Pepper dropped to her knees on my other side so hard her palms slapped the concrete. Her curls frizzed out from what looked like either frantic running or a hair tie emergency, and her cheeks flushed with cold and panic.
“Oh, my God.” Her eyes tracked from my face to the oxygen mask to the turnout coat and back again. “Oh my God, are you okay? Rhett called about the fire.”
Of course, her firefighter captain husband would let her know. He was probably around here somewhere as incident command.
“I’m fine,” I lied automatically.
She gave me a look that said she didn’t buy that for a hot second. Her gaze flicked over me again, no doubt taking in the soot on my skin and the tremors I couldn’t quite stop. Then she shifted her attention to Powell, like she suddenly realized how close we were.
Something unreadable crossed her face.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Just doing my job,” he replied, though his voice had that same rough edge it had when he’d said my name.
My shoulder felt suddenly exposed when he eased his arm away, letting Pepper crowd in. The mylar blanket stayed, still draped around me, but the loss of his solid presence at my back left a strange absence, like stepping off a moving walkway and misjudging the floor.
Pepper braced one hand on my knee, the other hovering near my arm. “What do you need?” she asked. “Tell me what you need and I’ll handle it.”
The instinct to say I’m fine rose again, habitual and useless. My throat closed around it.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. The words tasted like defeat and ash. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Pepper’s fingers curled gently around my knee. “Then we start with getting you home. Or to my place. Or to Meghan’s. You are not staying by yourself tonight, okay?”
Home. My tiny apartment above the consignment shop. The thought of sitting alone in that quiet space with the scent of smoke still clinging to my hair made my stomach roll.
“Your place,” I said after a second. “If that’s okay.”
Her expression softened. “Of course it’s okay.”
Someone called Powell’s name. He glanced back, then down at me again.
“Do you need help getting up?” he asked.
For a second, pride reared its familiar head, ready to insist I could stand without assistance, walk it off, do a few cartwheels to prove it. Then another small tremor ran through my legs.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Probably.”
He offered me his hand, no flourish, no commentary.
I took it.
He pulled me up slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world. The street tilted for a second. His other hand came up, hovering at my elbow until the ground settled back into place.
Up close like this, looming over me in full gear, he looked even bigger than usual. Broader. More solid. The knowledge that mass of muscle and determination had hauled me out of a fire was… unsettling in ways I didn’t have the bandwidth to unpack.
I realized I still held his hand and let go like it had burned me.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
He smirked, tired but genuine. “You’re allowed to hang on, Jess.”
Heat crept up my neck that had nothing to do with the fire. I curled my hands tighter into the mylar so I’d have something to do with them besides fidget.
Pepper tucked herself under my other arm, wedging in like a much smaller, aggressively determined crutch. “I’ve got her,” she told him.
“I know you do,” he said.
