Page 7 of The Flames Between Us

"That's the Ollis laugh," Max says, pointing at me with his beer bottle. "Haven't heard that in a while."

I shrug, uncomfortable with the attention. "Been a while since Lewis pulled his head out of his ass long enough to be funny."

My brother grins, relieved to have me firing back. "Bite me, old man."

We're four rounds deep when the conversation circles back to work.

"Warehouse assessment came back," Brock mentions, reshuffling the deck. "Insurance company's ruling it electrical, not arson."

"Called it," Grant says. "Wiring in that place was ancient."

"Could have been worse," Max adds. "The back storage area had some nasty chemicals. If the fire had reached those..."

"But it didn't," Lewis interrupts, shooting a quick glance my way. "Because we handled it."

*We* handled it, while I stayed outside. I feel my jaw clench, that familiar tightness returning to my chest. I look down at my hands, noticing they've curled into fists. Awareness. That's what Everly said to notice.

"Fold," I say, tossing my cards down and standing. "Need some air."

Grant's back deck is small but private, overlooking a narrow strip of woods separating the townhouse complex from the next development. The night air is cool, carrying the scent of pine and someone's firepit burning nearby. I grip the railing, forcing deep breaths the way they taught us in academy training for smoke inhalation prevention.

The sliding door opens behind me. I don't turn, already knowing from the heavy footsteps that it's Brock.

"Wasn't trying to run you off," he says, coming to stand beside me.

"You didn't," I reply. "Just needed space."

He nods, both of us staring out at the darkness. Chief Brock isn't one for unnecessary words, something I've always appreciated about him.

"How'd it really go with Dr. Morgan?" he finally asks.

I consider deflecting, giving him the same "fine" I gave the others. But this is the man who holds my career in his hands. The man who's stood beside me at more fires than I can count.

"Better than I thought," I admit. "Worse than I hoped."

He raises an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning she got me talking about Henderson." I run a hand through my hair. "Didn't plan to, but it happened."

"That's good, right? Talking about it?"

I shrug. "Maybe. She says the freezing up is some kind of biological response. Not a choice."

"Makes sense," Brock says. "I've seen it happen in combat. Guys with all the training in the world just locking up when bullets start flying."

"What happened to them?" I ask, already suspecting the answer.

"Some worked through it. Some didn't." His honesty is brutally refreshing. "Difference was usually whether they faced it or ran from it."

I nod, letting that sink in. "She wants me to notice how my body reacts when I think about it. Says awareness is the first step."

"Smart woman." Brock takes a swig of his beer. "You're letting her help, then?"

"I'm showing up," I clarify. "Beyond that, we'll see."

He claps me on the shoulder, a rare gesture of physical support from our stoic chief. "That's all I'm asking for now, Ollis. One step at a time."

We stand in silence for another minute before he turns to go back inside. At the door, he pauses.

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