And me? I ran into burning buildings. Made decent money. Came home smelling like smoke more often than not. Solid. Steady. The kind of man Carmen had found lacking.
Why would Ava ever choose me?
So I made her coffee. Showed up on the balcony. Kept her company on the bad nights and the good ones. Told myself that friendship was enough, that being in her life at all was more than I deserved.
Years of lying to myself. Years of wanting something I was too afraid to reach for.
"You've got that look again."
I turned. Ava was leaning in her doorway, arms crossed, watching me with those sharp green eyes that never missed anything.
"What look?"
"The one where you're thinking too loud."
She was still in scrubs, auburn hair scraped back in a messy ponytail, loose strands falling around her face. Dark circles under her eyes. Even exhausted, she was beautiful. Evenexhausted, even pale from too many night shifts and not enough sunlight, she was beautiful in the way that made my chest hurt.
Delicate features that might be soft if she ever stopped frowning. A small scar on her left hand from residency. The lean build of someone who ran when she could find time and forgot to eat when she couldn’t.
"Bad shift?"
"They're all bad shifts."
"Fair point."
Through the glass door, I could see her cat watching us. Doctor Watson. A gray British Shorthair with yellow eyes and a light blue collar. She'd named him that because she devoured detective novels on her rare days off. He looked like he was plotting murder.
"Watson's staring at me again."
"He stares at everyone. It's how he shows interest."
"He looks like he's calculating how to hide my body."
"Don't be dramatic."
Despite the threatening expression, Watson was the friendliest cat I'd ever met. He greeted everyone at the door, demanded attention from strangers, and slept sprawled across Ava's chest every night like a furry, judgmental blanket.
"He acts tough, but he's secretly sweet." I held her gaze. "Can't imagine where he learned that."
"I'm not sweet."
"Right. My mistake."
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the ghost of a smile.
Carmen never asked about my work. She didn't want to know the details, the weight of it, the cost. She wanted me to come home and be normal. Leave the job at the station.
Ava was different. She asked questions. She understood the specific kind of tired that came from holding someone's life inyour hands. She made me feel like I mattered—not despite my job, but because of it.
"You're staring, Torres."
"Just wondering how someone can look that tired and still be vertical."
"Years of practice and spite."
"Spite's underrated."
The sun was fully up now. She needed to sleep. I had a shift in a few hours.
