Page 23 of Keep Me Safe

“I’m fine,” I reply a little too quickly.

He looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe me but shrugs it off.

“Well, good work, son. You took the initiative and saved that kid’s life,” Al says from behind me. He must have shown up while I was still inside.

“It was what had to happen. Any one of the guys would have

done it.”

“That may be true, but they didn’t. You did.”

When we return to the station, I head straight for the showers. Stripping off my clothes, I twist the knob, and the water sputtersto life. I let the stream hit my face, the coolness grounding me. Today was rough, but he made it. He’s going to be okay.

My mind drifts to Kira. What is she doing right now? Probably home from work, maybe lying in bed in one of those oversized shirts she loves, her nose buried in a book. I think back to how good she felt on top of me the other night, her soft body pressed into mine. I can feel myself stir at the thought. Fuck, what am I doing? I slam my fist against the tile, and the water instantly turns ice-cold.

By the time I leave the station, I’m more than ready to get home. My fingers glide over the steering wheel as I turn down the driveway. Kira’s car is in its usual spot, but Jared’s is gone. I throw my truck into park, hop out, and head inside.

The windows are open, letting in the fresh air. Michigan in the spring—warm during the day, cool at night, and in the mornings—is one of my favorite times of year. The slider’s open, but the screen’s closed. As I move toward it, I spot Kira on the deck. She’s sitting at the patio table, earbuds in, molding clay into what looks like a hand. Her legs are covered in smears of clay, and she looks like a mess.

She’s so gorgeous like this. Nothing else matters to her right now outside of that sculpture. She looks happy and more relaxed than I’ve seen her in a long time.

Like she can sense my presence, she looks up, jumping when her eyes notice me. Pulling her earbud out, she asks, “How are you always sneaking up on me?”

“It’s my house,” I say, stepping onto the porch. She rolls her eyes. “What are you working on?”

“It’s just a little project.”

Now that I’m closer, the details are more evident. I was right. It’s a hand positioned to look like it’s waiting to receivesomething. It’s so realistic, and the proportions are perfect.

What’s it waiting for?

Feeling her eyes on me, I look over at her. She wants a response, to know what I think of it.

“It’s amazing,” I say, not taking my eyes off her. Her freckled cheeks heat as she looks up at me. Images flash through my mind of her looking up at me like that for other, more sinister reasons.

“How was your shift?” she asks.

“Not great. I’m glad it’s over,” I answer.

Concern grows in her features as she turns to me.

“Why, what happened?”

I can’t put that on her. She doesn’t need my problems right now.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” I say, wishing I hadn’t said anything in the first place.

“It’s not good to keep those things bottled up,” she says softly.

I want to tell her that it’s not anything she needs to worry about—that I can handle it myself, but something in the way she’s looking at me makes me comply.

“There was a house fire today. A kid was trapped inside,” I explain. “He’s fine, I got him out, but it just brought up a lot of shit that I wasn’t ready to deal with.”

I pause, looking away, trying to steady myself. My throat feels tight, the words hard to push through.

Her eyes soften, and she steps closer, her gaze gentle, like she’s trying to reach something buried deep in me.

“What do you mean? What happened?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

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