Page 106
Besides, Captain was already out there, his classic high-pitched bark echoing off the walls, begging whoever was out there to throw his tennis ball.
Cole threw on a pair of sweats and a tee and went out into the kitchen.
Jackson was there.
“You look like hell,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You want coffee?”
“Sure.”
Jackson poured him a mug and left it on the counter for Cole to doctor it the way he liked.
They stood in silence for a moment. Jackson didn’t rush it. That was one of the things Cole had always valued about Jackson—the man understood silence the way most people understood conversation. He’d come back from two tours with an appreciation for not filling every space with noise.
“Emily feels terrible,” Jackson said.
“Good,” Cole said, and meant it, and then immediately felt the complicated thing underneath it that wasn’t as clean as good.
“She didn’t mean it the way it landed.”
“I don’t know. She sounded pretty convinced.”
Jackson was quiet.
“I sat at that table,” Cole said, “and for the first time since I came back to this town, I felt like I was actually part of something. And she—” He stopped. Set the coffee down. “She said the thing she’s always said. The thing she’s been saying since we were ten years old and honestly, I’m tired of it. She’ll never change.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know what I believe.” Cole looked out the window. At the rooftops. At the town he’d been slowly, reluctantly, against his own better judgment, starting to think of as home. “Maybe I was expecting too much. She’s Emily. She’s never going to fully let go of it. And I can’t—” He paused. “I can’t keep doing it.”
Jackson drank his coffee and said nothing for a while.
“So, what are you thinking?” he eventually asked.
Cole exhaled. “I don’t know. Maybe I should cut my losses. Call Rivera. Tell my captain I’m coming back early.”
The idea had come to him last night, or maybe it was early this morning. Regardless, it was there.
“New York,” Jackson said.
“It makes sense. It’s always made sense. I took this contract to be near my grandfather. He’s doing fine. The station’s organized. Someone else can run it.” He heard himself saying the words and noted, from a distance, that they sounded like a plan and felt like a retreat. “I’ve got a spot at Engine 54 waiting for me. A career. My crew.”
“You’ve got a crew here,” Jackson said quietly.
Cole looked at him.
“Tyler. Me. The volunteers.” Jackson held his gaze. “You built something here, Cole. Whether you meant to or not.”
“I know.”
“And your grandfather—”
“My grandfather will understand.”
“Will he?” Jackson set his coffee down. “Because from where I’m standing, that man has watched you come back to life in this town. And I think if you left now, it would hurt him more than any accusation about a tin of cookies.”
