Chapter 2

The firehouse smelled like diesel and old smoke the next morning. I left Micah with Tuck, my neighbor and the only person I trusted, and drove to Sean’s station with the phone in my coat pocket.

Sean was in his office, still in yesterday’s uniform shirt, medals stripped off, eyes red. He didn’t ask how I got in. He just looked at my pocket.

“You listened?” he asked.

“Not yet.” I sat across from him. “You admitted you hid the phone. You denied killing him. Start explaining.”

Sean rubbed both hands over his face. “I didn’t kill my brother.”

“Then why did he say you took the money?”

Sean stood and locked the door. My pulse jumped, but I didn’t move. He pulled a keyring from his desk-Drew’s old locker key hanging beside his station keys. I noticed it then, the way you notice a snake after it has already passed.

“Drew stole from the charity account,” Sean said quietly. “Medical debt. Your medical debt, Nora. The bills from Micah’s hospital stays. He was drowning and too proud to ask me.”

My face burned. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was.” Sean’s voice cracked. “I found out two weeks before the fire. I took the remaining cash from his locker and put it back in the account. That’s what he’s talking about on the recording. He thought I was stealing from him. He didn’t know I was fixing it.”

“And Rawlings?”

Sean’s eyes shuttered. “Drew was investigating him. Gear-skipping. Rawlings was signing off on expired hoses and stolen bunker gear, then pocketing the difference. Drew kept a ledger. I hid it because if it came out, everyone would know Drew stole first. Micah would grow up hearing his father was a thief.”

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to believe him. “You should have told me.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“You were controlling me.”

He flinched. “Maybe.”

The door rattled. Micah’s voice came through the glass, high and furious. Tuck had brought him anyway. Micah had refused to stay home.

I opened the door. Micah marched past me and stood in front of Sean, small fists clenched. “I’m not sorry,” he said. “You made my dad look bad.”

Sean knelt to his level. “I know.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No,” Sean said. “I loved him.”

Micah’s chin trembled. He didn’t believe him. I wasn’t sure I did either.

I pulled Micah out and drove home. That night, while he showered, I wrapped Drew’s phone in a plastic bag and hid it inside a flour canister. Then I sat on the kitchen floor and cried where my son couldn’t hear me.