Page 38 of Burn Protocol

“Mm-hmm,” I push out with great effort.

“So, is this Elena…” Catherine drags out her words so slowly and carefully, that it lacks all the determination and poise she holds when she wields her scalpel. “… a firefighter perhaps?”

The tears spill from my eyes and fall hot on my cheeks. They slide down my skin, creating salty pathways for the next set of tears that follows almost immediately.

“Mm-hmm,” I push out again, this time fighting the sob that wants to follow.

“Oh, niña,” the surgeon whispers, her voice soft and gentle.

Suddenly I can no longer compose myself. The sound that falls from my lips is almost feral, and I can hear the sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line. I press my shaky fingers against my lips, the lips that Elena kissed only two days ago, but there is no stopping me now. As I break down, Mary and Catherine whisper calming words into my ear. Not once during the ten minutes it takes me to catch my breath again do they probe me with questions or tell me to just suck it up. They remain soft and gentle, exactly what I need right now.

***

After two hours, a date for a barbecue on the calendar, and the promise to call them whenever I need a listening ear, I say goodbye to Catherine and Mary. As soon as I put the phone down, I march to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. My head is pounding and my throat is sore, but my heart feels a little lighter at least.

They didn’t give me advice on what to do—they respect me too much for that and it is for me to figure out—but no matter how I spin it, the options are horrible. If I tell Helen I kissed my source, she will immediately take the story away from me. Not only will my ethics be questioned, but Woman at the Front will also lose credibility if they let me continue with the article. I need this closing piece to regain my position with the magazine, so telling her… well, it really isn’t an option.

But then again, if I talk to Elena and she feels the same way, then it might be worth pursuing whatever this is. God, whenever my mind drifts off at the thought of us watching a movie in each other’s arms, Elena coming home to a warm dinner I made her, or having her in my bed, I go weak in the knees. But that’s not what she wants, Maya. No, Elena said she is ‘too busy’ to date. So, even if I would give up my job to have all that, that idea is off the table.

That leaves me with two options, really. Two highly questionable options that go against everything I am. I either take three steps back and tackle this as a professional, keeping Elena at a distance, or I see where it will lead us and lie about it to everyone else. But if it ever comes out, it will not only ruin my career but Elena’s as well. Fuck me. Well done, Maya Carter. Well fucking done.

As soon as I enter my apartment, I kick off my shoes and shrug off my heavy jacket. There’s sweat and grime sticking to my skin. I can’t wait to wash it off, but I do the one thing I’ll regret in a minute instead. I reach for the phone in my back pocket, open the messenger app, and stare at the words on my screen.

Yesterday 13:03 Maya Carter –

Hey, uhm, I wanted to thank you for being there for me yesterday. I know it probably sounds silly to you, it being so long ago and all, but… well it shook me. You made me feel safe… so… thank you.

I made her feel safe. That thought alone warms me. It’s just that the words ‘being there for me’ throw me off. Is this like a friendship thing? I don’t have much experience with female friendships. Even when I was younger, I preferred hanging out with boys. Does Maya think it was a platonic kiss? Or worse, that I took advantage of her when she was vulnerable? Did you?

My breath hitches. Maya was in shock and I kissed her. The fact that she even bothered to text me at all is a miracle on its own. Because she needs you for her article. No, she isn’t like that. Is she? And why the hell didn’t I answer her message. Because you panic. Every. Single. Time. Like now. I inhale a sharp breath and squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself into this mess. On the day that I’d chosen to be a professional, just like her, no less.

But when she was shaking like that, all I wanted to do was make her feel safe. To wrap my arms around her. And Maya looked at me as if she needed that to come from me. Like only I could offer her comfort. But maybe she just needed a friend. Not some riled up woman taking advantage of her.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. The groan that leaves my throat is feral and raw with frustration. Because what do I do? Text her back, idiot. I need to salvage whatever’s left. Maya is sensitive. She’s given me hurt looks more than once. My silence might make her question herself.

“No,” I whisper hoarsely to myself. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

I open the app again and stare at the message one last time. Then I take a deep breath. My fingers fly over the screen and I press send before I can stop myself.

16:45 E. Gonzales –

Honestly, not silly at all. Trauma doesn’t follow a timeline. Even when you’ve given it a place, it can flare up. There’s no shame in that. I was worried, but you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.

Right after sending the message, I am already regretting it. What if it’s too much? What if I am scaring her? I groan again, toss my phone onto the couch, and make my way to the bathroom. I need to scrub this day off of me.

***

Maya responded to my message with a thank you and a hugging emoji, which lifted my unease for a brief moment. But now that I am ready to walk into the cantina, my heart starts racing. What is wrong with you, Gonzales? Why does the thought of seeing her again make me so nervous? Why?

Right as I put my foot on the iron stairs, my radio crackles, followed by the overhead speaker. Fuck. I didn’t even have coffee yet. Without a second thought, I turn on my heels and rush to the bay. Already peeling off my jacket.

“Plaça Espanya station, Sants-Montjuïc. Metro collision in tunnel. Smoke and flames sighted. Engine 2, ladder 1, rescue 4, command 2, respond. Additional response from Station 3, 5, and 8. Battalion 1, engine 12, engine 1, engine 7, ladder 3, ladder 7, rescue 3, rescue 5, rescue 7, rescue 9—en route. Two train cars involved. Multiple injuries, multiple entrapments in tunnels and vehicles. Civilians evacuating. Proceed with urgency. Time out 08:32.”

Halfway through the call I freeze. Only for a second. Then everything kicks into an even higher gear. A citywide response, multiple casualties—this is big. Not routine. My mind snaps into focus. We are about to walk straight into hell. I jump into my boots and pull up my pants. Flames in tunnels. Entrapped people. Citizens evacuating. Fuck. There will be chaos and panic. People outside of my control. Which means danger.

“Move it.” I order in a clipped, steady voice.

My heart is thudding against my ribs as I grab my helmet and gloves. I move toward the engine and Maya follows, her eyes large. She hasn’t even closed her jacket yet, but she clearly understands the urgency. We look at each other briefly, before she hoists herself inside. I shove away the need to reach out for her. To touch her. My focus needs to be on what lies ahead, or we could all be in danger. I have to trust that she understands that.