Page 27 of Ashes of Us
He hung up.
I sat there in the parking lot outside Maya's building until the sun started to set.
Then I drove home to an apartment full of someone else's things and tried to figure out how to accept that I'd lost everything.
The next morning,I showed up at Station 47 wearing sunglasses and nursing the worst hangover I'd had in years.
Captain Morrison had texted me the night before.
Need you in tomorrow. 0800. We need to talk.
I hadn’t set foot in the station since he’d put me on administrative leave. It wasn’t punishment, at least not officially. He’d worded it as "just until things cooled off", but what he really meant was "until I figure out what to do with your sorry ass."
I'd responded with a thumbs up and then finished the bottle of whiskey I'd opened after talking to Scott.
Now I was paying for it.
I pulled into the parking lot at 7:55, five minutes early out of habit. A few of the guys were already there—I could seeCarlos's truck, Jenkins's motorcycle, Patterson's beat-up Honda. A normal Tuesday morning.
Except nothing about this was normal.
I sat in my truck for a minute, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, trying to will my headache away. Trying to figure out what the hell I was going to say when I walked in there and had to face everyone.
Finally, I got out and headed inside.
The bay doors were open, trucks gleaming in their spots, and I could hear voices from the common room. The morning shift was starting, and the guys were grabbing coffee and shooting the shit before the day really began.
I walked in and the conversation stopped.
Carlos was pouring coffee while Jenkins scrolled through his phone and Patterson worked on a donut. All three looked up when I walked in, and the easy morning energy evaporated.
"Sullivan," Carlos said, his voice carefully neutral.
"Hey." I headed for the coffee pot, trying to act normal. Trying to pretend I didn't notice the way they were all looking at me.
Jenkins buried himself in his phone, Patterson chewed like he couldn’t taste a thing, and Carlos poured his coffee and slipped out without looking at me.
The room felt hollow. I stood there with an empty mug, listening to the scrape of chairs and the hum of the vending machine, wishing someone would just say something.
No one did. Eventually, Patternson and Jenkins drifted off, leaving me to wait.
I was on my second cup of coffee when Morrison's office door opened.
"Sullivan. My office."
I followed him in. He closed the door behind us and gestured to the chair across from his desk. I sat, but he didn't. Instead, hestood there and looked at me the way you look at a fire you can’t quite put out.
"How you doing?" he asked.
"Fine."
"You look like shit."
I took off the sunglasses. "Didn't sleep well."
"I can imagine." He leaned against his desk, arms crossed. "You know why I called you in?"
"To tell me I'm fired?"
