"Don't." Shane held up a hand. "You did what you thought you had to do."
"He's right," Rodriguez said. "The Langs put everyone in danger. You tried to stop them." A ghost of a smile. "Badly. But the intention was good."
I laughed despite myself.
Shane shook his head. "Thank this idiot who ran into a fully involved fire without waiting for backup or a charged line." But there was no real heat in his voice. Just relief, and something that looked a lot like pride.
Garrett stood by the wall, watching with those sharp, quiet eyes. When I caught his gaze, he nodded once. I wondered, briefly, if anyone had told Sloane he was here. If she even knew he existed outside of a byline credit.
"Thank you," I said. "All of you. For believing me. For not giving up."
Rodriguez stepped forward. "Family doesn't need thanks. That's the whole point."
The crew had been gone for twenty minutes when my parents arrived.
I heard them before I saw them—my mother's heels on linoleum, my father's voice asking a nurse for directions. Then the door opened.
My mother looked like she'd been crying. Makeup smudged, hair disheveled. My father's face was tight with controlled emotion.
They stopped just inside the doorway, taking in the scene. Me, in a hospital bed. Brian, beside me, covered in soot, his hand still holding mine.
"Ava." My mother's voice broke on my name. She crossed the room and pulled me into a careful hug. "We came as soon as Captain Rodriguez called."
"I'm okay, Mom. I'm going to be fine."
My father hung back, watching. His eyes moved from me to Brian and back.
"Mom, Dad." I waited until they were both looking at me. "This is Brian. My boyfriend."
Brian stood and extended his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Rothwell.”
My father looked at his hand. Soot and ash ground into the skin. Bandages wrapped around his palms. Evidence of everything he'd done to save me.
For a moment, I saw him recalculate. Saw him set aside whatever he'd imagined Brian Torres to be.
Brian noticed. Started to pull back. "Sorry, I'm still?—"
My father caught his hand before he could withdraw.
"Brian." His voice was rougher than I'd ever heard it. "It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about you."
Something passed between them. An acknowledgment.
"Captain Rodriguez told us what you did," my mother said. "How you went into that building. How you—" Her voice cracked. "Thank you for bringing her back to us."
Brian's throat worked. "I'd do it again. Every time."
"You'll have to come to dinner. When you're both recovered."
"I'd like that, sir."
I watched them—my father's hand still gripping Brian's, my mother dabbing at her eyes, Brian standing steady despite his exhaustion—and felt something loosen. A knot I hadn't even realized I'd been carrying. For years, I'd kept these worlds separate. My family. My life. The person I'd become versus the person they'd wanted me to be.
But here was Brian, covered in soot and ash, and my father was looking at him like he was enough. More than enough.
Maybe I'd been wrong about what was possible.
