She rolls her eyes. “I trust that about as far as I can throw you,” she tells me with a small smile. “Which is to say, not very far at all.”
“Hope you’re not body-shaming me, Ma,” I joke. “I work hard for this physique.”
Mom reaches up, cupping my cheeks, yanking me toward her so she can stare into my eyes. “Don’t be a stranger. It’s the holidays, and I want my family around me,” she says sternly. “And tell Gracie you’re both comingto dinner on Sunday night.” Her expression sets stubbornly. “I know you’re not working, so no excuses.”
“I’ll ask her,” I say dryly. “But I’m nottellingher anything.”
“That’s it, boyo!” Dad calls from the den. “You know who’s in charge!”
My mother lets me go with a loud laugh, and I heave out a sigh. “I don’t know why I keep torturing myself like this.”
“You love us,” she says easily.
I smile, pressing another kiss to her cheek. “I do. I’ll see you Sunday.”
I’m standingin my kitchen the next morning, waiting for my coffee to brew. Every time I blink, it feels like sandpaper is scraping against my aching eyes, and my soul is tired and hurting.
Sleep has been hard to come by for weeks now, my dreams filled with horror—the sound of metal scraping against metal, screaming, a pale, limp hand, andblood…And they follow me long after I drag my eyes open.
I grab my phone off the counter, needing to hear Gracie’s voice to drown it all out. She answers after two rings, her voice sweet as she says, “Good morning, baby.”
My lips tip up, shoulders easing fractionally. “Hey, Rumpel,” I rasp. “How’re you this morning?”
She lets out a weary sigh. “Ready for Maryann to get back. These six-day weeks are killing me. One day off just isn’t enough.” She pauses, and I can hear a faucet in the background turning on and then shutting off. “How are you?”
“Good. Just another day, right?” Even as the wordsleave my mouth, I think about telling her what happened the other day—my near panic attack when I heard about another child involved in an accident, and the way my hands trembled at the idea of facing it all over again. I think about telling her about that first accident and how close I came to facing death, and then I think about telling her about running into Paisley. I think about telling heranything, but then she makes a low noise, and the moment passes.
“Any news about Ben?”
“Yeah, he got discharged on Tuesday. The chief says he’ll be back to normal shifts next week.” I bow my head, knowing I’ve fucked up again, but I still can’t make myself talk.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” she says. “I bet his wife was worried.”
“Yeah.” I pause, mind full-on sprinting down a thorny path, tripping over debris and sticks before coming to a sudden halt. “Do you worry, Gracie?”
She draws in a quiet breath. “About you? Of course, Brax. But I try not to let it linger, you know? Otherwise, I don’t think I’d ever breathe. Your mom has given me lots of good advice about how to make it through each shift, and what might happen.” There’s a long pause as I try to shake my thoughts off like they’re clinging cobwebs. “What’s going on, Brax?”
“I’m just tired,” I tell her quietly. “I didn’t sleep well. It’ll be good when everything gets back to normal. Mom wants us to go to dinner on Sunday.”
I can hear the smile when she says, “I can do Sunday. I’ll send her a message, see if she needs me to bring anything.”
The coffee machine beeps, and I say, “Sounds good. Hey, I’ve gotta go, baby. I’ll call you when I can, okay?”
“Okay,” she says quietly. “Be safe, okay?”
My eyes burn a little, hearing the words she gives me every time I go on shift. But I blink the feeling away. “Always.”
“I love you, Brax.”
It feels like a tight fist is gripping my lungs, squeezing them so tightly that no air is getting in. “I love you too, Gracie.”
The universe must knowhow tired I am. By midday, we haven’t had a single callout, but the whole crew is subdued, clearly feeling the effects of this time of year, as well as Ben’s illness and being short-staffed. The mood is relatively somber, hanging over the station like a dark cloud.
Desperate to keep my hands busy and my mind quiet, I volunteer to cook lunch—nothing fancy, just a simple fare of avocado, scrambled eggs, and bacon on toast. I’m on clean-up duty now, elbow-deep in suds, but it’s easy to let my thoughts drift as the water swishes around my wrists.
“Yo, man. There’s a visitor for you.” Ryan pops his head around the doorframe, knocking his fist twice against the wood, and then he’s gone again. I shake my head, my mouth twitching, used to his abrupt nature after working the same shift together for the last two years.
I check the time with a frown. It’s too early for Gracie’s lunch break, but hope still beats out a fast rhythm in my chest. I haven’t seen her for a couple of days, and even when I did, it wasn’t long enough. Excitement thrums through me, cutting through everything else—every worry and every secret I’ve been holding onto—eager just to drag my girl into my arms.
