The pain is unbearable.
I want to answer Robbie—needto answer. Robbie should never sound like he’s breaking apart, like he’s already mourning me. But there’s no breath left in my body. No air to push the words out.
The heat presses in from every side. The noise dulls, like someone’s turning the world’s volume down. My vision narrows until all I can see is the faint glow of my flashlight cutting a useless cone through smoke.
And stupidly—selfishly—the only thing I can think is:
I wish I’d gotten to kiss you just once, Robbie.
Just once. Just to know.
I wish I’d told you how much I love you. Not only as your best friend but as so much more.
I love you, Robbie, I think.
The radio crackles again. My name, repeated over and over. But the weight’s settled heavier over my chest, darkness is closing in…
And I stop thinking altogether.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ROBBIE
The call comeswhen Lissa and I are walking back to my truck from a local club where we were scouting out an acoustic jazz duo for our wedding reception.
I havenotbeen stellar company tonight, and I know it. Since that session with Dr. Colburn this afternoon, my brain’s been caught in a riptide, searching for daylight, and it’s hard to focus on wedding minutiae.
In fact, my first thought when I hear the distinctive dispatch ringtone is gratitude for the distraction…
Then Ravi starts talking.
“Chief Wojcik?” Ravi’s voice is steady but urgent. “Axford asked me to inform you there’s a structure fire at Sullivan Timber. Multiple units responding. Per his request, I’ve already contacted the Mabel Fire Department and asked them to send units as well.”
“Good call,” I say, trying to ignore the pinch of fear I get whenever Ames is responding to a call without me. “How bad is it?”
“According to James and Porto, it’s nearly full structureinvolvement in high winds.” Ravi hesitates. “Pretty bad, sir.”
Fuck.And my guys—Ames—are out there. Adrenaline shoots through me, and I feel my brain coming online again, pushing aside all the tangles I’d been trying to unravel.
“Thanks, Ravi. Gotta make a quick detour to the other side of Winsome, but I’m on my way. ETA twenty minutes.”
“Got it.”
I end the call and glance at Lissa, who’s sitting stiffly in the passenger’s seat, not looking at me. “Sorry, Liss. It’s a bad one. I have to go.”
She huffs out a breath. “You’re always sorry,” she tells the windshield. “But you always leave anyway. Nice that dropping me at home is adetour.”
I blow out a breath, already shifting the truck into gear and heading out of the parking lot. “You make it sound like I do this all the time. You know I don’t.”
“What I know is you’re always covering someone’s shift when they’re sick, or out until the middle of the night. Sometimes I don’t hear from you for hours or even a whole day.”
This isn’t the first time we’ve discussed my job. In fact, it comes up a lot. We don’t argue, exactly, but then we never do.
Lissa expresses her frustration, and I nod and say I understand her point of view—because I do. Then I remind her why things are the way they are and try to make it up to her. Make sure she feels prioritized in other ways.
We seem to be okay… until the next time something comes up.
Tonight, it’s pretty clear we’re not on the same page at all. So with Dr. Colburn’s words from my session earlier echoing in my head, I decide to take a more direct approach.
