Page 54 of On Fire

Chapter Thirteen

Nic Silvano

Keller doesn’t actually cry, but the alternative is heartbreaking. He sits quietly on the edge of the doily encrusted sofa, hands on knees while huge sloppy tears slide silently down his face.

Once I reach up, take a thumb, and wipe a tear away, but this seems to make the tears flow faster.

“What happened?”

Shaking his head, he finally offers a hiccup. I rise, find a wad of toilet paper, and offer it to him along with a glass of water. With a final flourish he blows his nose, and then he tells me in gut wrenching detail about both fires—the first with a propane tank hazard, the second with McKinley and the twins.

Finally, he leans back and stares at the ceiling. “I’ve had far worse days,” he says, after clearing his throat. “I don’t know why—this.” He waves the wad of toilet paper at himself.

I stroke his hair, half afraid this will start tears again—but if it does, so be it. Finn suppressed his grief for nearly two years before breaking down in my arms. What set him off was my I’m not going anywhere, still here comment. I have found, remarkably, that being present is enough to touch someone’s heart.

He turns his face to mine, and I lean forward so our foreheads touch.

“Look at me,” I say holding both his shoulders.

A large shuddering sigh flows from him to me. Wiping away the remaining tears with both thumbs, I kiss him gently on the mouth, then both sides of his face, his eyelids, his temples. Each time a large sigh is the result. In the end, I cup his face with both hands and return to his lips.

He opens his eyes as if in a daze. “I love you.” Then he looks shocked and nearly recoils.

I smile and hold him in place. “I love you, too.”

We sit like this, arms around each other for a long time, so long he starts to fall asleep. We both have to be on tomorrow: up at four-thirty and to the parade staging area by five. I’ll be with the Colton Security team of Finn, Mateus, and Bryce. Keller will be riding up with his unit.

“Let’s get to bed,” I say gently rousing him. I stand up and then offer a hand. He takes it.

΅

Our alarms go off at the same time, though I’m not sure I slept much. Keller was out, snoring slightly at one point, exhausted from his sixteen-hour day, but I couldn’t settle. I couldn’t thrash around all night because I lay spooning him through most of it. I had to hold still. I think I dozed for an hour or so around three.

Keller irons my shirt for me while I’m in the shower. By the time I’m dressed, he’s in his gear and has made breakfast. I’m starving this morning and wolf the three-egg omelet he’s whipped up. His freshly washed gear smells of lavender, which I find hilarious.

“What is so funny?” he says, pouting slightly.

I kiss him once, in the driveway before I’m behind the wheel. “You are so sexy in this,” I say, pulling away with a sigh of longing and lifting a finger along the quarter inch lip of the fire gear he’s in. Then my face adjusts to the work in front of us. “Be safe out there.”

“You too,” he says, but I can tell he’s already thinking of his unit and next steps.

Finn wants everyone in their own vehicles and parked strategically along the route. The ride up the coast is dark, with pale stars twinkling above. Normally, this would be the perfect time for a run. Laurel bought Mateus a runner’s prosthetic and I offered to train with him for support. But now that I’ve spent all week with Keller, I’m not sure he’ll want to. They must be talking—I just don’t want to know what they’re saying.

Finn texts:

Good Morning. Check in with your position asap.

I confirm I’m where I should be, at the second staging area for the floats, and I park around a corner. The parade route has been swept repeatedly. Even now, German Shepherds are still sniffing out storefronts and alleys. The power of flashlights begins to fade in the early dawn. We convene over the phone and Finn moves us into position. I’m to be up on the roof of Mo’s Bakery.

From above, I take pictures of the floats as they queue up. Mateus is on the ground strolling between them. He touches his earpiece and then I see Bryce at the corner. Finn is somewhere with the marching bands. Out there are dozens of law enforcement, moving, watching, waiting for something we believe is almost inevitable.

Once the floats leave, the plan is to shift me to a position near the end of the parade. The organizers have set up a giant balloon encrusted rainbow tunnel for the floats to pass through while they’re being judged.

Forty minutes later the charge from Finn to move comes through. I hit the pavement and jog along Pierce, one street over and running parallel to Main. The crowd is loud, with people laughing, shouting, waving flags, blowing horns. There’s alcohol and I think the police have just been told to look the other way. The smell of weed is potent in pockets as I work my way through the crowd.

Then, about a block away, I spot a beige backpack with loosened straps leaning against the base of a lamp post. I touch my earpiece.

“Unattended backpack, corner of Main and Elliot. Moving now.”