Page 29 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
There is a roar from Drew in my ears, and in that moment, I know it’s a sound I’ll never forget as long as I live.
If I live.
Because I’m not leaving him.
I can’t leave him.
And then the siren starts. The PASS alarm that tells me he’s no longer moving.
“Drew! Drew! Get up. Fight! Fucking—”
Crack.
I hear it before I feel it.
It’s deafening.
The loudest sound I’ve ever heard.
There’s a split second of pain. Of pressure. Of sparks.
There is sweat on my lips.
Or is it tears?
The Nomex of my jacket gives under the flames.
Two-in. Zero-out.
“No!” I wake up, bolting upright in my bed. My sheets are soaked with sweat. My room smells like fear. My back feels like it’s still on fucking fire.
It takes me a moment to realize it was only a dream.
But it’ll never be a dream.
It was a nightmare.
A fucking night terror that never ends.
Especially when I have to look into Brody’s eyes and try to hide the guilt of not saving his dad that is rotting me from the inside.
That I didn’t do the job I’m tasked to do daily.
Save lives.
What kind of firefighter am I when I can’t save anyone, not even myself?
I throw on some shorts and head toward the kitchen. To the bottle of whiskey that is becoming way too comfortable in my hands, but fuck if I don’t need it to get through some of these nights.
Bracing my hands on the kitchen counter, I look out the window to the half-built playroom. How stupid was I to think building a place for Brody to come and hang out someday would be enough to teach him what it’s like to be a man? After everything my parents have done for me, taught me, how did I ever think that would be enough?
And yet, when I pick up that hammer, I feel like I’m doing something instead of doing nothing. Like I’m trying, when every fucking time I look at Brody, my goddamn heart breaks in my chest from the guilt weighing it down.
Because I couldn’t save his dad.
It’s after my second refill—the burn chasing away the cobwebs of memory—that I hear Dylan’s voice through her closed door.
It’s soft. It’s haunting. It sounds just like how I feel. When she adds her guitar to the words, I sink down into the couch to listen.
