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HIS INJURIES WERE SERIOUS BUT NOT LIFE-THREATENING

Two fractured ribs.

A fractured clavicle.

Second-degree burn along part of his forearm.

Mild concussion.

Smoke inhalation.

Several weeks away from duty.

A lot of pain.

No permanent neurological damage.

No major lung injury.

The doctor kept repeating:

“He was very lucky.”

I hated that word too.

Lucky.

As though luck had anything to do with a ceiling choosing where to fall.

Still—

I held Adrian’s hand.

He was alive.

I reminded myself of that whenever rage returned.

Eventually Marcus left.

The nurse left.

The room became quiet.

Then I looked at Adrian.

“Why did you tell them not to call me?”

He stared at the blanket.

“I knew you’d panic.”

“Correct.”

“You were supposed to have lunch with your grandmother.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“You told me last night.”

“My grandmother would survive a canceled lunch.”

“I know.”

“Then what?”

Adrian said nothing.

I leaned closer.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He sighed.

“I didn’t want you finding out before I could explain why I went back inside.”

“I already know.”

His eyes lifted.

“Marcus told you?”

“Yes.”

Adrian muttered something about Marcus’s inability to keep secrets.

I almost laughed.

Then noticed something.

Guilt.

Still there.

This wasn’t only about the child.

“What else?”

“Claire.”

“What else?”

He looked toward the door.

Then:

“The little boy’s mother was there.”

I waited.

“And?”

“She knew me.”

My stomach tightened.

“How?”

Adrian closed his eyes.

That is never encouraging.