"Both fine," Dad said. “Collins had smoke inhalation, some burns on his hands. They kept him overnight for observation but released him this morning. The kid… smoke inhalation,but conscious. Hard to believe it, but he’s fine. He's with his mother."
Relief hit me so hard I had to close my eyes.
They made it. Both of them.
"The building collapsed a couple of seconds after you got out," Dad continued. "Carlos told me if you'd been any slower?—"
"But he wasn't," Mom interrupted. "He got them out. That's what matters."
I nodded, or tried to. Everything still hurt.
"How long have I been out?"
"About twelve hours," Dad said. "It's Saturday morning. They brought you in around 8 PM last night."
Saturday morning. The fire felt like it had happened five minutes ago and also a lifetime ago.
"Anyone else from the station come by?" I asked.
"Everyone," Dad said. "Carlos, Jenkins, Thompson, Reeves. The whole crew, basically. Carter and O’Brien from 34 as well. And Chief Harlow too. Said you did good work."
I nodded. That was good. My team had my back.
Mom and Dad exchanged a look.
"What?" I asked.
Mom hesitated. "Piper was here."
The words didn't make sense.
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline, or the correction, or for my brain to catch up with whatever medication they had me on.
"What?"
"She came to the hospital," Mom said. "Last night. Stayed through your surgery."
My chest felt tight, and it had nothing to do with the broken ribs.
Piper. Here.
"Why?" The word came out rough.
Mom and Dad exchanged another look, the kind they'd been giving each other for thirty years, the kind that meant they were having an entire conversation I wasn't part of.
"She heard what happened," Dad said. "That you'd gone in to save that kid and the EMT. She wanted to make sure you were okay."
The EMT. Her boyfriend.
Of course, that made sense. I'd saved the man she loved, Piper was grateful, and so she came by. That's what decent people did… they showed up when someone risked their life for the people they cared about.
It didn't mean anything.
Part of me wanted it to mean something.
I could admit that much, lying here with broken ribs and a shoulder held together with surgical pins. Part of me wanted to believe she'd come because she still cared, because somewhere under all the hurt and anger there was something left worth salvaging.
But I didn't have the right to listen to that part of me.
