“It’s notjustanything,” I respond dryly. I’ve done the work, attended months’ worth of therapy, and somehow, I’ve found myself at square one again.
Marcus’s body slumps in defeat. He’s done his part protecting me while remaining unbiased in his role. “I didn’t mean it like that. This won’t be as intense as the time after Alison?—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out harsher and louder than I expected, surprising us both.
He nods slowly, knowing better than to push theboundaries of my highly built walls. “This isn’t about dredging up the past or wanting to see you suffer. You’re a fucking fantastic firefighter and EMT—you know it, as does the board, but there are only so many chances we can give. I don’t want this to be the reason you end your career well before your time. We always promised to retire together, and I’m not ready for that yet. Neither are you.” With a firm grip on my shoulder, he drills me with a hardened expression. “Underneath all this is the kid who put tuna in my boots and saw me through the toughest days as a probie. You were the first person to know I’d bought a ring for Diana, the godfather to my son. You’ve been through hell and back, brother, and I love you no matter what, but sometimes, I miss my old friend.”
I’m frozen under his touch, afraid to say what’s on my mind.
That man is gone.Lost.Erased.
“Do you know when I finally got a glimpse of the old Warren again?”
“I reckon you’re going to tell me either way,” I croak.
His smile is light. “The morning after the bachelor party. Whatever you got up to had some of your old spark returning. You were…happy.”
The only reason I was happy was because I spent the night pretending I was someone else, someone without a jaded past or whose career hung on by a thread.
All because of the woman with the sweetest laugh, a floral scent that remains a mystery, and a freckle above her soft, pillowy lips.
The sudden memory of Harriet tips the scales that have sat at an impasse for weeks. It’s not like I want to be this miserable shell of a man. After years of trying to “fix” myself, I lost hope of ever being anyone else. This could be my last chance, and the last thing I want is to be a burden to Marcus. This job,outside of my family, is all I have left. The department-assigned psychiatrist won’t be any different from the ones my parents begged me to see over seven years ago, but if I tick all their boxes and tell them what they want to hear, they might give me the stamp of approval to return to full-duties before the spring.
I can manage eight teeth-gritting sessions if it gets me back in an engine.
Decision made, I force my words out before changing my mind. “I’ll do it.”
Marcus blinks, as if he didn’t hear me correctly. “What?”
“I said I’ll do it. Call the chief in the morning.” I shuffle toward the door, too exhausted to continue this conversation. “If this is what it takes to prove I’m not a liability and capable of doing my job, then so be it.”
“You’re sure?”
No.
But what choice do I have? Without my job, I have nothing. It’s my life raft. If I lose it, the current threatening to drag me under will finally succeed.
“Make the call.” Before he can question my decision, I head back toward the bunk rooms.
It’s a good thing most of the crew are out when I fall asleep, because shortly after my eyes shut, a nightmare gouges its claws into my brain, startling me awake. Only I can’t move. My T-shirt is drenched with sweat, body tense as granite, and a reel of the worst moments of my life replay in my head.
All I can do is lie there and wait for it to pass.
NINE
HARRIET
“Thankyou for joining me tonight at the Smokey Barrel Distillery. My name is Harriet Thomas.” My voice echoes through the speakers, the small stage light overhead warming my already flushed face. “Don’t be strangers. Come visit us again soon.”
The small crowd claps and cheers.
I sling my acoustic guitar over my shoulder and exit the stage. Parker is waiting for me at the foot of the steps, the tripod with my camera next to her, still filming. I tap the End Recording button before downing the glass of water she hands me. The energy from performing wanes, and the bone-deep ache and cold sweat from earlier returns.
“I’m not surprised you’re thirsty,” she remarks. “You belted the last chorus.”
I wipe my chin with the inside of my wrist. “Remind me to never cover a Hozier song again. My lungs were close to popping.”
She dismisses me, forever one of my biggest hype girls. “Itook a few videos on my phone from different angles in case you wanted to upload anything to your page.”
