Page 57 of Ashes of Us
Piper’s bakery was ten minutes away. I’d driven past it once this week, by accident. Saw the lights on, took my feet off the gas for a second, but kept driving.
Piper had made it clear she didn't want me in her life, and the least I could do was respect that.
I went back to the budget reports.
Thompson knockedon the open door around 2200 hours.
"Captain? Got a minute?"
I looked up from the shift schedule I was revising. "Yeah, come in."
He stepped inside, looking uncomfortable. He was younger than I'd realized—maybe twenty-three, twenty-four. He had that fresh out of the academy energy, the kind that made you eager and terrified in equal measure.
"What's up?" I asked.
Thompson hesitated, then closed the door behind him. "This isn't about work. Not exactly. I just…” He stopped. "I didn't know who else to ask."
I set down my pen and gestured to the chair across from my desk. "Sit."
He did.
Whatever this was, it mattered. I could see it in the way he was holding himself, the way he couldn't quite meet my eyes.
This was why I'd come back. Not for redemption or closure or to prove something to people who didn't owe me anything. I’d come back for this—to help the crew, to support these guys, to lead in a way that actually meant something.
To stop making everything about myself.
"Talk to me," I said.
And he did.
CHAPTER 23: PIPER
Thirty-seven laps.
I touched the wall and flipped, pushing off hard. The community pool was empty at 5:45 AM. It was just me, the water, and the lifeguard scrolling his phone in his chair. The chlorine smell was sharp in the cool air, familiar.
Thirty-eight.
This was the part of the day I loved most. No noise, no decisions, just the rhythm. The water drowning everything else out. No thinking about tonight's dinner with Daniel, our third attempt this month to actually sit down together without one of us canceling. No replaying the text he'd sent last night:
Looking forward to Friday. Miss you.
I'd stared at those two words for a full minute before typing back:
Miss you too.
Did I? I wasn't sure anymore.
Thirty-nine.
I'd seen Liam's face in the newspaper three days ago.
It had been a small article in the local section—new Captain at Station 47, some quote from the fire chief about leadership and community service. The photo was professional, official. Him in his dress uniform, standing in front of Engine 47, arms crossed, jaw set. He looked confident. Like he belonged there.
He also looked different. Older maybe. The jaw more defined, like he'd lost weight or just carried himself differently. Something in his eyes was different too—steadier, I supposed. Less of that restless energy I remembered. I'd stared at that photo for a solid minute, coffee cooling in my hand, before Maya had snatched the paper away from me.
"You know there’s a word for this, right? It’s called masochism,” she'd said.
