A win, by any reasonable measure.
So why did my hands shake when I pulled off my gloves?
Back at the station, the adrenaline faded and left something heavier in its place.
The crew moved through the post-call routine. Cleaning gear. Restocking the rigs. The debrief that was mostly just confirming what we already knew: good stop, no injuries, building was a loss but nothing we could have done about that.
I said the right things. Gave the right feedback. Told Riley her perimeter check was textbook, told Owen his ladder work was solid, told Liam his water supply setup had bought us the time we needed.
Then I walked away, and I found myself standing in front of the memorial wall.
Mateo's plaque was at eye level, right in the center. I'd been there when they'd mounted it, threeyears ago. Had stood in my dress uniform and accepted the flag and said things I didn't remember anymore, words that had felt like ash in my mouth.
I stared at his name, the letters that didn't come close to capturing who he'd been. Mateo, who could make anyone laugh. Mateo, who remembered everyone's birthday and never let you pay for drinks and believed, genuinely believed, that people were mostly good. Mateo, who had run into that warehouse without hesitating because there was a kid inside and that was all he needed to know.
My fingers lifted. Hovered over the engraving. Didn't quite touch.
"Hey."
I dropped my hand.
Riley stood a few feet behind me, her expression unreadable. She'd showered and changed, her dark hair still damp, and she looked even younger out of her gear. Twenty-six years old and carrying more weight than anyone should have to.
"You okay?" she asked. Not pushy. Just direct.
"I'm fine."
"You froze. At the scene. Just for a second, but I saw it."
Of course she had. Riley saw everything. It was what made her a good firefighter and an uncomfortable person to be around.
"It was nothing," I said. "Smell got to me for a second. Happens sometimes."
She studied me for a long moment. I couldn't tell if she believed me or not.
"Okay," she finally said. "But if it's not nothing, you know where to find me."
She walked away without waiting for a response. I watched her go, then turned back to the plaque.
Take care of Lucy. Promise me.
I'd promised. And for three years, I'd been trying to figure out what that meant.
My shift ended at 5 AM the next morning. I drove home on autopilot, the streets of West Valley Springs quiet and familiar, the mountains pink with sunrise.
Home was the apartment on Oak Street. Second floor, across the hall from the woman I'd been watching over for six months without ever saying more than ten words to her.
I'd moved in two weeks after Lucy came back to town. I knew how it would look if she ever found out—a man tracking her movements, watching her without permission, inserting himself into her life uninvited.
I'd been living in a house on the other side of town, the one I'd bought when I made captain, too big for one person but I'd never gotten around to finding somewhere smaller. Then I'd heard through the grapevine that Lucy Moreno was back in West Valley Springs, using her mother's maiden name, working at the café on Main Street.
I'd told myself I was just going to check on her.Make sure she was okay. Keep the promise from a distance.
Then I saw the apartment listing. Same building. Same floor.
I knew it was wrong. Knew Mateo would probably tell me I'd lost my mind. But the alternative—doing nothing, staying away, pretending I hadn't promised—felt worse. So I signed the lease and told myself this was protection.
Stay close enough to help if she needed it. Far enough that she'd never have to know.
