Schmidt watches, mouth slack.
Barratt snaps out orders on the radio, calling for an ambulance, the sound so far away.
My ears ring.
My body burns.
My face stings from the melted rubber.
Owens is removing the thing from my head as I stare at the face below me now free of the mask, as the body limp in my arms starts to move.
Somebody walks to where I kneel, standing over the three of us.
Their shadow drapes over me as they stand unmoving, like a tree in the park over the lush grass. Quiet and stoic.
The medics rush us, and I lie her on the sidewalk, not leaving her side. Orders snap through the air around us from 43 and 41, and the hoses continue the battle until the building is reduced to ash, smoke, and rubble.
Owens never leaves my side, and as Sandy masks up, my heart breaks.
Recovery.
London moans, moving on the hard sidewalk, her head turning from side to side. Dark hair tousles as she lurches forward, gasping for air.
My face breaks.
Her brown eyes widen as they meet mine.
“No,” she sobs.
I’m shaking my head.
Her face contorts as she clings to my jacket. I wrap myself around her, like I can protect her from the world. But I know I can’t. There will always be things out of my control.
The more I try to control, the more chaos I create.
This could have been prevented, had I not sabotaged Schmidt. I would have been here. I would have gone with one of them. I could have been in that building the second the roof collapsed.
Because I clung to control with an iron fist and used any tactic possible to not let it slip through my fingers, this is what resulted.
“Miles?”
“Yeah, beautiful. Right here. Always, remember.”
She sobs hard before raising her gaze. “Where is he?”
The doors to the building open under 43’s hands, as Howard and his crew hold the path open for Sandy and the precious cargo in his arms.
Davies is draped over Sandy’s carry hold.
A combination no firefighter ever wants to witness, let alone be a part of. Helmets slide off heads, held to chests, and each officer dips their chin, gazes dropping to the ground.
London struggles to her feet, her arms shaking as her palms push off the concrete, and I hold her up.
“Davey,” she sobs. “No, Davey . . .”
She sags, and I fold my body around hers.
She tries to tear away, and I tighten my grip. “He’s gone, beautiful,” I choke out.
