Things You Save in a Fire - Katherine Center Page 0,48

self-sufficient and you never need any help and you just keep to yourself all the time.”

How dare he tell me I needed a hug. What the hell? “Are the guys all going around at work hugging, and I just haven’t noticed? Did I miss a bunch of hug-fests?”

“No, but—”

“Because I’m not sure what you’re saying, but it sounds like there’s an insult in there somewhere.”

He shook his head. “I’m not trying to insult you.” He knew he was fumbling this conversation. “I think I’m just saying…” He didn’t know where to go. “I think I just want you to know…” He shook his head again while I waited. “There’s just something about you. Something I feel about you. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s a powerful thing…”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m just saying that … pretty much every time I see you, all I want to do is to put my arms around you.”

I held still. That was a hell of a statement. “Well,” I said at last, “you can’t.”

He lifted his hands in innocence. “I know.”

“That’s on you, man. That’s all about you.”

“More than likely.”

“Maybe you’re the one who needs a hug, and you’re projecting that onto me.”

“It’s distinctly possible.”

Here is the deep-down truth that I would never admit: I did need a hug. I’d needed one all those weeks ago when Hernandez said it, and I’d needed one every day since. Not just one—a thousand. I would have given anything for the rookie to put his arms around me right then and wrap me up and let me stay like that till morning. I wanted him to. I wanted it so bad, my whole body ached for it to happen.

So, of course, the only response I could muster was to take a step away.

My whole life—everything I’d worked for—hung in the balance. This was not the moment to lose focus. Yes, he was warm, and kindhearted, and surprisingly empathetic, and shockingly good at cooking—but none of that was relevant. As I stood across from him, my brain started issuing alerts about all the disasters that would befall me—and my career, my stability, my carefully constructed sense of order, my sanity—if I didn’t get out of there, pronto.

I should have thanked him for the food. I should have said good night, at the very least. But I didn’t. I just pointed at him. “Do not hug me.”

He took a step back, too, and lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to.”

We stood like that, facing off, for a minute. Then I took another step backwards. “Don’t ever talk to me about hugging again.”

He could tell he’d freaked me out—or insulted me, or something. He lifted his hands a little higher. “Okay.”

Another step back. “This”—I gestured down at my body—“is a no-hug zone.”

Now deeply regretting he ever brought it up: “Got it.”

“Stick me with all the needles you want, pal,” I said then. “But if you try to hug me? I will kick your rookie ass.”

* * *

A WEEK LATER, the guys pranked me by saying we were going to do ladder drills, convincing me to suit up in my bunker gear and climb onto the roof of the station to “show the rookie how it’s done.” This prank took a lot of planning, because our station didn’t even have a ladder truck.

They had to borrow one from Station Three.

I had a bad feeling, even as I climbed. Still, there it was: chain of command.

I got to the top and dismounted the ladder, and the guys drove away.

It was fine, I told myself. I hadn’t been pranked in a while. Worry if we don’t prank you.

I waved. I bowed. I let them have their moment.

I watched Case and Six-Pack steer the ladder truck off down the street to return it to its proper station, and I watched the rest of them strut back inside, arm in arm.

Finally, I turned and scouted out my new surroundings. I’d be here all night, for sure.

I checked out the views. I took some deep breaths. I told myself this was an opportunity to take some personal time, reflect on my life, and think all those deep thoughts I never had time for. They were doing me a favor, really.

When the sun was gone, I sat against a brick wall, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes, like I might fall asleep.

I wasn’t sleeping, exactly—but was definitely starting to drift—when I felt my hackles rise like there was somebody nearby, just