For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us feels charged in that familiar yet dangerous way, like we’re both thinking about what happened the last time he was here but we’re both tryingnotto think about it.
Then he lifts an envelope. “An invitation,” he says.
I stare at it for a second before taking it from his hand. The paper feels thick and expensive, like the kind of thing that feels out of place in my apartment before I even open it. When I do, the elegant script inside confirms exactly what I was expecting and somehow still wasn’t prepared for.
I read it quickly. “A gala,” I say, glancing up at him. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
I let out a quiet breath, running my thumb along the edge of the card. “This feels… wildly out of place right now.”
“It is,” he agrees, without hesitation. That almost makes it worse.
I look back down at the invitation, then up at him again. “Why?” I mean, asking me on a date is one thing, but this is… not as out of hand as it should be considering who his father is. But it still feels like a big jump.
“My father is donating a new dispatch system to the city,” he says. “So, he’s hosting a gala to celebrate it and recognize EMS crews. He wants to honor the ones involved in the crash as well.”
The words land heavier than I expect. Recognition and honor, things that feel undeserved in a way I can’t articulate, especially in a time of mourning.
“I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “I wasn’t even there when it happened.”
“You were there after,” he counters immediately. “You showed up and stayed. You dropped everything when you were needed. That counts.”
I shake my head, the memory of flashing lights and twisted metal making bile rise too easily. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
His expression softens, just slightly. “I know.”
Silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but heavy with everything we’re both not saying. Then, more quietly, he adds, “I thought you might need a night that isn’t… this.”
Something in my ribs shifts at that. Because that’s not obligation; it’s not an investigation. It’s him.
“I don’t belong at something like that,” I say.
His gaze holds mine, steady and certain. “Then I’ll stand next to you the whole time.”
My breath catches despite myself. Not because of his words but because of how simply he says them. Like it’s not even a question.
Besides, something tells me he wasn’t going to leave my side anyway.
And just like that, I realize I’m already going to say “yes.”
I think I was going to the whole time, I just needed to convince myself.
I get help from Alice the next day with picking a dress and figuring out how to do my hair with it. Despite my nerves and her encouragement, the night of the gala rolls around. It’s been nearly a week since he invited me to this but I’m still ridiculously nervous. I thought I’d calm down about it in that timeframe but instead, it just got worse.
Now I’m getting ready and it feels like stepping into someone else’s life. I’ve never been to anything this fancy and elegant and I’m not even sure what level of fancy to expect. My nerves, and expectations, are just built off of the look and feel of the invitation.
The dress hangs differently than anything else I own. The fabric is soft and fluid where my usual clothes are practical and fitted. It slides over my skin in a way that feels unfamiliar, almost disorienting. And when I look at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back.
She doesn’t look like someone who kneels on asphalt or works around the metallic scent of blood and smoke. She doesn’t look like someone who stood on the side of a highway eleven nights ago, watching a gurney covered in a sheet.
She looks… untouched. The thought sits wrong in my chest.
I smooth my hands down the fabric, grounding myself in the motion. It’s a kind of armor, I realize, just a different kind. A lighter and softer kind, but still, something I’m putting on to face the world.
Even now, I can feel the phantom weight of my gear, the memory of a med bag slung over my shoulder is too settled in my muscles. That version of me hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s just hidden under silk instead of a uniform.
When the knock comes at the door, I take one last breath before opening it.
