In the hallway, the hum of students’ voices is muffled, and our footsteps suddenly sound loud as we pass bulletin boards full of crayon-colored artwork and graded papers decorated with stickers for good work.
“For the record, I’m not here to make your life smaller,” I say. “I’m here so you can keep living it.”
She keeps walking, into the large main office, then to the right, to her private office, where she stopsinside the door and turns to face me. Up close, in the light coming from the window, I see hints of redness around her eyes and faint dark circles under her makeup.
And a blush of pink on her cheeks that wasn’t there earlier.
“You’re off duty,” she says. “All of you are. You don’t have to?—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “This isn’t about having to. I promise you that.”
Her breath catches in her throat, and my fingers itch to reach for her, but I don’t. I don’t touch her.
“You don’t need to handle this alone.”
She looks like she’s about to argue, or maybe insist that she’s fine. Instead, she reaches out and brushes her fingers lightly against my forearm, right above the wrist.
It’s nothing. A thank you without words.
My body reacts like it’s everything.
She pulls back quickly, making me wonder if she feels the electricity, too. “Thank you,” she says tightly.
“Anytime. Especially when tater tots are on the menu.”
She smiles, and her eyes hold mine for a beat too long.
I take a step back before I do something stupid. “I’m going to head out.”
She nods, and I dip my head to say goodbye before I head back to the lunchroom.
T.J.’s class has left, but I stay until all the students are done, and then I help put up the tables. I line them carefully alongthe wall, focusing on the patterns of the woodgrain laminate, as if it’s going to tell me how to navigate things with Elena.
I came here to watch the exits, but my focus has turned toward watching her.
CHAPTER 11
CALDER
The station is so quiet I can hear the ice machine in the back hall make a noise that sounds like a cough. I’m checking supplies on Engine 2 when dispatch breaks the peace.
“Moon Ridge Fire, respond to a reported structure fire, possible entrapment, 214 County Road 9. Caller reports visible flames from the rear of residence. Possible victims inside.”
Every muscle in my body locks.Possible victims inside.
Instead of picturing the scene, something else breaks loose. A vehicle door hanging open in the darkness. Orange light moving fast across metal. Someone shouting for a man who doesn’t answer.
The smell comes next. Fuel, heat, rubber, scorched wiring. Something worse underneath it all. Not real, but close enough to make my body believe it is.
Weston’s moving. Buck comes out of the office, his paperwork abandoned. With the chief off duty and the station captain out, he’s in charge.
I know what comes next. Turnout gear. Engine response. Coordinates. Confirmation. I know the sequence as well as I know my own name. But my hands aren’t moving.
The bay seems to narrow, and the overhead lights have flattened into white bars. The engine’s red paint catches the lights and throws back reflections that look too much like flames.
“Cal.” It’s Weston, somewhere close. Not loud or alarmed.
I reach for my coat and miss the sleeve opening when I try to put it on.Possible victims inside.
