Things You Save in a Fire - Katherine Center Page 0,73

wouldn’t—but by the time I finished talking, they would know the truth.

“She’s sick,” I said, surprising even myself with the crackle of emotion in my voice. “That’s why I came here. She lost the sight in one eye after an operation, and her sight’s not great in the other one. She gets headaches. She wears an eye patch. Her depth perception’s all messed up, and she has trouble with the stairs, and she can’t drive at all. That’s why I’m here.”

The guys were dead silent.

I was not going to cry.

I went on. “And somebody threw a brick through her window. Somebody here. Somebody who has dedicated his life to helping others. Somebody who’s supposed to be a hero.”

I started pacing.

“It doesn’t matter that I’m not actually a whore—whatever that even means. It doesn’t matter that I’m not even remotely intimidated by this bozo. It doesn’t even matter that there’s no point in going after me like this. It’s—what?—weeks before the captain makes his decision between me and the rookie. We all know what he thinks about women. We all know what we all think about women. I’m out. I’ll be gone before you know it anyway. So whoever this asshole is, he’s going to a lot of trouble to accomplish something that’s already pretty much a done deal.

“Here’s what does matter: What this guy is doing is wrong. You can’t do what we do and see the kind of suffering we see every damn day and still want to create more of it in the world, can you? You can’t do what we do for a living and not know the simple difference between right and wrong. That’s what has me so, so pissed. We’re supposed to be the heroes. We’re supposed to be the helpers. The caretakers. The good in the world. What the hell can I believe in, if I can’t believe in you?”

Oh God. Now there were tears on my face. Humiliating.

It just made me angrier.

“I know we’re all just human. I don’t expect you to be perfect. But I expect you, at the very least, to be better than that.”

And that’s when I had an idea. Not a perfect idea. Maybe not even a good one. But it was the best I could come up with in the moment.

“So I’m making everybody a deal,” I said, wiping my face again. “Pick your best guy, and let’s go outside right now to run the course. I will beat him. I’ll beat anybody here. I’ll prove myself to all of you—again, for the thousandth time. And if I don’t win, I’ll quit. I’ll quit right now, this morning, and you’ll never see me again, and all your lady problems will be over.”

The guys were all frowning at me.

“But I will win,” I went on. “And when I do, the asshole stalker in this room needs to make a choice to be a better human being—and cut it the hell out.”

The guys looked around at each other.

“And if he doesn’t—if he manages to run me out of here in the end? At least every single one of us will know that I deserved to be here.”

I was so angry, but the guys just looked sorry. They’d been standing at ease, but then, almost like a school of fish in unison, they all took a few steps closer. Then the captain, of all people, was holding his arms out to me. “You know what you need, Hanwell?”

“Group hug,” the guys all assented, lifting their arms, too.

Were they mocking me? Were they being sarcastic? They looked so earnest, but that couldn’t be right. I smeared the tears off my face with my impatient hands, then pointed at them all, like, Keep back. “Do not hug me. Nobody in this room hugs anybody.”

Then I took a few steps backwards, as if my pointing finger were a gun and I was the villain making my escape.

One by one, I made eye contact with every guy in the room.

That was my goal, I guess. To make sure that no matter what, everyone would know exactly what they’d lost.

The guys were all silent at the notion.

Then the captain said, “Is this really necessary?”

Case jumped in with, “You’re too short to beat anybody on that course, Hanwell.”

“Don’t do this,” Six-Pack said.

“There’s no way you can win,” DeStasio said.

That’s when the captain stepped forward. “Nobody wants you to quit, Hanwell. You don’t have to do this.”

“Apparently, I fucking do,” I said. “Now, pick somebody. And then send