He didn’t come with us on the call last night, having left the responsibility of leadership in the hands of our Fire Lieutenant, but I’m sure he read the reports early this morning.
“About?” I ask. I never thought I’d be actually hoping to discuss these goddamn therapy sessions, but right now? I’d talk about them for hours to avoid even just a few minutes discussing what happened to me out in the field.
“Have you scheduled your therapy sessions?” Chief Sanders crosses his arms over his chest, his feet wide. He’s in cargo pants and a Northshore Fire Department collared shirt. His eyes are fixed on me as he waits for my answer.
“Not yet.” The words sound too clipped. “I was planning on doing it today,” I lie, softening my voice to avoid a reprimand.
Chief Sanders nods, and his assessment of me makes my skin feel prickly.
“You agreed to weekly sessions,” he reminds me, as if I could forget. Between the chief, my mom, and my sister asking me and reminding me about these sessions, it’s starting to feel like it would be easier to just go rather than explain to them how they’re fucking pointless. “The therapist is available this morning if you want to get started today.”
“I don’t,” I retort, and it comes off harsher than I intend. “I’ll give the office a call and set something up for one of my days off next week.”
Chief Sanders rolls his lips together, taking a step closer to me. “I have a hard time believing that, son.”
“If you’re not going to listen to what I say then I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Anderson told me what happened on last night’s call.”
I try to hide my reaction to his words, but I can feel the blood rush up to my neck, both in frustration and embarrassment. “You can tell Anderson to mind his fucking business. I don’t need a babysitter, Chief.” I can’t fight the anger rising in my tone, the same anger that is always the first to surface. Anger has always been the easiest to feel—about Bennett, about what happened, and about everything that’s followed, including how angry I am at myself for letting something like freezing on the field happen. “I said I’ll go to the therapy session, so I’ll go. But we’re not going to stand out here and talk about what happened.”
“And whatdidhappen, Hasting? Because from what I understand, you froze. You saw the fire—the manageable, controlled fire with no victims—and you froze.”
“I didn’t freeze. I—” The words die on my tongue, his question like a bullet shooting right through my chest.
I’ve seen more fires like the one last night than I can count—fires that were much more dangerous and much harder to manage—but the smell of burning wood, the smothering heat, the crackling roar, the irritation in my eyes from the smoke, even though my gear, was too much.
Seeing the roof collapse, my mind tricking me—telling me that Bennett was inside.
I froze.
“Can you get through that hard head of yours howdangerousthat is?” The chief’s voice hard, but I’m too angry to let his question sink in.
“How many goddamn times do I have to tell you I’m fine?” I grit through my teeth.
“Watch it, Jack,” Chief warns, voice low. His tone may sound calm to an outsider, but I know this man well enough to know that I’m toeing very close to a line with my attitude, and he accepts nothing but respect from all of us at the station. “I know you’ve been through a lot. Hell, I can’t imagine how much it hurts to be back here without Bennett, but I refuse to let you keep acting like it doesn’t.”
My jaw ticks, and I feel a burning behind my eyes. “This isn’t about Bennett.” But I can’t look him in the eye when I say it. Staring at the ground in front of me, my eyes fixate on Chief Sanders’ boots.
I don’t want to see his face as he tells me everything I don’t want to hear.
“You can pretend all you want that you’re fine, but you and I both know that all you’ve done is avoid dealing with what happened and bury everything that comes with it.” I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I instantly shrug it off—as if on reflex—but Chief Sanders grips me harder. “I’m sorry Bennett is gone, Jack. His loss wasn’t easy for any of us—myself included. Losing one of my people has changed the way I look at this job. Hell, it’s changed the way I’ve looked at my life.” He pauses, inhaling and exhaling. “All of that to say, you and I both know he wouldn’t want his death weighing on you the way that it is. It’s time you talk about it with someone who can help.”
I shake my head as the anger fades into what I haven’t felt since that night he died—pure agony. A sadness so guttural and so overpowering that I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. A raw, aching emptiness so visceral that it steals all the breath from lungs.
“I can’t,” I grit out. “It’ll kill me.”
“No, Jack,” Chief says. “Thiswill.” And something in my chest cracks.
Chief Sanders has been the father I never had, the man who I strived to be like from the moment I joined the fire academy, and he was one of my teachers. He’s been a mentor, coach, and role model for over a decade, and I should’ve known that the lies I’ve been telling myself over the last year and a half don’t stand a chance against him.
My shoulders tremble as I try to keep them still, but it suddenly feels so tiresome to stop the inevitable. My knees buckle, and I let myself sink to the ground beside my truck. Tears break free—slow at first, then relentless—slipping down my face in silence, my jaw clenched against the sobs that want to escape.
I can’t remember the last time I cried.
The night Bennett died ,and his funeral, I was too numb, having removed myself from my own feelings, shutting them away in the back of my mind, only ever allowing them to escape in pieces.
Now, it’s like the lock on that box busted open, and everything is rushing to the surface, faster than I can stop it.
