Page 24 of The Fire Between Us

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "She's on the run from an abusive ex. Been moving from town to town for months. The guy used to slap her around, and when he threatened their baby, she took off."

"Jesus," Ethan breathes. "That's rough."

"Yeah," I agree. "And here's the really crazy part—I told her about my dad, Ethan. About running away at fifteen. About Brock finding me. All of it."

The line is silent for a moment. Ethan knows how rarely I discuss my past, having heard the full story exactly once in all the years we've been friends.

"Okay," he finally says. "So, you've got it bad. Really bad."

"I don't 'got' anything," I argue weakly. "I'm just... concerned about a new resident of Cedar Falls."

Ethan's laugh is warmer this time. "Sure you are, buddy. Look, I'm no expert, but after a month with Naomi, I can tell you one thing—if you're feeling this way, don't fight it. Dive in. Love is the best thing in the world when it's right."

I nearly drop the phone. "Love? Who said anything about love? And since when are you some romance guru? You were practically allergic to relationships until Naomi surprised you with a pregnancy."

"I know, I know," Ethan admits, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "I can't believe it either. But it's worth it, Max. Worth every terrifying, vulnerable moment. Worth changing everything for."

"I don't even know if she's interested," I mutter. "She's got enough on her plate without adding my issues to the mix."

"Maybe let her decide that," Ethan suggests. "Just... be honest with her. The way you apparently already have been, telling her your deepest, darkest secrets three days after meeting her."

"Shut up," I grumble, but there's no heat in it.

"Look, I gotta go—Naomi’s giving me the eye. The good one, not the disapproval one. But call me tomorrow, let me know how it goes with the chief. You're definitely in for it after breaking protocol."

I groan, having momentarily forgotten that particular consequence.

"Yeah, 8 AM meeting. It's gonna be a blast."

"You'll survive," Ethan assures me. "You always do. And hey, Max?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you called. And I'm glad you found someone worth breaking the rules for."

The call ends, leaving me in the quiet of my apartment with Ethan's words echoing in my head. I'm not in love. That's ridiculous. I'm just... concerned. Intrigued. Attracted, sure. But love? That's for people like Ethan and Naomi, or his brothers, people who have their lives together, who know how to be someone's partner.

Not for me. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Still, as I get ready for bed, wincing at the pull in my shoulder, I can't help remembering the way Jennie looked at me when she called me a hero, the blush that spread across her cheeks, the genuine concern in her eyes when she asked about my injury.

It's been a long time since someone looked at me like that—like I mattered beyond what I could do for them in the moment. Like they saw past the easygoing firefighter to the person underneath.

I fall asleep thinking about hazel eyes and a small voice shouting "faya!" and wondering if maybe, just maybe, Ethan is right.

The next day

Chief Brock's office is neat, as always—the desk is precisely arranged, and awards and certificates are hung on the wall, not a speck of dust anywhere. The man himself sits behind the desk, face impassive as I take the chair across from him.

"Davidson," he greets me, nodding at my shoulder. "How's the injury?"

"Minor, sir," I reply. "Just a sprain. Doctor says a week or so."

Brock nods again, then leans back in his chair. For a long moment, he just looks at me, and I resist the urge to fidget like a schoolboy called to the principal's office.

"You disobeyed a direct order yesterday," he finally says, his voice level. "Left your assigned victim with Lewis, entered a secondary structure without backup, compromised the operational integrity of an ongoing emergency response." He pauses. "You know the protocols as well as anyone on this crew. Better than most."

"Yes, sir," I acknowledge, not offering excuses. There aren't any, really.

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