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I try to hide my reaction to his words, but I can feel the blood rush up to my neck, both in frustration and embarrassment.

“You can tell Anderson to mind his fucking business. I don’t need a babysitter, Chief.

” I can’t fight the anger rising in my tone, the same anger that is always the first to surface.

Anger has always been the easiest to feel—about Bennett, about what happened, and about everything that’s followed, including how angry I am at myself for letting something like freezing on the field happen.

“I said I’ll go to the therapy session, so I’ll go.

But we’re not going to stand out here and talk about what happened. ”

“And what did happen, Hasting? Because from what I understand, you froze. You saw the fire—the manageable, controlled fire with no victims—and you froze.”

“I didn’t freeze. I—” The words die on my tongue, his question like a bullet shooting right through my chest.

I’ve seen more fires like the one last night than I can count—fires that were much more dangerous and much harder to manage—but the smell of burning wood, the smothering heat, the crackling roar, the irritation in my eyes from the smoke, even though my gear, was too much.

Seeing the roof collapse, my mind tricking me—telling me that Bennett was inside.

I froze.

“Can you get through that hard head of yours how dangerous that is?” The chief’s voice hard, but I’m too angry to let his question sink in.

“How many goddamn times do I have to tell you I’m fine?” I grit through my teeth.

“Watch it, Jack,” Chief warns, voice low.

His tone may sound calm to an outsider, but I know this man well enough to know that I’m toeing very close to a line with my attitude, and he accepts nothing but respect from all of us at the station.

“I know you’ve been through a lot. Hell, I can’t imagine how much it hurts to be back here without Bennett, but I refuse to let you keep acting like it doesn’t. ”

My jaw ticks, and I feel a burning behind my eyes. “This isn’t about Bennett.” But I can’t look him in the eye when I say it. Staring at the ground in front of me, my eyes fixate on Chief Sanders’ boots.

I don’t want to see his face as he tells me everything I don’t want to hear.

“You can pretend all you want that you’re fine, but you and I both know that all you’ve done is avoid dealing with what happened and bury everything that comes with it.

” I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I instantly shrug it off—as if on reflex—but Chief Sanders grips me harder.

“I’m sorry Bennett is gone, Jack. His loss wasn’t easy for any of us—myself included.

Losing one of my people has changed the way I look at this job.

Hell, it’s changed the way I’ve looked at my life.

” He pauses, inhaling and exhaling. “All of that to say, you and I both know he wouldn’t want his death weighing on you the way that it is.

It’s time you talk about it with someone who can help. ”

I shake my head as the anger fades into what I haven’t felt since that night he died—pure agony. A sadness so guttural and so overpowering that I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. A raw, aching emptiness so visceral that it steals all the breath from lungs.

“I can’t,” I grit out. “It’ll kill me.”

“No, Jack,” Chief says. “ This will.” And something in my chest cracks.

Chief Sanders has been the father I never had, the man who I strived to be like from the moment I joined the fire academy, and he was one of my teachers.

He’s been a mentor, coach, and role model for over a decade, and I should’ve known that the lies I’ve been telling myself over the last year and a half don’t stand a chance against him.

My shoulders tremble as I try to keep them still, but it suddenly feels so tiresome to stop the inevitable.

My knees buckle, and I let myself sink to the ground beside my truck.

Tears break free—slow at first, then relentless—slipping down my face in silence, my jaw clenched against the sobs that want to escape.

I can’t remember the last time I cried.

The night Bennett died ,and his funeral, I was too numb, having removed myself from my own feelings, shutting them away in the back of my mind, only ever allowing them to escape in pieces.

Now, it’s like the lock on that box busted open, and everything is rushing to the surface, faster than I can stop it.

Like a fire I don’t stand a chance against.

Chief Sanders doesn’t say anything, but I feel his presence standing just a few steps away from where I’m on the ground.

He takes a knee and places a hand on my shoulder.

With my head in my hands and the comfort of Chief’s hold on me, I let all these feelings overwhelm me after months of pushing them down.

I don’t know how much time passes, but my lungs start to fill more, and I can take in a full breath. As I open my eyes, lifting my head from my hands, the sunlight makes my eyes burn, and there’s a tightness in my temples.

I expect to feel the usual tension in my shoulders as I sit up straight, gathering myself, but it feels lighter. I’m not weighed down as much as I’m used to, and it makes it easier to stand. I meet the chief’s gaze and am relieved to not find pity in his eyes as he observes me.

“I wish I could say this was the hard part,” Chief says before giving my shoulder another squeeze then rising back to his feet. I follow suit as he continues, “but this is just the beginning.”

Not sure what to say, I nod.

I wish I could say that along with feeling lighter, I feel better. But I don’t.

If anything, since now all the emotions have come to the surface with no intent of letting me bury them back down, I feel even worse.

My neck heats at the thought of the chief seeing me like this. I wipe my reddened eyes with the back of my hand, shaking my head and putting my hands on my hips.

I blow out a breath. “I’m—” I begin to say but stop myself. He and I both know that I’m not fine. If anything, I’m finally experiencing the feelings from the night of Bennett’s death.

“You’ll be fine,” Chief finishes for me. “Eventually.”

I cough into my fist, clearing my throat. “It sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it,” I admit.

“It’s like I told you last year. You have to confront what you lost. No more running away.”

A few moments pass as I let his words sink in. Up until today, I thought the only way to heal was to move on or least move forward. I knew I’d never recover from losing Bennett. I knew I’d never be able to accept it.

But now? I can’t live like this.

The past few days being home have given me glimpses of what life can be like—shooting the shit with the crew at the station, getting a drink at the bar with friends, having dinner with my mom and sister.

Flirting with my new friend.

But they’re just moments—moments that never last long enough.

That’s all I’ll be allowed to have if this continues.

And I can’t live with just moments of peace that cease the second my grief sneaks up on me or when it finally becomes too much to recover from.

“I promise I’ll call the therapist today,” I finally say, and, this time, it doesn’t feel like a lie.

Chief gives me a small smile. “I think that’s a good start.” He reaches out his hand, and I take it. We shake hands, solidifying my promise. “And we’re going to go forward with that fit-for-duty evaluation.”

With his hand still holding mine, his grip tightens, and I resist the urge to argue with him.

We both know I’m not fine.

I nod, and the chief pulls me in for a hug, his arms tight around me for a brief moment before he lets go and turns to head back into the station.

I turn to get into my truck when he calls after me again.

“And son, remember. Those emotions you’re feeling?

They don’t make you weak. They make you human.

This grief for Bennett is that love you have for him not having anywhere to go.

It’s proof that you’re here. You’re alive— living . Just like he’d want you to be doing.”

This time last year, I couldn’t fathom being anywhere but the cabin or on the lake—the only peace I could find.

Today, I want to be better.

I know that peace is here somewhere—I saw glimpses of it in Rumi’s eyes.