Page 6 of The Flames Between Us

Chapter 3 - Ollis

I sit in my truck for a good ten minutes after leaving Dr. Morgan's—Everly's—office. The engine idles as I stare at nothing in particular, hands gripping the steering wheel too tight. The session replays in my head like a movie I couldn't pause.

I told her about Henderson.

I hadn't planned to say a word about that night, yet somehow she'd gotten me talking. That's probably what they teach in shrink school—how to make people spill their guts without realizing they're doing it.

But it wasn't manipulation that got me talking. It was something in those perceptive eyes behind those glasses, something that made me want to explain myself. To make her understand that I'm not usually the guy who freezes when people need him.

"Dammit," I mutter, finally putting the truck in gear and pulling away from the curb.

The drive home is a blur. I find myself at the grocery store instead, wandering aisles without any real purpose. My kitchen has been running on empty for days—takeout containers and beer the only constants. Maybe acting like a functional adult will make me feel like one.

I'm comparing two different brands of coffee when my phone buzzes. Lewis.

*Poker night at Grant's. You in?*

I stare at the screen. Poker night used to be a given. The guys, beer, terrible snacks, and hours of trash talk—it was our ritual between shifts. I've begged off the last three.

*Sure*, I type back before I can overthink it. Maybe normal routines are what I need right now.

I finish shopping and head home. There's still time before I need to leave for Grant's, so I start the assignment Everly gave me—noticing physical responses when memories surface. It feels ridiculous, like some new age meditation crap, but I promised her. Sort of.

I close my eyes, letting my mind drift back to the Henderson fire. Immediately, my chest tightens. My breathing shallows. There's a cold sensation spreading from my core outward, even as sweat beads on my forehead. My fingers tingle like they've fallen asleep.

I open my eyes, breathing hard. Great. So now I know my body goes haywire thinking about the fire. How exactly is this helpful?

I shake it off and get ready for poker night, grabbing a six-pack from the fridge as my contribution. Grant lives in a tidy townhouse across town—"military corners in every room," as Max likes to joke.

When I arrive, the usual suspects are already there. Lewis gives me a surprised smile when I walk in, like he half-expected me to bail at the last minute.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Grant calls out, dealing cards at the table. "Wasn't sure you remembered where I lived."

"Memory's fine," I reply, setting down the beer. "Just been busy."

It's a weak excuse, but no one challenges it. That's the thing about the brotherhood—they push when it matters and back off when they sense boundaries.

I take the empty seat between Lewis and Max, feeling oddly out of place in this familiar setting. The rhythm of the game used to be as natural as breathing. Now it feels like I'm trying to remember the steps to a dance I used to know by heart.

"So," Lewis says casually as Grant deals the first hand, "how'd it go today?"

I freeze for a split second before realizing he's asking about the therapy session. Of course he knows—nothing stays secret in a firehouse.

"Fine," I say, arranging my cards without really seeing them. "She's...not what I expected."

"Hot?" Lewis asks immediately, earning him a sharp look from Chief.

"Unprofessional," Brock warns, though there's no real heat behind it.

"Just asking what we're all thinking," he defends himself, tossing chips into the center. "Raise twenty."

"She's professional," I say firmly, matching the bet. "And actually seems to know what she's talking about."

"High praise from the therapy skeptic," Max remarks, looking at his cards.

The conversation mercifully shifts to safer topics—the upcoming department inspection and Max and Jennie’s plans to go on vacation. I let the familiar banter wash over me, contributing enough to avoid concern but not enough to invite deeper conversation.

Three hands in, I realize I'm actually enjoying myself. The knot that's lived in my chest for weeks has loosened slightly. I even laugh genuinely when Lewis reveals his bluff on a garbage hand, taking a sizeable pot from Grant who curses colorfully.

---