Chapter 2

Brennan came out of the shower toweling his hair, his phone still facedown beside the champagne bucket.

I picked up my glass before he could see my hands shaking.

"To us," he said, pouring the champagne.

I held his gaze and lifted mine.

"To us."

He told me the mayor had invited him to speak at the fire department's charity breakfast. He complained about the weight of his dress uniform, then reached across the table and brushed his thumb over my knuckles.

"I know tonight wasn't perfect," he said. "But I'm taking you away next month. No calls, no rescues, no interruptions. Just you and me."

For three years, that promise would have softened me.

Now I could see it for what it was: something easy to say because he never intended to keep it.

His phone vibrated beside his plate.

The screen lit up with Sloane's name.

Brennan saw it at the same time I did. His expression changed so quickly that, before yesterday, I might have missed it.

He turned the phone facedown.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Probably a station message."

The phone vibrated again.

Then a third time.

Brennan stood so abruptly that his chair scraped across the floor.

"I need to take this," he said.

He stepped onto the back terrace, but the glass doors did not fully close. I could hear only pieces of his voice.

"No, she shouldn't be alone if she's that scared."

A pause.

"I'm coming. Tell her Daddy is on his way."

My fingers tightened around the stem of my champagne glass.

When he returned, his expression had settled into practiced concern.

"Captain needs me to help with a post-fire report," he said. "It's about Eve's case. I'll be back soon."

He did not mention Sloane.

He did not mention the frightened child waiting for him in another apartment.

He bent to kiss my forehead.

"Don't wait up, baby."

I looked at the untouched anniversary dessert between us.

"Of course," I said. "Go help."

Relief crossed his face. He believed I was still the woman who would make his lies comfortable.

After the front door closed, I sat alone at the dining table until the champagne lost its bubbles.

At 12:47 a.m., Brennan texted me.

Still at the station. It may be a while. I love you.

After Brennan left, I searched Sloane Carter's name.

Her public profile appeared first—the same woman smiling beside Brennan in the photographs on his phone.

Three minutes later, Sloane posted a photograph to her public account.

Eve was asleep beneath a pink blanket on a sofa. Brennan sat beside her in a firefighter T-shirt, one hand resting protectively over the edge of the blanket. A children's movie played silently on the television behind them.

The caption read:

Some heroes do not leave when the fire is out.

I saved the photograph.

I saved Brennan's text.

Then I opened my calendar.

I scrolled through the older posts.

Eve's school was holding its annual charity sports day the next afternoon. For the past week, Sloane had been posting countdowns, each one ending with the same promise:

Daddy will be there.

I saved the address and set an alarm for noon.

At one o'clock, Eve Carter would run a race.

I wanted to see whose arms she ran into at the finish line.