Page 124 of Flint’s Strike

I pick up my wine glass and stare at the frozen image on the TV screen. A cheerful little cartoon sprout smiles like it doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s ridiculous enough I should be able to turn my brain off for ninety minutes and enjoy this time with my best friends.

I can’t.

I don’t know how to sit still when there’s a problem in front of me. I know how to investigate. I know how to dig until I find what everyone else missed. I know how to put pieces together and carry the parts no one else wants to hold.

But isn’t there a difference between doing my job and believing everything falls apart if I don’t?

“I’m not wrong,” I say finally.

Grace tilts her head. “About what?”

“The case.” I wave my hands at…everything. “About needing those warrants. People are getting hurt.”

“I know,” Grace says, and the words catch me off guard. “I’m not saying stop caring. Parker, that’s one reason why…uh…” Her brows furrow, and she rubs at the scar on her temple from her second craniotomy. After trying again to form the words, she switches to ASL and adds, “I love you. You show up.”

My throat tightens, and I look away.

Belle wriggles onto Grace’s lap, nuzzling her nose under Grace’s chin. Grace laughs, and that’s enough to untangle whatever goes wrong in her brain when she loses her words.

“There’s…a difference between…showing up because you care…and believing you have to be the one who saves everybody.” Grace sinks back against the cushions, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

I stare down at the wine glass in my hand. “How am I supposed to separate those two?”

Isabel leans over and gives my knee a squeeze. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight, Parker. There’s no test you have to pass.”

Emi reaches for the remote but doesn’t turn the movie back on. “You’re allowed to sit on a couch with us and not have a crisis to solve.”

I chuckle. “Apparently I’m terrible at that.”

My three closest friends all reply at once. “We know.”

“Start the damn movie.” I reach for my wine, take a healthy sip, and curl my legs under me.

Emi presses play, and I manage to pay attention for a little while.

The main character is a houseplant convinced it was meant for more than simply decorating a windowsill. Within the first few minutes, it’s already plotting its escape from the terracotta pot it insists is “a decorative prison.”

Laughing should make me feel better. Instead, it makes me realize how long I’ve been trying to carry this all alone.

My mind starts to drift. Not to the case this time.

To Eliot.

To the way he looked at me last night after telling me about the fire that killed Zack.

He’s been carrying that guilt for so long, it’s as much part of him now as his scars, the metal pins in his leg, or even the brown of his eyes.

I wanted to tell him he wasn’t responsible. That pinned down on a collapsed catwalk, there was nothing he could have done to save Zack.

Watching him relive those moments, hearing the agony in his voice, seeing the guilt written all over his face… It hurt.

He wasn’t telling me because he expected me to find the right words. He wasn’t waiting for me to tell him how to move on. He wasn’t handing me a problem and asking me to find the solution.

He was telling me because he trusted me enough to let me see him.

“You don’t need to earn your place in someone’s life by being useful.”

I think I’m finally starting to understand what she means. Showing up for someone doesn’t mean their pain becomes my responsibility the second they trust me with it.