It’s a scream of pain. Of fear.
It’s the loudest sound in the universe.
A sound I’ll hear when I close my eyes for the rest of my life.
But then the scream cuts off, and the silence rings even louder.
“Ames!” I cry. “Ames! Answer me, damn it!”
The second floor above me’s fully engulfed, high on a fresh supply of oxygen and greedily licking through the hole where the ceiling used to be. I’ve got my flashlight out, trying to look for Ames, but I’m moving blind and shaking with adrenaline. Then the light catches on the faintest glimmer of something yellow and reflective.
Turnout gear.
I drop to my knees beside a pile of smoldering debris—charred Sheetrock and splintered wood.
“Ames!” I pull at a piece of plaster that’s pinned him across his chest and haul it off him. “I’ve got you. Talk to me!”
But once again, Ames doesn’t obey. He’s not moving. Not responding. His helmet’s askew, the face shield half-raised and cracked. His oxygen mask is—thank fuck—intact, but I can’t tell if he’s breathing.
People saymy life flashed before my eyeswhen they’re in scary situations, but I’ve always thought that was aHallmark-ish fabrication. When I’ve been in danger—and it’s happened, a couple of times—I was a little too busy trying to get out of it for a trip down memory lane.
But kneeling beside Ames, I get it. It’s not about the specific days or happenings; it’s about feelings. It’s about recognizing that the best moments of my life have been when Ames’s blue eyes were laughing at me, when his mouth was smiling at me, when his strength was at my side. It’s about realizing he’s the best thing that will ever happen to me. It’s about thinking—just for a heartbeat, less than a heartbeat—well, fuck it, then, because if he goes, I go too.
All of this takes only a second. Then I rip off my glove, push away the collar of his coat, and find a pulse in his throat. My breath, my life, comes back to me in a shuddering rush.
“Stay with me, Ames.” My words come out broken and desperate. I don’t think he can hear me, especially with my mask on, but I say it anyway. “I’ve got you, baby. Stay with me.”
I’m pretty sure, later, that I scream into my radio that there’s a firefighter down, but this fucking building might come down, andAmes is alive, so I’m getting us out of here.
I grab him under the shoulders and haul, but it takes precious minutes to get him clear of the heavy debris. My back screams, my biceps shake, my legs tremble, but I don’t care. This is what they’refor. For Ames. For saving him and holding him. Nothing matters but the man in my arms.
I haul him higher against my chest, and his head lolls against my shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’ve got you, baby. Everything’s gonna be good now.”
This isn’t quite true. The heat’s blistering. The floor is a minefield covered in haphazard piles of debris. The building creaks further, and I thinktheroof…oh, fuck.
Then, hands are grabbing me, guiding me through the door. I stumble away from the building, the cold air feeling like a benediction, and lay Ames on the ground.
“EMTs! I need an ambulance!” I cry the second I rip my mask off.
I manage to remove Ames’s helmet and tear open his coat. I still can’t tell for sure if he’s breathing.
“Ames, baby.” My voice comes out cracked. “You stupid, stupid motherfucker. Don’t youdare?—”
The EMTs fall to their knees beside us and push me away. They check his vitals and verify that he is, indeed, getting oxygen. The whole time, I’m sitting there holding his hand because I can’t make myself let go.
All the doubts and fears and questions fade away.
I’m Ames’s lifeline. I know I am.
And for damn sure, he’s mine.
I’m vaguely aware of Greene and Hugh nearby. Greene’s sprawled on the ground moaning while an EMT works on his leg. Hugh’s sitting upright but slumped with an oxygen mask pressed to his face. He looks over at me and nods. I nod back, once.
Then the EMTs working on Ames start to maneuver him onto a board, and my focus snaps back.
“Possible chest trauma,” one of them’s saying. “Possible concussion. Pulse is strong, but we’ve gotta move.”
