of burnt flesh and making the room tilt pleasantly whenever he opened his eyes. He heard the door open but didn’t look, assuming it was another nurse coming to check his vitals. Then Maggie’s scent reached him—sawdust and citrus—and he forced his heavy eyelids open.
She stood in the doorway, her face drawn with worry that had nothing to do with him. Something had happened.
“What’s wrong?” His voice came out rough, scratchy from smoke and sleep.
Maggie crossed to his bed and sank into the chair his father had vacated. “Hollis is gone. She checked herself out AMA.”
“AMA?”
“Against medical advice.” She rubbed her forehead, smudging soot she’d missed earlier. “Knox is a wreck. I found him standing in her empty room, just... staring. Like someone had hollowed him out.”
Anson swallowed, picturing it all too clearly. “She ran.”
“She nearly died. How could she just leave? After what he did to save her?” Genuine confusion tightened her face. “He pulled her from a fire, Anson. He breathed life back into her. And she left without even saying goodbye.”
“Fear makes people run.” He thought of Knox, who always seemed so confident, so solid—reduced to standing in an empty room, holding the space where someone should be. “Sometimes it’s easier to leave than face what you’re feeling.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Is that what you’d have done? If I hadn’t been so stubborn?”
“Probably.” He managed a small smile. “But you didn’t give me much choice.”
“Damn right I didn’t.”
She looked exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes, her skin pale beneath the remaining soot. But she was alive. Here. With him, instead of running from him.
“Come here,” he said, shifting slightly to make room beside him on the narrow bed.
She hesitated. “Your hands...”
“We’ll make it work.”
Carefully, she climbed onto the bed, angling herself to avoid his IV line and bandaged hands. Her head settled against his shoulder, her hand coming to rest over his heart, and something tight in his chest eased at the simple contact.
“How’d it go with your dad?” she asked after a moment.
“Better than expected.” He searched for the words to explain it. “Not fixed. Might never be completely fixed. But it’s a start.”
“He’s trying.” Her breath was warm against his neck. “That matters.”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, his father’s words echoing in his mind. Don’t let her go. “He said Mom would’ve been proud of me.”
“She would be.” Maggie’s hand squeezed gently where it lay against his chest. “You know what I realized today? You put out a fire. Not just ran into one to save me—you actually fought it. Extinguished it. Saved four people from burning.”
