“That’s all true. They were married for five years and were happy—for the most part. From an insider’s perspective, they never really meshed. They both had very different views on how their lives should go. Warren wanted to progress in his career while Alison couldn’t understand it. Her parents came from old money, and in her eyes, Warren didn’t need to work the long hours.” He tilts his head, deliberating his next words.
“They grew apart, which caused Warren to throw himself into his job. He’d admit it wasn’t the best reaction, and perhaps he knew their marriage was over. They tried counseling, but eventually, it all became too much for them. Warren isn’t faultless here.” He sucks in a breath. “I won’t make excuses or try to explain why he didn’t tell you, but Warren’s complicated. He’s built a prison around himself and refused to let anyone in for years. He lost a part none of us ever thought he’d find again. Until you.” He takes my hand, squeezing gently. “If you hadn’t come into his life, I don’t know if we would’ve ever gotten the old Warren back.”
Emotion swells in my chest as all the missing pieces fall into place. “She died in a car accident, didn’t she? The same accident he attended to before being diagnosed with PTSD?”
He nods. “I was there. It’s best Warren tells you the rest of the story, but please know he cares for you, Harriet. So much.”
I nod in understanding. “Can I wait here until he returns?”
“Of course. I’ll take you to the break room—” The phone on Marcus’s desk vibrates, and he holds up a hand. “Sorry, one second.”
He answers, and immediately, his face turns ashen. “Where? They’re on their way? Fuck, no. I’ll send another crew out and meet you there.”
A nauseating sixth-sense tells me the next words out of Marcus’s mouth will only fuel the heartache of this already taxing day.
“There’s been an accident. Warren’s on the way to the hospital.”
FIFTY-FIVE
WARREN
Orange flames lickup toward the sky, dancing in the billowing dark gray smoke. It’s almost beautiful, if not for the fumes filling the air. Whatever burns in the storage units causes the clouds to turn a dangerous color, almost black.
The lot hasn’t been touched in years, the contents a mystery, making our job more difficult. According to the security guard, he spotted a bunch of kids on bikes fleeing the area shortly after smoke started filling the sky.
We’re split in to small teams to cover more space and extinguish the flames as quickly as possible. Smoke this thick and close to the city risks grounding flights and causing respiratory issues to people living nearby.
Riley Anders is doing his best to hide his nerves on the edges of our crew. This is the biggest and most challenging call he’s had since qualifying. Every single firefighter here remembers the nerves from their first few months as a probie. No one else notices, and before I talk myself out of it, I amble over to him and slap him on the shoulder.
“I’ll go with Anders.”
Our lieutenant nods before turning to the next pair.
“You don’t need to do that,” Riley murmurs, adjusting the breathing apparatus on his head.
“Do what?” I check the valve on my SCBA bottle.
“Offer to pair with me. No one wants to be stuck with the probie.”
Itsk. “Anyone who thinks that way shouldn’t be on duty. You’re here to learn, and I’m going to make sure you take something away from this shit show.” I wave my hand at the smoke. “Fuck, almost twenty years in, and I’m still learning. Maybe you can teach me something.”
Through the layers of thick gear, his shoulders slacken, the tension easing. Good. The last thing he needs is his anxiety fogging his decision making.
“You ready? Got everything you need?”
With a firm tug on straps over his shoulders, checking his pack is secured, he nods once. “Ready.”
Our assignment is the west side. The units are outside, and whatever or whoever caused the fire didn’t start in one location. By the time the call came in, six rows of units were up in flames, spreading quickly and violently. Our goal: confirm there are no civilians here, stabilize the incident, and conserve as much of the property as possible.
Riley and I carefully move through the open corridors. Without knowing what’s inside the units, the last thing we’ll be doing is opening them up and feeding more oxygen to the flames. For now, we assess the risks and severity before determining where to attack first.
Our section isn’t too severe, with the thick concrete walls between units slowing the fire. We’re taught to investigate first and rule out all hazards before implementing a plan of action. Sometimes, we’re forced to act on instinct and to throw out the rulebook. It’s hard to ignore what your gut tells you,something that got me into trouble more often than not. Months ago, I would’ve walked headfirst into the danger without a second thought to my life.
Today, of all days, I don’t.
I think of Harriet.
Of her curled up on the sofa, humming softly with a record playing in the background. How she reaches for me and pulls me into her rosy embrace.
