Page 88 of Dandelions and Smoke

My insides churn, and my fists clench. Five days too many, and even though I have told myself over and over that I won’t do anything to push her away, to scare her into running or hiding from me ever again, I’m starting to wonder if it’s been my fear of repeating the past that’s allowed her to get so far this time.

“Damn it.”

Slamming my fists down on my desk, I stand up from my seat so aggressively that my chair rolls back and hits the wall with such force that it knocks a picture hanging there clean off. Taking a breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need to get it together. Luckily, as I pick up the frame and inspect it, nothing appears broken, just a little dusty.

I haven’t paid much attention to this picture in years, but it’s of my father and me shortly after I joined the department. By this point, my father and I had been on our own for a while. Without my mother around, I didn’t receive much warmth or affection growing up. I think he believed he had to be tough for both of us to make me strong. He never said things like ‘he’s proud of me’ or ‘job well done’. Often his affection was shown by giving me more responsibilities that he finally felt I was ready to handle.

I don’t know who took this photo, and by the looks of it, neither of us knew it was being taken. I’d just finished my first fire call, the first time I pulled someone out of a fire and helped save their life. I’m covered in soot and ash, my head hanging, completely exhausted and unaware of anything around me.

What I never saw during this moment was my father. His eyes were fixed on me, wearing a smile I’ll never forget now that I’ve seen it. His face held a quiet kind of pride. It’s the kind of pride and look only a father can have. It’s one I had hoped for and sought in every interaction. There were no words, no grand gesture, only a look that said everything captured in a single photo.

Spending time with Scout has allowed me to discover the kind of father I want to be and the example I want to set for him. While I loved my father, I want to do better. I want to be better. I want him to know how proud I am of him, not be searching for clues and hidden meanings behind my actions. He’ll grow up knowing he’s loved and know that when you love someone, you should tell them every day so that they never have to question it.

With a sinking feeling in my gut, I’m reminded that I still haven’t told Rory. I should never have let her leave without her knowing. I wanted to tell her at dinner on Valentine’s Day. I thought I’d have another chance, but I should have told her the very second I knew. Now, with every day that goes by and every call or message that goes ignored, I’m getting worried she’ll never give me the chance.

But what did I do wrong?

It’s been almost a month of this, and I’m not falling for the ‘I’ve been so busy, and the service is bad’ excuse anymore. I need to figure out how to talk to her and set this straight before I explode.

I wipe the dust from the picture and hang it back on the wall. I need a distraction, at least until the end of this shift. Forcing myself to pull it together, I step out of my office and head toward the crew, hoping that focusing on what they’re doing will keep my mind occupied. Walking out to the bay, Billy is doing a rig check. He’s making sure all the lights, horn, and siren are working when I come over.

“Want some help?” I ask, already moving to check the fuel and water before we both get to work on checking that the tires, fluids, brakes, batteries, and engine are all good as well.

He’s working the pump, making sure it turns on and runs so that if we get a fire, water can get to our guys inside and keep them safe when the alarm goes off. Instead of sticking back at the station, I hop in and join the crew, figuring it’s better to run into a blazing fire at this point than stick around here, stuck in my head.

A couple of hours later, after a mid-rise fire, a fall injury, one overdose, and a gas spill at Stewarts, we return to the station. Mark and Billy are barely out of the rig before diving into their Stewarts pints of ice cream, regardless of it still being a cold start to March. Even Levi hops down with his Stewarts Root Beer. When he sees me eyeing him, he shrugs.

“Don’t let Tom tell you he’s the reason I moved here. It’s because of this right here. We grew up drinking a six-pack a day every summer.” Levi looks at the bottle, and his gaze clouds as he recalls the memory.

After getting cleaned up and showered, I check my phone to see there are still no new messages. Slamming it on my desk, my hands drag up my face and pull at my still damp hair until it hurts. A knot of pain tightens inside me like a hand tightly gripping my heart. Her pink haircolor stains my shower, her toothbrush is on my sink, and the sweet, candy-like, soft vanilla smell of her still lingers faintly in my sheets. I did not imagine our happiness. It was not all in my head. This isn’t like her, so what the hell happened?

My office door opens with Billy striding in. At the same time, my phone rings, and I pick it up without looking.

“Rory?” I ask, hoping, my voice taut.

Billy’s brows furrow. He watches me, locked in as he slowly lowers himself into the seat in front of me, as though the answer to this question is as important to him as it is to me.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Jasenia’s voice comes through the line, and my eyes close, my head dropping as I let out a long breath and sit down.

“What’s the matter? Your girlfriend’s still not back?” A breathy laugh leaves Jasenia, and had we not been on the phone, I might have missed it.

My eyes shoot open and lock onto Billy’s.

Sitting up straighter, my grip on the phone tightens. “How do you know she left?”

My heartbeat races, pounding loudly in my ears as I wait for Jasenia to answer me. The seconds pass slowly, and the longer she takes to respond, the heavier the gut feeling I have that she’s had something to do with this becomes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, the defensiveness in her voice painfully familiar. Too familiar. Like all the times in our marriage when she knew exactly what I was talking about but still tried to convince me I was imagining things.

I’m dizzy as the pieces I’ve been missing start to appear in my mind. I may not know how they fit, but I have a feeling I know who’s been holding them.

Picking up the shift in my tone, Billy’s gaze narrows on me as my expression hardens and I roll my tongue against the inside of my cheek, fighting against the urge to yell.

“Jasenia,” I force her name through gritted teeth, each syllable sharp and clipped as I struggle to keep my composure. My emotions press against the dam I’ve built trying to stay on her good side, threatening to shatter it at any second. “I promise, if you had anything to do with this…”

My words trail off, and Billy’s brows pull together. His eyes narrow as understanding settles in, followed quickly by a flash of rage I recognize as similar to my own.

“Your promises don’t mean much to me, Garrett. It’s simple,” she snaps, the cold indifference in her tone sending a chill down my spine. “It’s her or Scout. The decision is yours, though it looks like she already made it for you.”