I nodded. "I'll be there."
He didn't move. Neither did I.
The noise of the scene faded, the radios, the idling engines, the voices of the crew. It was just us, standing too close, thespace between us charged with something neither of us was willing to name.
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
My breath caught. My whole body leaned toward him without permission, pulled by a gravity I'd stopped trying to fight.
Kiss me. Just do it.
The distance between us had been shrinking for weeks. And right now, in the smoke and the dawn light, it felt like nothing at all.
But he didn't.
Something flickered in his expression, want warring with restraint. Then he stepped back.
"Be safe getting home." His voice was rough.
He turned and walked back toward the rig.
I watched him go. Heart pounding. Aching for something I wasn't sure I deserved to want.
The drive home was a blur of empty streets and red lights. I parked, climbed the stairs to my apartment, and went through the motions on autopilot—keys in the bowl by the door, shoes kicked off, blazer draped over the back of a chair.
The smell of smoke clung to my clothes, my hair, my skin.
I stood under the shower until the water ran cold. The smoke. The dawn light. The moment he'd stepped back instead of stepping forward.
I toweled off, pulled on an old t-shirt, and crawled into bed. The sheets were cool against my damp skin.
Sleep felt impossible
I was staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzed.
Garrett.
"Hey," I answered, settling back against my pillows. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just got out of the shower." His voice carried that bone-deep exhaustion that came after a long call. "Couldn't sleep."
"Me neither."
I heard him shift, the creak of what sounded like a bunk. He was still at the firehouse, probably lying in the dark the same way I was, phone pressed to his ear.
Both of us alone. Separated by miles of city. Connected by nothing but voices in the dark.
"We had another equipment issue tonight," he said. "Thermal imaging camera glitched out halfway through the search. Had to go manual."
My stomach tightened. "That's dangerous."
"It's fine. We handled it."
"Garrett."
"I know." A pause. "Rodriguez filed for a replacement last week. Response came back today. Denied. Budget constraints."
I sat up. "They can't just deny safety equipment."
