Page 9 of The Flames Between Us

Everly leans forward slightly. "That last part—the feeling of letting people down—did that come up recently?"

I think about poker night, about the careful way Lewis changed the subject when the warehouse fire came up. "Yeah. I went to a thing with the guys from the firehouse. They're...walking on eggshells around me."

"That must be difficult," she says, and it doesn't sound like empty sympathy. "To go from being in the center of the action to feeling sidelined."

"It's worse than difficult," I admit. "It's like I don't know who I am anymore. Firefighting isn't just what I do. It's who I am. Who I've been for fifteen years."

"I understand that kind of identity attachment," she says, surprising me. "When what we do becomes who we are, any threat to our ability to perform that role feels like existential danger."

I wonder what she's referring to. Does she have her own version of this struggle?

"But you are still a firefighter," she continues. "Your value to your team, to your department, isn't limited to running into burning buildings."

"That's exactly what it is," I counter. "That's the job. If I can't do that part, I'm useless."

"Is that really true?" She tilts her head, challenging me gently. "From what Chief Brock told me, you're one of the most experienced members of your team. Your knowledge, your instincts, your ability to assess situations—those things don't disappear because you're struggling with one aspect of the job."

I haven't thought about it that way. Even benched, I've still been going on calls, still handling equipment, still contributing to situation assessments. It's not the same as being on the front line, but it's not nothing.

"Maybe," I concede reluctantly. "But it's not enough."

"For whom?" she asks. "For the department, or for you?"

The question hits harder than I expect. "Both. Either. I don't know."

She lets that sit between us for a moment. "Let's go back to the physical responses you've been noticing. Have you found any way to manage them when they start?"

I think about the deck at Grant's house, how focusing on external sensations—the cold air, the pine scent—helped ground me. "Sometimes. If I catch it early enough, focusing on something concrete helps. Breathing. Counting. Physical sensations that aren't related to the memory."

"That's excellent," she says, genuine approval warming her voice. "Those are grounding techniques, and they're very effective for interrupting trauma responses. You discovered them intuitively."

Her praise shouldn't matter to me, but I feel a small glow of satisfaction nonetheless.

"I'd like to try something today, if you're willing," she continues. "A more directed version of what you've been doing on your own."

I hesitate. "What kind of something?"

"A guided exercise to help you process the physical components of the trauma memory," she explains. "It's not hypnosis or anything mystical—just a structured way to separate the memory from the physiological response."

My instinct is to refuse. This sounds dangerously close to the kind of therapy I've always mocked—laying on a couch talking about feelings while someone asks about my childhood.

But then I remember Brock's words on Grant's deck. *The difference was usually whether they faced it or ran from it.*

"Okay," I say finally. "I'll try."

Everly looks pleasantly surprised. "Thank you for trusting the process. We'll take it slowly."

She adjusts her position, angling her chair to face me more directly. "I'd like you to close your eyes and get comfortable."

I comply, though "comfortable" feels like a stretch.

"Focus on your breathing first," she instructs, her voice taking on a measured cadence. "In through the nose for four counts, out through the mouth for six."

I follow her guidance, feeling slightly foolish but committed now that I've agreed.

"Now, bring your awareness to the sensation of your body in the chair. The weight of your feet on the floor. The temperature of the air on your skin."

As I focus on these physical anchors, I'm surprised to find my heartbeat slowing and my shoulders relaxing.

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