"It just isn't."
Liam studied me. I could see him working through it. The timing, the way I'd said "complicated," the weight I was carrying that went beyond justhelping someone in trouble.
"This isn't just some woman," he said slowly. "Seems like you knew her before."
The words built up in my chest, pressing against my ribs. Three years of carrying this alone. Three years of not telling anyone the whole truth.
"She was his fiancée," I finally confessed. "Lucy. She was Mateo's."
Liam went still.
"He made me promise," I continued, the words coming faster now. "The night he died. Take care of her. And I've been trying, but?—"
I stopped. Couldn't finish. Saying it out loud hurt; I felt like a traitor. But I also felt that I had the right to be happy, and so did she. Mateo would have wanted that. But... would he?
Liam was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. Careful.
"Mateo's been gone three years, Cal. He wouldn't want you to stop living."
The words hit somewhere deep. Somewhere I'd been building walls around for three years, brick by brick, confirming to myself it was duty, it was honor, it was the right thing to do.
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do." There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. "He was my friend too, remember? I ate his terrible cooking. I listened to his terrible jokes. I watched him light up every time Lucy walked into the station." A pause. "And I know exactly what he'd say if he could see you right now,beating yourself up over something he'd want for you. He'd say stop being an idiot and let yourself be happy."
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that Mateo would understand, would forgive, would look down from wherever he was and give me his blessing. That easy grin of his, the one that made everyone feel like they were in on the joke.Go for it, brother. She deserves someone good.
But wanting something didn't make it true. And the voice in my head, the one that sounded nothing like Mateo and everything like my own guilt, kept whispering:You let him die. You don't get to have this.
"I should finish these checks," I said, ending the conversation.
Liam nodded slowly. He knew a dismissal when he heard one. He'd been on the receiving end of enough of them over the years, from me and from everyone else on the crew. We all had our limits, the places we couldn't let people in. He respected that, even when he didn't agree with it.
"Door's always open, Cap." He moved toward the exit, paused with his hand on the frame. "When you're ready to talk. Or when you're not. Either way."
The door clicked shut behind him as he left.
I stood there for a long time, staring at equipment I couldn't see, hearing words I couldn't unhear.
He wouldn't want you to stop living.
Maybe. Maybe not. The dead didn't get a vote, and the living were left to guess.
The kitchen was empty when I walked in an hour later. Almost empty.
Riley was at the counter, her back to me, pouring coffee into a thermos. The overhead lights cast harsh shadows across the room, that particular fluorescent glare that made everyone look tired. She didn't turn around when I entered, but I saw her shoulders shift. She knew I was there.
"Overheard you and Murphy," she said.
I froze mid-step. "Riley?—"
"I wasn't trying to." She still didn't turn around, focused on screwing the cap onto her thermos. "The vents carry sound. You want privacy around here, you gotta go sit in the engine."
I waited. Didn't know what else to do. Riley wasn't the type to gossip, wasn't the type to use information against people. But she also wasn't the type to let things go unsaid.
She finished with the thermos. Set it down. Turned to face me, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed.
"You can't protect someone if you're too afraid to let yourself care."
