Page 6 of Up In Smoke

It’s probably a terrible idea, but I have no strength left to stop myself fumbling for my phone and hitting the one and only number I have left on speed dial.

Of course it rings out and goes to voicemail, but my addled brain recalls something vague about time zones, so I’m not that surprised. “Heyyyy, Adam,” I slur, adding a hiccup and a giggle for good measure. “It’s your useless baby bro. Just…checking in, I guess. I think…I think things are really fucked this time, Adam. I’m not sure there’s any coming back from this one. Maybe I was always going to end up here…wasted just like all the opportunities I blew.” Another giggle. “That’s pretty poetic considering how fucking gone I am. Weeee! Wonder if I’ll even remember calling you in the morning. If there even is a morning.”

I want to laugh again but it comes out as a pitiful sniffle.

“Adam…man, I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry. I always let you down. Don’t worry about me. Just…delete this. I wish I couldmake you proud of me like I’m proud of you. Bro, you got all the good genes, I think. All the clever, good decision-making brain cells. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’ll just disappear? That’ll probably be for the best. So…I love you. I don’t think I said that enough, but it’s true. I love you, Adam. You never gave up on me like Mom and Dad, even though you should have. You’re smart and have a beautiful family and I love that for you. You deserve everything, man. Just…don’t worry about stupid Jesse another minute, ’kay? I don’t want to be a burden anymore. Gonna sleep now…yeah. That’ll be better. Love you…”

The darkness is creeping in. I crumple, making myself as small as I can, hoping it’ll be enough to vanish between the cracks. The world is too bright, too loud, too fucking unfair and unkind.

I’m done.

I’m so done.

CHAPTER 2

Rico

How long doI continue staring up at the ceiling before finally admitting I’m not getting back to sleep and haul my ass out of bed?

At least five more minutes, apparently.

The trouble is, I haven’t got anything planned for my day off. I did all my chores yesterday and tomorrow morning I’ll be back on shift, so I promised myself I could sleep in today.

Naturally, that meant my brain woke me up at 4am and has refused to let me drift off again since. It’s a Sunday and I had half a notion of doing Sunday things like finding somewhere cute for brunch or doing yoga in the park.

But the novelty is slowly wearing off doing stuff like that by myself.

I suppose I could try getting back on the apps. It’s been over a year since Brad and I broke up. Before him was Liam, and before him Rodrigo, and…

The pattern is depressingly familiar by now.

I know it’s me that’s the problem, so I can’t even really get mad when these guys have enough and leave. Just because I’m aware that I hold myself back, though, apparently doesn’t mean I can stop doing it. Brad was dropping so many hints aboutwanting to move in, maybe adopt a dog, things I really want in my life. And what did I do?

Give him the old ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech and sent him packing.

I genuinely believe he’s going to be better off with someone else because there’s something inside me that refused to give him what he needed. That’s always too afraid, too guarded to take that next step and trust someone enough to share my life with them.

Really share.

Not inviting them over after I’ve cleaned for three hours. Not hiding any real, messy feelings from them. Not weighing up every single little thing I say. To simply…exist with another human being.

Even just thinking about relaxing the grip I have on every aspect of my life makes my chest tighten, though. I close my eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, counting backward from ten. Nothing bad is going to happen. I’m fine.

Because it’s only me I have to worry about.

It’s different at work. There are so many protocols in place to keep my team safe. I studied my ass off to pass the lieutenant’s exam, and I never let my guard down when I’m on the clock. Running a tight ship there brings me peace.

But whenever it becomes clear I’m about to become responsible for a boyfriend, the fear overwhelms me, and I have to bail.

I can’t risk failing anyone again. Not someone I love.

Every life I save when the One-Thirteen is out on call makes me feel like the world is slightly more balanced, one soul at a time. But when some days inevitably end tragically, I can console myself that I did everything in my power because I followed the rules.

There are no rules for dating. For becoming the custodian of someone else’s heart, their hopes, their dreams. There’s no review board to determine whether or not you did everything you could when another person gets hurt.

No one to stand up and say that an accident definitively wasn’t your fault so people can direct their grief elsewhere.

I sigh and scrub my face. These early morning melancholy sessions have been getting more frequent of late. Maybe it’s because love seems to be in the air at the station recently. Both Bell and Foster have met special someones, and Delacroix went and damn well got married to his childhood sweetheart over the summer.