Page 43 of Until We Come Home

“What?” I ask, looking over at her. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” she says, with a knowing grin. “It’s just... that sounds a lot like real love to me. Chemistry and passion are great, sure, but when I met Ben, the first thing I felt was this overwhelming sense of safety. I felt completely seen. That’s how I knew he was my person.”

Oh, God.

“Well, that’s a different dynamic,” I say quickly, waving her words off before they can root in my head.

“If you say so,” she chuckles, dropping it. “Hey, I’m not inside your head. What do I know?”

I push off the floor and head for the speaker to set up our music, eager to escape her scrutiny. “Okay, enough relationship analysis. Let’s focus on what we actually came here for—this choreography needs work.”

We dive into the routine, running through the counts until the transitions start feeling second nature. Devon and Ines slip in a few minutes later, dropping their bags by the door to join us, and the room fills with the familiar chatter of rehearsal. But under all the music and movement, a restless shift keeps turning over in the back of my mind.

CHAPTER 10

Mateo

"Mateo," Captain Barnes calls out from his doorway, his voice low and uncompromising. "In my office. Right now."

I'm halfway through polishing the rig's chrome trim for the calendar shoot, watching the photographer's assistant struggle with a light stand across the bay floor. I toss the rag onto the running board without looking up.

Callum and James both let out a synchronized low whistle from behind the cab, and I roll my eyes as I pass them. It's not like I didn't expect this. He spent the last two days over in Wenatchee at regional wildfire strategy meetings, and Rebecca's call report has been waiting on his desk since Saturday.

Barnes walks in first and I follow, pulling the heavy door shut until the latch clicks. Dozer lifts his head off his bed in the corner, gives us a glance, and drops back down with a sigh. Barnes sinks into his leather chair and gestures toward the wooden seat across from him, leaning back with his hands folded across his chest and a deep scowl settling over his face.

"Rebecca gave me the full debrief on what went down on 98th," he says, eyeing me over his glasses.

"I figured she would," I say, sitting down. "That's her job."

"Care to explain what the hell was going through your head?"

I lean back against the wooden chair. "I was thinking I'd pull a guy out of a burning room, which I did. Frank's alive, and his daughter has her father today because of it. If I'd waited for Engine 4 to get set up, he'd have suffocated on that floor."

"That's one way to look at it," Barnes says, his voice flat. "And if it was an isolated incident, I'd give you a pass and leave it alone. But you have a habit of stepping straight into the middle of calls where anyone else would wait for backup. That rollover on 522 two summers back. Now this. You keep rolling the dice like this, Mateo, and eventually you're going to end up in a box."

Irritation runs through me, hot and quick. Maybe it’s the calendar shoot and the hair product the stylist tried to put on me twenty minutes ago. Maybe it’s that Frank’s daughter sent a card to the station yesterday with a picture of her dad on his porch. Or maybe I’m just tired of hearing this shit over the years.

"Isn't that why we show up?" I ask, my voice sharp with frustration. "We sign up to risk our necks. That man wouldn't be breathing right now if I stayed on the grass. His family still has him. So what do you want from me, Captain? An apology for not standing around while somebody died?"

Barnes doesn't flinch. He just stares at me across his desk, his jaw set, his gaze heavy with an unreadable quiet.

"Mateo," he says, closing his eyes for a long beat as if gathering his patience. "I have more than enough cause to suspend you right here."

I hold his gaze. "If that's the price, then write it up."

"I don't want to suspend you. Hell, I wouldn’t have asked you to come back here if you weren’t one of the best firefighters I have. But I want you to give a damn about your own life out there on these calls," he says, leaning forward on his elbows. "You can't keep pulling people out of fires if you're trying to get yourself killed on every shift."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" I ask, turning the words over.

"I think you quit caring about yourself a long time ago," Barnes says, letting out a heavy sigh as his expression softens. "I know about Boston, Mateo. I know the whole story."

My throat goes tight as I swallow hard. The fire back home. Lindsey. The sudden weight of the guilt hits like a heavy fist, stealing any other words right out of my chest.

Barnes keeps looking right at me. "I'm not trying to pick at old wounds or lecture you on your loss. I'm telling you as your captain that I need a crew that follows procedure, and you're one of the best firefighters in this station. I need to know you're coming back from every call. But Jesus, Mateo, I'm also telling you as someone who gives a damn about you. I really don't want to make that phone call to your mother."

I drag a palm down my face as every defense I had prepared about Frank and the second-story window crumbles into nothing.

"Understood," I tell him.