14. Wade

Chapter fourteen

Wade

T he dress blues felt like armor made of lead, each polished button a weight dragging me down. Behind the makeshift curtain that separated the "speakers" from the "mourners," I adjusted my collar for the tenth time in as many minutes. The fabric scratched against my scars like it was trying to remind me I didn't belong in Chicago anymore.

"Stop fidgeting." Holden's voice was soft but steady beside me. "You're going to wear a hole in that collar."

His fingers brushed mine as he straightened my tie. The simple touch anchored me, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. Two years of saying no to this ceremony, and now here I stood, about to face everyone I'd left behind.

Through a gap in the curtain, I caught glimpses of the crowd gathering in the Chicago Fire Department's main hall. Dress uniforms created a sea of dark blue, broken by the civilian clothes of family members. Jenkins' oldest would be fifteen now. According to the department newsletter I pretended not to read, Martinez's widow had remarried last year.

Holden sensed my tension. "They're just people who knew you before and want to see who you've become."

"That's what worries me."

He squeezed my hand, ignoring how my palm was slick with sweat. "Good thing you've got emotional support pretzels in your pocket then."

A laugh caught in my throat, surprising us both. Trust Holden to smuggle snacks into a memorial service.

Chief Matthews appeared, his dress uniform impeccable. He glanced at our joined hands, but his expression remained neutral. "Five minutes, Wade. You ready?"

No. I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready. Holden rubbed my wrist with his thumb, and somehow, my voice came out steady. "Yes, sir."

As the Chief disappeared, Holden reached up and held my face in his hands. "Hey. Remember what Dr. Fieldstone said yesterday?"

I did. The impromptu session with my old department therapist had lasted two hours in her office overlooking Lake Michigan. She'd taken one look at me and cleared her afternoon schedule.

I quoted her. "You can't change the past, but you can choose how to carry it forward."

"She's right." Holden straightened my name badge one last time. "And you're not carrying it alone anymore."

The words were devastating in their simple truth. Here was this kid—no, this man—who'd somehow slipped past all my defenses with his camera and sunny attitude, standing beside me in the middle of my worst nightmare, and it was right. He belonged at my side.

On the other side of the curtain, Chief Matthews began the ceremony. I listened to familiar words as he spoke: duty, sacrifice, brotherhood. Once, they'd been my entire world. Now, they sounded like whispers from a previous life, one where I hadn't learned that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is let someone else help you survive.

Holden's hand found mine again as the Chief began introducing speakers. My pulse still raced, but I no longer worried that I'd shatter into a million pieces. The scars under my uniform ached like battle wounds, not marks of failure.

"Your hands are steady." Holden clicked his heels and smiled at me.

They were. For the first time in three years, my hands were completely steady, maybe because they had something better to hold onto than guilt.

"Wade Forrester." Chief Matthews called my name.

Holden squeezed my fingers once more before letting go. "I'll be right here."

I stepped past the curtain onto the stage with harsh lights shining on my face. The glare was powerful enough to hide the hundreds of pairs of eyes from my gaze. As I walked to the podium, I thought about Blue Harbor's pine-scented mornings and how Holden's camera always seemed to find beauty in broken things.

A hush fell over the crowd. They waited to hear what three years of silence had taught me. The papers in my pocket outlined a proper speech about courage and moving forward, but at the moment, I knew they weren't the words I needed to say.

"Jenkins had three kids," I began, my voice rough but clear. "The morning of the warehouse fire, he showed me pictures from their school play..."

My story tumbled out, carrying all the guilt and fear I'd held so close to my chest. To my surprise, I also added truths from other stories about healing and finding new ways to serve.

In the third row, Holden sat, with his eyes glistening with unshed tears and a proud smile on his face. He believed in me even more than I believed in myself.

***

After the speeches, the reception hall buzzed with controlled chaos. Clusters of dress uniforms mixed with civilian clothes, while servers navigated the crowd efficiently. I stood in a corner, trying to understand how I'd changed so much in the past few months. The last time I'd been in the room was my discharge ceremony, when even breathing hurt.

Now, so many things had shifted. Guilt no longer strangled me.

Holden materialized at my elbow with a glass of water. "Your hands are still steady."

"Shouldn't you be charming the rest of the department?" I nodded toward where he'd spent the last twenty minutes talking with my old crew. They'd practically adopted him, especially after he'd pulled out his phone to show them pictures of the infamous Blue Harbor squirrel gang.

"They're busy debating whether Sarah's conspiracy theories about organized squirrel crime are better than their raccoon stories." His shoulder brushed mine. "Though I think you could win for best wildlife encounters. Maya shared the angry geese incident, but I'm keeping it quiet."

"She's such a traitor."

"Wade." A familiar voice made me turn. Dr. Fieldstone stood there, her silver hair swept up elegantly, but her eyes were the same ones that had watched me desperately try to piece myself together in her office three years ago. "That was quite a speech."

Holden started to step away, but I caught his sleeve. "Stay?" The word came out rougher than intended.

He settled back beside me, warm and solid, while Dr. Fieldstone's gaze tracked the movement with professional interest.

"Looks like you've found something worth fighting for."

"Someone." I was correcting her before I could stop myself. Heat crept up the back of my neck.

Her smile deepened the laugh lines around her eyes. "I noticed. You're a different man than the one who left Chicago three years back. There's light in your eyes again."

"I still have nightmares."

"Of course you do." She gestured toward a quiet corner of the room, and we followed. "But you're not letting them write the whole story anymore, are you?"

I glanced at Holden, who was pretending to study a genuinely awful painting of the old firehouse while listening to every word. "No. I'm learning there might be room for other chapters."

"Good." She touched my arm lightly. "You know what struck me about your speech? You talked about the kids left behind and the wedding plans left wanting, but today, you also included stories about what came after. We got to hear about the trails you've built and the lives you're still touching. That's major progress, Wade."

"It's different now." I struggled to find the right words. "Before, everything struck me like I was only killing time until the guilt would finally smother me and win. But lately..."

"Lately?"

"Lately, I'm starting to think surviving might have been the point all along." My voice dropped in volume. "Maybe I didn't make it out just to punish myself."

Holden's hand found mine, and our fingers wove together for a moment before he stepped away. Dr. Fieldstone watched the gesture with quiet approval.

"You know what I see?" She leaned closer, her voice pitched for privacy. "I see a man who's finally letting himself heal. You aren't merely existing and getting by. You're living. That's what your friends would have wanted for you."

"Jenkins would have loved Blue Harbor. He always talked about teaching his kids to fish."

"See?" Her smile was gentle. "You're remembering them as people now, not merely as losses. That's huge."

A burst of laughter from across the room drew our attention. My old crew had surrounded Holden's phone, probably looking at more wildlife photos. Their joy wasn't disrespectful to the day's solemnity—it was proof that life continued and that healing was possible.

"Speaking of progress, your young man has quite a gift for photography." Dr. Fieldstone's eyes twinkled. "He showed me some of his work while you were talking to the Chief. I particularly liked the one of you emerging from the lake."

I blushed intensely. "That was just..."

"A perfect moment captured." She patted my arm.

Before I could respond, she disappeared into the crowd with the same quietly purposeful energy I remembered from our sessions. Her words lingered, mixing with the day's emotions into something like hope.

Holden joined me again. "You okay?"

I gazed at him—taking a long look—seeing how he'd loosened his tie just enough to breathe and how his hair curled slightly despite his attempts to tame it.

"Yeah. I think I am."

Rodriguez spotted us first, his weathered face breaking into a grin that hadn't changed in three years. "Forrester! Get over here and explain how you went from fighting fires to dealing with criminal squirrels."

I let him pull me into a bone-crushing hug, something unknotting in my chest when he didn't hesitate to touch me. Some of my old crew had walked on eggshells after the warehouse fire like my scars might be contagious.

"The squirrels are the worst. At least fire follows basic laws of physics."

"Unlike Blue Harbor wildlife?" Holden's eyes danced. "Should I tell them about the goose incident?"

"Don't you dare." It was too late. My old crew had already sensed a story worth hearing.

"Oh, we need to know about this." Schneider, a rookie three years ago and now a seasoned professional, pulled up a chair. "Especially since you've been holding out on us. Three years of one-line email responses, and now we find out you've got a whole secret life?"

"It's not entirely secret."

"Really?" Rodriguez raised an eyebrow. "So you mentioned the boyfriend who takes artistic Polaroids and feeds you fancy coffee in one of those detailed updates I must have missed?"

"He doesn't—"

"I absolutely do." Holden grinned. "You should see him try to pretend he doesn't love the vanilla lattes."

The guys roared with laughter, and something in me eased further. They weren't treating me like broken glass. They weren't avoiding mentions of "before" and "after." They were just... happy for me.

Schneider leaned forward. "You know what's wild? It's watching you during that speech. You used to completely freeze up during department presentations. This man could run into burning buildings without flinching, but give him a podium..."

"And now look at you." Rodriguez's voice softened. "Up there telling our stories like you finally found the right words."

"The stories needed telling." I swallowed hard. "They deserved that much."

"Yeah, they did." Schneider's expression turned serious. "But so did you, Wade. You deserved to find your way back."

"Back to what?"

"To living." Rodriguez gestured around the room. "Look at you, man. You've built something real up there in Wisconsin. You found your purpose again. Found people worth letting in." He glanced at Holden. "That's what Jenkins would have wanted and what Martinez would have celebrated."

"You think so?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"I know so." Schneider's hand landed on my shoulder. "Martinez used to say you were too busy taking care of everyone else to notice when you needed backup. Looks like you finally figured out how to let someone watch your six."

Holden's fingers brushed mine, a ghost of a touch that grounded me in the present. "He's still stubborn about it."

"Course he is." Rodriguez chuckled. "But he's got that look now."

"What look?" I asked, though part of me already knew.

"The one Jenkins used to get when he talked about his kids. The one Martinez had when he was planning his wedding." Rodriguez's dark eyes held mine.

"I better warn Sarah back home," Holden mused. "She'll want to update her romance novel classifications."

The guys latched onto his comment, demanding explanations about Blue Harbor's apparent obsession with categorizing love stories. I let their laughter wash over me, seeing how easily Holden fielded their questions and drew them into the ridiculous saga of small-town life.

"You did good, Forrester. One of the best in the crew." Schneider gently bumped his shoulder against mine.

"I'm not in your crew anymore."

"Nah, but you're still teaching us stuff." He nodded toward Holden. "Like how sometimes the bravest thing isn't running into the fire. Sometimes, it's letting someone else close enough to see the burns."

I wanted to deny it and deflect it with a joke about paperwork or trail maintenance. Instead, I replied, "He sees too much sometimes."

"Good. It's about time someone did."

***

As I remembered, the firehouse's garden was a small oasis tucked behind the main building where we used to decompress after rough calls. The old maple tree still stood sentinel over wooden benches worn smooth by generations of firefighters. String lights zigzagged overhead, creating pools of gentle illumination that felt safer than the reception's harsh fluorescents.

I inhaled deeply, letting the familiar scent of fallen leaves mix with new memories of pine and lake water. The sounds of the reception filtered through brick walls—muffled laughter, clinking glasses, life continuing despite everything we'd lost.

"Found you." Holden's footsteps were quiet on the stone path. "I figured you'd need a breather."

He carried his suit jacket over one arm, his tie loosened just enough to show the hollow of his throat. In the soft lighting, he looked impossibly young and somehow ageless at the same time.

"How'd you know about this place?"

"Rodriguez told me." He settled beside me on the bench. "Said you used to come here to sketch between calls."

Of course, Rodriguez remembered that. He'd caught me once, drawing shadows playing across the maple's trunk. Instead of teasing, he'd sat quietly until I finished, then asked if I could teach him how to capture light that way.

"I haven't drawn this garden since—" The words stuck, but Holden waited patiently. "Since the morning of the warehouse fire. Jenkins was with me. He was practicing his daughter's school play lines. She was playing a tree, and he wanted to help her with the movements..."

My voice cracked. Holden's hand found mine, warm and steady.

"Tell me about her." It wasn't a demand, just an invitation.

"She was eight. All knees and elbows and determined to be the best damn tree that the stage had ever seen." The memory rose up, bittersweet but no longer suffocating. "Jenkins kept saying she got her stubbornness from her mother, but we all knew better. He was the one who spent three hours building her a practice costume out of old workout gear."

"She sounds amazing."

"She is. Was. Is." I squeezed his fingers. "She's in high school now. Leads the drama club. I saw her name in the department newsletter."

Holden shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against mine. "What was Martinez practicing that morning?"

"His vows." I closed my eyes, letting the garden's peace wrap around us. "He couldn't decide if 'you're the air in my lungs' was too cheesy. We told him it was perfect."

"It was."

"Yeah." I opened my eyes to find Holden observing me. "He would have loved you, you know. Would have asked a million questions about your camera, and he probably would have asked you to document the whole wedding."

"I would have liked that. Not the wedding, but seeing you in your element before..."

"I'm not that man anymore."

"No." He turned to face me fully. "You're more now. You're everything he was, plus everything you've become."

"I dream about them." The confession spilled out in the garden where I'd last seen them whole. "Not just the fire anymore, but real memories. I see Jenkins teaching his kid tree poses and hear Martinez practicing his vows. They are little moments I thought I'd lost."

"That's good, isn't it?" Holden's voice was soft. "It means you're remembering them as people, not just losses."

I leaned in and kissed him right there in the firehouse garden, under lights that had witnessed countless moments of grief and joy.

When we broke apart, Holden rested his hand on my thigh. "You're shaking."

"Good kind of shaking." I kept my eyes closed, breathing him in. "It's the kind that comes with letting go of a weight you've carried far too long."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I opened my eyes to find him smiling. "I think I'm ready to go home."

"To Blue Harbor?"

"To you." The words were easier to speak than I expected. "To pine trees and lake mornings and ridiculous squirrel gangs. To whatever story we're writing next."

Above us, the last maple leaves on the tree rustled in a gentle breeze. I could have sworn I heard Jenkins' laugh on the wind. It wasn't mocking, just gently haunting—happy that I'd finally found my way back to living life.