Page 30 of Ashes of Us
I looked down at the counter, at my reflection in the stainless steel. A year ago, I'd been a mess. Living in Maya's guest room, stress-baking at two in the morning, wearing the same yoga pants for three days straight because I couldn't bring myself to care.
Now I had my own apartment above the bakery. I'd lost the weight I'd stress-eaten on during the breakup, plus a few more pounds from being on my feet twelve hours a day. My hair was longer, healthier, and I’d finally stopped cutting it myself in Maya's bathroom. I had actual clothes now, not just teacher cardigans and jeans. A wardrobe that fit the person I'd become.
I was doing well.Reallywell.
But dating? That felt like a different category of moving on.
"I don't know," I said.
"You don't have to know. Just meet him. Coffee, right? Thirty minutes. If he's boring or weird or you're not feeling it, you never have to see him again." She pulled out her phone. "I already told him about you, anyway.”
"Maya!"
"What? You're amazing and he should know that." She was typing. "I'm setting something up for this weekend. Saturday afternoon. The coffee place next door."
"I have to work Saturday."
"You close at three on Saturday. So, there you go. Coffee at four. Done." She hit send before I could stop her. "You're welcome."
I stared at her. "I hate you."
"You love me. And you're going to thank me after you meet him." She finished her wine and hopped off the counter. "Now let's lock up and get actual food. I'm starving and you probably forgot to eat again."
She wasn't wrong.
CHAPTER 13: LIAM
The apartment fire had taken eight hours to fully extinguish.
I stumbled into Station 34's bay just past midnight, every muscle screaming, ash ground so deep into my skin I could taste it. My turnout gear reeked of smoke and burning plastic, the kind that clings to your lungs and won’t let go.
Three families displaced. One dog we'd pulled out, somehow still alive. No human casualties, which was a miracle given how fast the blaze had spread.
I should have felt good about that. Should have felt something other than this bone-deep exhaustion that had nothing to do with the call.
This was my fourth double shift this month. Captain Carter kept telling me to ease up, that I'd burn out if I kept volunteering for every overtime slot that opened up. But staying busy was better than the alternative. Better than sitting alone in an apartment that felt more like a storage unit than a life.
"Sullivan." O'Brien looked up from where he was hosing down equipment. "You good?"
"Yeah. Fine."
I wasn't fine. Hadn't been fine in a year. But I'd gotten good at lying about it.
Station 34 was two hours from Riverside—far enough that I didn't run into anyone I used to know, close enough that I could still visit my parents if I needed to. Morrison had approved the transfer immediately. Said it would be good for everyone. A fresh start.
Except you couldn't start fresh when you carried all your shit with you.
I stripped off my gear and headed for the showers, letting scalding water beat against my shoulders until my skin turned red. When I'd first transferred here, I used to hit the gym after shift—two hours minimum every night, pushing until my arms shook and my legs gave out. Anything to sleep without dreaming.
Lately even that wasn't working.
By the time I made it to the common room, someone had ordered pizza and the guys were clustered around the television watching highlights from a game I didn't care about.
Normal. This was supposed to be normal.
I grabbed a slice and a bottle of water, too tired to taste anything. Someone had set out a box of pastries on the counter—probably for Miller's birthday tomorrow. I wasn’t hungry, but I took one anyway.
The first bite stopped me cold.
