Page 39 of Love Songs

“Go do your decon.”

“See you at Mom and Dad’s for dinner on Sunday,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

After clean-up, a quick decon shower and change of gear, my team and I drove back to the station in silence. While I wasgrateful that we’d been able to get people out of the building, not everyone had made it out. A firefighter from Danbury had been critically hurt by a falling beam and taken to a Lebanon hospital; two bodies had also been discovered.

It ate at me that I hadn’t gone back in, and I fell down the rabbit hole of second guessing my every move. Could I have handed off the child I had over my shoulder and gone back in? Should I have searched harder for someone else trapped or injured? Could I have saved those two people?

I knew I was running around in circles, but even a single injury was one too many. And when loss of life happened on our watch . . . The weight of it was hard to carry.

Back at the station, the mood was solemn as we went about the full decontamination routine of our gear and the trucks. When we were done, Captain Burgess called us into the dayroom.

“That was a tough call today,” he began. “You guys all did good out there, but I don’t want to see any of you taking risks again like Holliston did.”

I deserved to be called out for my actions, but I still went and opened my mouth to explain. Burgess held his hand up.

“I know your sister was in there,” he said. “But she’s a trained firefighter, too. We could’ve lost both of you in there today.”

“You’re right, Cap,” I said, my voice gruff as guilt and remorse roiled through me for my actions and those we’d lost. “I’m sorry I can’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again though.”

He nodded at me like he understood, and I knew he did because he would’ve done the same thing for a loved one. We all would.

An image of Dallas smiling up at me played in my mind. If it had been him trapped behind the fire line, I would’ve done anything, risked everything, to save him.

“The department counsellor is on call if any of you need to talk,” Burgess said. He pressed his lips together, and with a brief nod, returned to his office.

“Anyone want something to eat?” Shepherd asked as he wandered into the kitchen.

That was his way of coping after a bad call, even though he never ate what he made. Just the act of cooking helped him. Me though, I needed to burn off the agitating mix of exhaustion and adrenaline still pumping through my veins, but we still had a couple hours left on shift. I couldn’t hit the trails or the rivers, but I could hit the treadmill in the weight room and run it off.

Walking the few blocks to my home on Willow Lane when my shift finally ended, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Usually, when I had a bad call at work, I would text Sam, Ryan, and Haider. We’d meet up at Lucy’s or my house, and they would rally around to bring my spirits back up, reminding me that life went on and about how grateful I was to have them in my life. Calling them was second nature. A thing I did on autopilot.

But not this time.

This time I pressed Dallas’s number.

A brief thought crossed my mind that I should worry he was the first person I wanted to talk to. He was a pleasantly unexpected but wholly temporary visitor in my life. Someone I shouldn’t be getting so attached to. Who would be leaving soon—like the next day—and whose life was completely opposite mine.

But that didn’t matter just then. I couldn’t fight the pull, and if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t want to.

All I knew was that I wanted to hear his voice. No. Ineededto hear his voice.

“Hey, Conor,” Dallas greeted in that melodic raspy voice of his, and warm light burst into my chest. “Are you doing okay?”

Weight sloughed from my shoulders, my body felt lighter, and the pressure constricting my lungs released. How did such a simple question make me feel instantly better? It wasn’t so much the question that eased my melancholy, though, but the person who’d asked it.

“Hey,” I said, my throat suddenly tight. “I . . . Uh . . .”

“What’s wrong?” The pitch in Dalla’s voice rose a notch. “What do you need?”

Just hearing your voice. . .

I cleared my throat. “Want to meet up for dinner?”

I WOKE UPfeeling content and pleasantly achy in all the right places. The only thing that would’ve made the morning better was if Conor was still in bed with me, but he’d had to leave far too early for work.

Conor had looked so devastated when he’d arrived at the inn the night before. He’d told me about the apartment fire his station had been called to, that a couple of people had died and a firefighter seriously injured. He’d tried to deflect how deeply he was hurting at first, but there was no hiding the dark clouds of pain that swirled in his normally dazzling eyes and dulled the tone of his voice.

I’d taken him by the hand and led him upstairs to my suite, and after giving him a safe space to let out all the emotion he’d been holding, he’d broken apart. I’m not sure he’d ever fully let go of the anguish and guilt he carried from his job—a calling, he’d said. Afterward, I’d taken him to bed and put his pieces back together with soft kisses and soothing touches and comforting words—and an orgasm that had his shout echoing off the ceiling. He’d left in much better spirits this morning, even though there was a lingering note of sadness in the depths of his eyes and his last kiss had felt like goodbye.

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