Page 56 of The Write Midlife

"As your best friend who literally runs into burning buildings for a living." Alex fixed Nate with that steady gaze he usually reserved for younger cadets at the firehouse. "Stop playing it safe. Stop worrying about besting your father. Or the board. All of it. Don’t fight because you have something to prove. Fight because your own integrity matters. And fight for whom it matters.”

The station alarm blared again. Alex was moving before the sound faded, but he paused just long enough to deliver his parting shot.

"Oh, and Nate? If you don't fix this thing with Melody, I'm legally obligated to tell her about the time you got drunk and tried to serenade that statue in Pioneer Square."

Nate watched Alex sprint toward his truck, calling after him, "That was fifteen years ago!"

"Statute of limitations never expires on blackmail material!" Alex shouted back before swinging onto the engine.

As the sirens faded into the distance, Nate sat in the quiet of the kitchen, surrounded by the organized chaos of the firehouse. The lasagna timer dinged, and he pulled it out automatically—thirty years of friendship meant knowing the basics of firehouse etiquette.

Alex's words echoed in Nate's head as he set the pasta to cool. Alex was right, damn him. Nate had spent so long trying to play it safe, trying to be the perfect son and heir, that he had forgotten what it meant to fight for something real.

Screw that.

Nate pulled out his phone, starting a new email to the board. It was time to run into the fire and trust that what mattered would survive the flames.

The engines returned just as Nate was hitting send. Alex took one look at his face and grinned.

"Finally grew a pair, did you?"

"Something like that." Nate helped Alex dish up the lasagna. "I just sent the board my resignation."

Alex nearly dropped the serving spoon. "Holy shit. You actually did it?"

"Unless they agree to my terms—full creative control for authors, starting with Melody. No compromises."

“Wow, bro. Your father's going to have an aneurysm."

"Probably." Nate accepted a plate of lasagna. "But you're right. Some things are worth burning it all down for."

"Now you're getting it." Alex started serving up plates for the rest of the crew. "Just remember—if this all goes south, I'm not letting you move into the firehouse."

“Liar. We both know you'd adopt me like one of Mrs. Ford’s cats."

"Speaking of which..." Alex glanced at his phone as it buzzed. "Duty calls. Again. Try not to have any more emotional epiphanies while I'm gone. And if the sauce starts to burn?—"

"Pull the pan and kill the heat. I know the drill."

Alex paused at the doorway, already half into his gear. "Hey, Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you, man. It's about time you stopped playing it safe."

Then he was gone again, racing toward someone else's emergency. Nate sat in the familiar chaos of Alex's second home, surrounded by the tools of his trade—the axes and hoses, the well-worn gear, the constant readiness for action.

Maybe it was time Nate took a page from his best friend's book. Stop waiting for the perfect moment, stop trying to prevent every possible disaster.

Nate might have screwed up royally with Melody, but he wasn't giving up. He was going to fight for her vision, for the integrity of her work. And maybe he would win back her trust in the process.

Because if his best friend was any example at all, then it was clear. Sometimes you have to run straight into the flames and trust that what matters will survive.

THIRTY-ONE

Less than twenty-fourhours after her last meeting with Nate, Melody paced her apartment on a continuous loop that would put Formula-One drivers to shame, her mind replaying the argument with Nate on an endless loop.

The nerve of him, suggesting she should compromise her artistic vision for a quick Hollywood payday! She grabbed a throw pillow from her couch and screamed into it, letting out all the frustration and anger that had been building up.