Page 42 of Ashes of Us
"This time." His voice was hard now. "This time you snapped out of it fast enough. But what about next time? What if you freeze for five seconds instead of two? What if O’Brien isn't there to back you up?"
My stomach twisted.
"I've seen this before, Sullivan. Good firefighters who can't let something go. It eats at them until they make a mistake. Andmistakes in our job don't mean missed deadlines or pissed-off clients. They mean people die."
"I know that."
"Do you?" He leaned forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're so wrapped up in your guilt about this woman that you're becoming a liability. And I can't have that on my crew."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
"So here's what's going to happen," Carter said. "I'm giving you a week off. Mandatory leave, starting now."
"Captain—"
"Not a discussion. You're going to take that week and you're going to deal with whatever this is. I don't care how. Drive to Riverside and talk to her. Write her a letter. Get drunk and scream at the ocean. I don't give a shit. But you're going to do something."
I stared at him. "She blocked my number. Blocked me on everything. She doesn't want to hear from me."
"Then don’t make it about her," Carter said. "Make it about you. You need to get your head straight, Liam. Because right now, you’re no good to anyone. Not to your crew, not to yourself."
"What if… I go there and she won't see me?"
"Then you tried. Then you know. Then you can actually start dealing with it instead of driving to Riverside and sitting in your truck like a coward." His expression softened slightly. "Look, I get it. You fucked up. You hurt someone you loved. That guilt doesn't just go away… but you can't let it paralyze you."
He headed toward the door, then stopped and turned back.
“I’m giving you one week, Sullivan. Fix this or figure out how to live with it, because you can't come back to work like this."
The door closed behind him and I sat there in the empty bay, surrounded by the smell of smoke and chemicals, my hands still shaking.
Maybe O’Brien was right.
At some point, even the fire goes out, and you just have to decide what’s left when it does.
CHAPTER 17: PIPER
The Thursday morning rush had finally died down.
I was restocking the pastry case—three cinnamon rolls left, half a dozen lemon bars, the last of the chocolate croissants—when Megan appeared at my elbow with the empty coffee carafe.
"We're out of the medium roast again," she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Want me to brew more or switch to the dark?"
"Dark's fine. Most people are done with their morning coffee by now anyway."
Megan had been working for me for a few weeks now, ever since the bakery's opening week proved I couldn't do everything myself. She was twenty-two, a senior at the community college studying business, and she showed up on time and didn't eat all the profits. By my standards, she was employee of the year.
She disappeared into the back and I heard the grinder start up, that familiar sound that used to put me to sleep when I first opened. Now it was just background noise.
The bakery was nearly empty—just Mrs. Kowalski in the corner with her crossword puzzle and a cappuccino, and a guy with a laptop who'd been nursing the same americano for twohours. The late morning lull. My favorite part of the day, after the chaos of the breakfast rush but before I had to start prepping for tomorrow.
I was wiping down the counter when the bell above the door chimed.
I looked up, customer-service smile already in place, and Daniel walked in. He was still in his EMT uniform, carrying two paper bags from the deli down the street.
My smile shifted into something real.
"Hey," he said, setting the bags on the counter. "Figured you forgot to eat again."
