Page 44 of Until We Come Home

He leans back, the leather chair creaking under his weight. "I'm not putting an official reprimand in your file today, though I probably ought to. But damn it, Mateo. Start taking care of yourself out there."

I let the silence sit. “Is that all?”

He shakes his head at me. “Yep. Go get your picture taken.”

I step out into the quiet corridor, pulling the door shut behind me, and stand there a second trying to clear the sudden knot of anger, guilt, and memories of Lindsey that always seem to come bundled together.

When I round the corner into the bay, Mia's leaning against the rig, laughing with Rebecca. The sight of her knocks the wind straight out of my lungs before it rushes back in, tight and heavy.

Last night in the dance studio, I came way too close to crossing a line I can't uncross with my best friend. It was a stupid risk. Why chance ruining the one solid relationship I actually have? I hesitate by the rear tire, taking her in for a second—bright, gorgeous, and alive against the gray concrete of the bay.

Barnes's words echo back through my head. Trying to get yourself killed. Lindsey. All those years of running. Maybe every dangerous call is just my messed-up way of trying to balance a scale that can't be balanced, as if dragging enough strangers out of burning rooms might finally make up for the one person I failed to save.

It's twisted, the kind of dark logic a therapist would pull apart in minutes, but I don't even know if I care to fix it.

And the last thing I ever want to do is drag Mia into that wreckage—to date her, to burden her with the damaged version of a man who rushes into burning buildings without checking if the floor's going to hold. She deserves so much better than that.

I clear my throat, stepping out of the dark hallway and into the bright bay. The second Mia catches sight of me, she perks up.

“Hey! There you are,” she says. “We were about to send a search party.”

"I wasn't entirely sure you'd actually show up," I say, smiling at her as I join them by the rig. "I figured you'd take the chance to sleep in after last night."

Her expression flickers at that, there and gone in a second, and I could curse myself for it. After last night. Of all the ways to put it.

"I mean," I say quickly, feeling my face warm, "since you mentioned staying up late in the studio working through that routine. After I headed out."

She looks at me a second longer before waving a hand, that bright, playful smile snapping right back into place.

"Oh, I wrapped up shortly after you left, so I'm totally fine," she says, gesturing with her coffee mug toward the photography equipment, the stylist, and Callum doing dramatic lunges by the engine as if preparing for an Olympic sprint. "Besides, there's no way I was skipping out on this comedy show.”

"She just showed off the flask she brought," Rebecca chimes in, giving a look of deep approval.

Mia flashes her a wink. "Only for visual inspection, obviously. Zero tasting happening over here. Absolutely none."

Rebecca laughs under her breath, turning back to search my face. "How'd it go with Barnes?"

I grimace a bit. “Yeah, I’m fine, Bec. Nothing I didn’t earn.”

Mia glances between us, sensing the weight in the exchange.

“You know,” Rebecca says, lowering her voice a little and glancing over at the photographer, “I didn’t want to have to write that report. I sat on it for an hour before I sent it. I just...”

I wave a hand, cutting her off. “You’re doing your job, Bec. It’s the reason you’re ten times the firefighter I’ll ever be. I knew the consequences. It’s fine.”

"Ten times, huh?" A small grin tugs at her mouth. "Well, I'm certainly not going to stand here and argue with you."

"Now that's a first," I say, and her grin widens.

Mia tracks the conversation, an arched brow asking a silent question. I give her a small, reassuring shake of my head. Later. She studies me a moment longer before letting it go, reaching into her pocket.

"Well, I think the situation calls for this to be brought back out," she says, producing a sleek silver flask with a triumphant flourish. "Purely medicinal."

Rebecca nods in silent agreement, and I laugh as I take it from Mia's hands, taking a quick pull. Good bourbon, smooth and warm, settling whatever's been twisting in my gut since leaving Barnes's desk. I hand it back, and she slides it back into her pocket.

"Thanks," I tell her.

"Just doing my civic duty," she says, her smile warm and sly. "Here for moral support."