Page 37 of Her Unending Horizon

Rankin uncrossed his arms. “I’ll cover his spot today.”

Holbrook nod ed once. Then he looked at me, really looked.

“You’re a good firefighter, Post,” he said. “One of the ones I don’t worry about on scene. Don’t make me start.”

That landed. Deep.

I nodded stiffly, stood, and managed not to hold my ribs this time.

“Clock out,” Holbrook ordered. “Go home. Heal. Come back smart.”

I left without arguing. Not because I didn’t want to. Because there was no argument I could make that didn’t sound like a man trying to get himself killed.

Holbrook nodded once and went back to his clipboard like the matter was settled.

Michael didn’t move until we were back out in the bay. Then he stepped in front of me, blocking my path to the lockers.

“You want to tell me what you were hoping would happen in there?” he asked. “Cap just magically forgets you can’t twist without wincing and slaps a pack on your back anyway?”

“I could’ve worked the pump panel,” I snapped. “Done exterior. Something.”

“And you would’ve hated every second of it,” he said calmly. “You know you’re not fit for interior. Not today. Maybe not this week. You know it, I know it, Cap knows it.”

I stared past him at the engine, gleaming red and ready.

“I need this,” I said quietly. “The work. The routine.”

“You need your lungs and your spine more,” Michael replied. “You can’t EMT if you can’t breathe, man.”

“It’d be two days,” I tried again. “Then I’d ride the bus. No fire. Just medicals.”

He studied me for a long time. “We both know you’re not walking into a house with cracked ribs because you’re some selfless hero,” he said finally. “You’re doing it because you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not in motion.”

Anger flared, quick and hot. “You done psychoanalyzing me?”

“Not even close,” he said. “Go home, Post.”

“Can’t.”

His brows shot up. “Why not?”

“Chloe’s there,” I said before I could stop myself. The words hung in the air like a live wire.

Something flickered in his eyes. “She’s at the house?”

“Guest room,” I said. “Came over yesterday. Retaped my ribs. Messed up my dish towels.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

He exhaled slowly. “Then maybe that’s what you need to figure out today instead of trying to prove you can still drag a charged hose line with half your ribs working.”

I snorted, humorless. “Yeah. Because having a deep emotional talk while I’m taped up and purple is going to go great.”

He slapped my shoulder, careful of the bruising. “Somebody’s gotta go first, man. Might as well be you.”

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

On paper, I did what I was told.

In reality, I did the one thing I absolutely shouldn’t have.