Page 192 of Rising Heat

Mack hangs back a few seconds longer beside the SUV, eyes moving from the light pole to the driver’s door, then down to the cribbing still tucked beneath the frame.

Then he turns and heads back to the truck. He climbs back in the driver’s seat, hits the airhorn, and pulls us into traffic, Boston moving out of his way while nobody in the cab reaches for the radio.

Nobody says much on the drive back. Mack keeps one hand loose on the wheel while Boston slides past outside, and by the time the station comes into view I’m still thinking about the groceries in Beth’s backseat.

Back at the station, everything falls back into routine. Gear gets stripped, bottles get swapped, reports get filed. Nobody has to think about any of it anymore, which is probably for the best because I’m not sure any of us have enough room left in our heads for much else.

Dinner happens somewhere in there, though I barely remember it. Coop makes an honest attempt at being himself again, gets maybe three words into whatever story he was about to tell, then looks around the table and lets it die before anyone else has the chance to. Nobody picks it back up.

Sometime after midnight, I’m still standing in the kitchen with a glass of water warming in my hand while Mack stands at the sink, working at the grease caught along one knuckle with the edge of a dish towel that isn’t doing much.

“Still on it?” I ask.

He glances up.

“Yeah.”

“Same.”

That’s all the conversation we manage for the rest of the shift. Mack drops the towel onto the counter, rubs the back of his neck, then reaches for his water. We just stand there until the sounds of the station start feeling normal again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

tyler

When we get home the next morning, Boston’s fully awake again. Traffic backs up halfway down the block below the apartment and sunlight pours through the kitchen windows far brighter than either of us has any patience for. We drop our keys onto the counter almost at the same time and stand there for a second, neither of us saying much before heading in opposite directions.

I make my way to my bedroom and crash for a few hours.

When I finally wake up, late afternoon’s already slipping toward evening. Mack’s standing in the kitchen with a glass of water, staring absently out the window when I wander in rubbing sleep out of my eyes.

I grab a glass from the drying rack, fill it at the sink, and lean against the counter across from him.

“Sleep?”

“Couple hours.”

“Same.”

Another minute passes before I look over at Mack.

He catches my eye for all of a second. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. I already know what we’re both thinking.

We need our girl.

I unlock my phone.

Tyler

You around?

The typing bubble pops up almost immediately.

Darcy

Depends…

Darcy