Page 44 of Smoke Signals
“How’s physical therapy?” he asks.
“Progressing.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I huff a quiet breath. “They’re saying two to three weeks before I’m cleared for full duty if everything keeps improving.”
His jaw shifts, processing.
“That what you want?” There’s no judgment in the question, just fact.
“Yes.”
No hesitation, because even with everything that’s changed lately, that truth is still solid in my chest.
“Good.” He leans back slightly, chair creaking. “You’ve always been steady under pressure, Daniels. I’m not worried about you on a call.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
“Thank you, sir.”
He watches me a second longer. “You got anything at home that’s going to make you hesitate?”
The question is quiet but direct.
Hartley’s face flashes through my mind without permission. The way he watches the door when sirens pass. The way his shoulders tense when anything about firefighting comes up.
“I’ve got something worth coming home to,” I say carefully.
Grayson’s mouth shifts like he almost smiles.
“That’s not a liability,” he says. “That’s a reason to stay alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Back out in the bay, the guys are mid-argument about something stupid involving a broken coffee maker and who’s responsible.
I lean against the counter and let the noise wash over me.
Sterling points at August. “You used the last of the grounds and didn’t replace it.”
August lifts his hands. “I thought there was more.”
“You thought wrong.”
Dark finally speaks, voice low and final. “Just make another pot.”
Everyone shuts up.
Jake Lawson walks in from the side hall, a paramedic bag slung over his shoulder. When he spots me, his face breaks into a grin.
“Well, look who’s back among the living.”
“Still breathing,” I say.
He claps my good shoulder, careful without making it obvious.
“Still playing teacher.”
