“Smoke inhalation,” one of the EMTs said. “Possible concussion.”
Gods, if something happened to that idiot... Harris wouldn’t forgive himself.
The rest of the rescue passed in a blur. Harris suppressed his worries about Valen. Saw that the rest of the fires were put out, that the residents were pulled to safety.
When the neighborhood had quieted and the rest of his men were accounted for, Harris turned to Ken. “They sent Valen to the hospital?”
Ken nodded. Harris rode back to the station with his crew. Oversaw their duties. When the paramedics returned, he spoke to them.
Valen was at the Meadowfall hospital, undergoing oxygen therapy. No concussion, but he’d burned his airway. They were holding him for a week instead of the usual overnight observation.
Harris found a moment to himself, pulled out his phone. Called Sam.
Sam answered, his voice rough with sleep.
“Valen’s in the hospital,” Harris said.
“Valen... What?” Sam’s voice rose high with panic.
“He’ll be there for a week. He’s unstable right now.”
Funny how his voice was steady, because his hands weren’t. Harris sat down heavily at his desk, looking at the tiny plastic fire truck Valen had given him on his birthday. For the guy who has everything, Valen had said with a grin. You need to cool your socks off.
Across the line, Sam made a soft, helpless sound.
“If you want, I can take you there,” Harris said, glancing at the wall clock. 4 AM. “But it’s another four hours ‘til I’m off. Or you could head there first.”
Sam gulped. “I-I, uh.”
Harris could imagine him rolling out of bed, disoriented. “If you can’t drive right now, don’t.”
“I’ll make some coffee,” Sam said shakily. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Be safe,” Harris said. Didn’t want to imagine Sam getting into trouble, either.
He ended the call. Filled out his paperwork. Didn’t want to think about all the things he could’ve said to Valen.
You idiot. Should’ve told me you were going in. I would’ve gone instead—Sam needs you.
An hour later, his phone buzzed. Sam had sent a picture of Valen in the hospital, hooked up to IVs and tubes and machines.
Harris set the phone down, ice sliding through his chest. He’d seen Nicholas with all the tubes, too. Seen the heart rate monitor flatline.
Through the years Harris had been with the fire department, there had been a few cases of men who’d died from smoke inhalation. Some walked out fine from a rescue, and a day later, they’d collapsed from breathing difficulties.
Even if Valen stabilized... what was to say his condition wouldn’t worsen?
Harris looked blankly at his computer, his hands shaking.
When he blinked again, it was 7:30 AM. Wasn’t sure how all that time had passed. He’d just been thinking about Valen, about Valen and Sam. Valen couldn’t leave a baby behind in this world. Couldn’t leave Sam. Or Harris.
Harris hadn’t even told that idiot he loved him.
Fifteen minutes from the end of his shift, he called Sam again.
Sam answered, his voice hoarse like he’d been crying.
“Hey,” Harris said. “You okay?”
Sam gave a shuddering, unsteady laugh. “They say he’s stable for now, but there’s a risk of complications.”
Complications. Gods, Harris hated that word. He breathed in. “You still at the hospital?”
“Yeah.”
“Text me the room number. I’ll be off work in a bit. See you there?”
“I’ll be here,” Sam said tiredly.
Harris ended the call, closed his eyes. Pulled himself together so he could close his shift.
At the fire chief’s office, Harris paused. Realized he didn’t care right now, so he knocked and stepped in. Fred Tolstoy looked up.
“Valen was admitted,” Harris said. “Smoke inhalation. He’ll be in the hospital for a week.”
Fred nodded, his mouth thinning with disapproval. “Thanks.”
Wasn’t like he should thank Harris, when it had happened on Harris’ shift. Harris nodded, signed off work, then left the station.
At the hospital, he found Sam outside Valen’s room, staring through the window. Sam was fiddling with a small paper cup in his hands, unrolling its lip. He looked up blearily when Harris stopped beside him.
“Hey,” Harris said. “How’s he?”
In the room, Valen lay motionless on the bed, just like in Sam’s picture. Except it seemed so much more real, when he was looking at Valen with his own eyes. Unease slid like oil through Harris’ gut.
Sam shook his head. “They say he’s stable, but I... I don’t know.”
Harris took one of Sam’s hands in his own. Sam was cold. His eyes drifted over Valen, and Harris knew how he felt.
“Sorry,” Harris said, his voice grinding out of his throat. “I should’ve done better.”
“It’s not your fault,” Sam said.
Except it was. It happened on Harris’ damn shift, and he was responsible for Valen’s life. Harris should’ve caught the personnel swap, he should’ve sent Amos in after Valen sooner. He should’ve done a hundred things differently, and hindsight hit like a punch in the gut.
Why would they hire me if I’m gonna fuck up? Why’d I say all that shit to him? What if V dies?
He growled, and Sam cried out, pulling his hand from Harris’.
“Hurts,” Sam said, looking away.
Shit, now Harris was hurting him, too.
He breathed in deep, trying to push away the mess of fear and anger in his chest. “Sorry,” Harris said. “I’m headed home. You coming?”
Sam bit his lip. “I’ll stay a while longer. See if there’s any change in his condition.”
“Okay,” Harris said. “Get home safe.”
Sam nodded, and Harris turned, leaving him standing in the hallway. Sam deserved to be with Valen. Harris had fucked up.
He didn’t remember much of the drive home. Smelled the trace of sandalwood in the car, from when Valen had hitched a ride with him last week.
The past few days, Valen had taken the truck to work. He’d avoided Harris, been sleeping on the far side of the bed, or upstairs with Sam. That had stung the most. Not like Harris knew what to do about it.
Except
