Page 110 of Flint’s Strike

“Zack was on the south side of the building. The floor between us was gone. He couldn’t reach me, and I couldn’t reach him.”

I swallow against the ache in my throat.

“But I could hear him.”

The radio is the part I remember most. Not the pain. Not the heat. Not the months afterward when my entire life became hospital rooms and physical therapy and learning how to do things my body used to do without thinking.

Zack’s voice over the radio is the one thing I’ll never forget.

“I could hear him moving. I could hear him trying to get out.” I close my eyes for a second. “He was calm. He was twenty-two years old, trapped in a building that was coming down around him, and he was calmer than I was.”

My next swallow feels like my throat is full of broken glass.

“He was doing everything right. He told us where he was. He told us what was happening. He was working his way out. And then the whole side of the building just…collapsed.”

I stop. Because even now, after all this time, a part of me still believes that if I don’t say the next words, I can keep them from being true.

The apartment disappears for a moment. There’s only the silence that came after. The radio. The absence of his voice.

“I called for him, but he was gone.”

I don’t remember setting the bottle down. I don’t remember leaning forward. I only know that suddenly my hands are empty and there’s nothing between me and the truth I’ve spent years trying to outrun.

“Zack died in that building.”

I’ve carried the truth for years. But I’ve never said those words to someone I was afraid of losing.

“I lived, and Zack…died. He’s gone because of me.” I look down because I can’t stand the thought of seeing Parker’s reaction.

“I spent months in the hospital. Surgeries. Rehab. Learning how to walk again. Learning how to live with everything that happened.” My laugh is quiet and bitter. “People kept telling me how lucky I was. Lucky? I couldn’t even go to his funeral!”

I press my knuckles to the graft margin under my shirt. I need the pain. I deserve it.

“I had an NG tube down my throat. Couldn’t walk. Couldn’t feed myself. Couldn’t even piss on my own. That ain’t luck. Justice, maybe. Not luck. And Zack’s mom— She…forgave me.”

The tears start before I can lock them away. I wipe at my face, hating that I can’t hold myself together. “I was supposed to bring him home.” My voice breaks. “That was my job. My only job.”

I can’t catch my breath through the tears. “He became…a firefighter…because of one conversation…when he was nineteen. And I killed him.”

Parker’s watching me. I can feel it. But she doesn’t utter a word.

“I know what everyone says.” My voice is so soft, I’m not sure she can even hear me. “I know the fire did it. I know the building collapsed. I know there were things nobody could control.” Finally, I lift my gaze. Her blue eyes are wet with tears. “But I was responsible for him. I was supposed to protect him.”

My voice fades away completely. I try to breathe. My lungs are so tight…I can’t.

A sob tears through me. I cover my face, but it doesn’t hide anything.

“I killed him.”

I expect her to move away, but the cushions shift instead as she moves closer.

She doesn’t tell me I’m wrong. She doesn’t try to pull the guilt out of my hands and carry it herself.

She just wraps her arms around me.

And that breaks me open completely.

I know how to survive anger. I learned how to survive pain. I don’t know how to survive someone staying.