Something Worth Saving (22 page)

I hated to admit it, too, but I felt the same way.

T
HAT MORNING
brought with it doubt and despair. Yesterday lingered like smoke, the remnants and reminders everywhere as the dense clouds hovered.

That afternoon brought with it heavy hearts and loved ones fighting for composure. Everyone had gathered at Brooke’s parents’ house near Elliott Bay.

Solemnly, the boys at Firehouse 10 stood shoulder to shoulder outside.

I sat there in the kitchen, watching the guys in the backyard, noticing how the space where Logan usually stood, next to Jace, was now empty and that no one was standing close to him. As if to say that space next to him when they were together was to be forever empty. There would always be an emptiness there now.

That solidarity was hard to find these days in a firehouse, but they had it. And now that one of their own was gone, it had changed things for them.

Jace and Logan had a connection, that was clear from the day they met when they were eight until Logan’s very last breath — a bond so strong and unbending they felt what the other one was feeling.

It’s poignant because that was the way of life at Firehouse 10. They hurt deeply in the wake of the passing of their friend.

These boys would do anything for their brothers. There wasn’t a single man at the station who wasn’t brought to his knees that day.

Night descended upon us again, the minutes, the hours, all rolling by with the same regretful sorrow the ones before them held.

I found Jace that night in our room. He was sitting at the bed, his back fairly straight with his eyes fixed his high school yearbook.

Gently I sat next to him. We didn’t touch; his eyes moved to mine and then back to the book. His hand flipped the page to the one of him and Logan at prom, their arms wrapped around each other with Brooke in between them. “They want me to prepare the eulogy.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I can.”

“If anyone can, you can,” I said softly. “You knew him better than everyone.”

Jace gave a nod, his hand swiping across his forehead. “Two days ago I was sitting at the firehouse with him at the table, talking about going to a hockey game next week. Now I’m sitting here trying to write his eulogy.” He pointed to the notepad on the nightstand next to the bed. Beside that was pieces of what looked to be a glass he’d broken. I followed the trail of shards of glass to the marks on the wall where it must have hit, no doubt evidence of his festering anger. “So far I have one word.”

“What word?” I looked at the notepad to see what he had written.

“Maybe that’s all you need.”

“I feel like anything I say won’t be good enough. He was so much more than anything I can say.” Tears filled his eyes. A nod caused a couple to spill over, like diamonds dripping from the black silk of his lashes and onto the flushed rose petals of his cheeks. The back of his hand ran over his tired eyes, swiping away the evidence that he was feeling this more than he let on. “I feel like . . . ” He seemed at a loss but tried again to find the words. “I feel like . . . ” His head shook again. For a moment he gave up. “I don’t know how I feel.”

This wasn’t going to be easy. I believe there are times when words can never do a situation justice. If anything, trying to put the hurt into words is pointless, because no matter what you write, only a small fraction of the pain you’re feeling is going to show in them.

If you were able to capture the pain into words, it would be ones you’ve never heard before. They don’t have words for that.

This part of the pain was never spoken to us and held no meaning that could be expressed in words.

They’re
not
words.

They’re tears and deep breaths.

They’re shaking hands and a slow blink as the devastation unfolds.

They’re sleepless nights of cold sweats and nightmares so real they haunt the darkness around you as you pray for the light.

And that was only a small fraction of it.

Dispatch to command, Engine 2, Truck 2, Engine 4, Engine 5 en route.

Command to dispatch, we are requesting medical personnel on four. Have a child down and cannot evacuate. First child is en route to HMS.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Jace

T
ODAY
I would be laying my buddy to rest. Forever a part of the dirt, as Denny so elegantly puts it.

Sometimes I wondered what the hardest part was. I think moving on is, because you’re accepting the fact that they’re gone now.

And that’s what it’s about, right? Acceptance of what happened?

Accepting the fact that they’re gone.

That’s what you were lacking in the beginning. It’s not knowing how it will be without them that’s scary. A change you never wanted, yet here you are forced to accept it.

It’s not easy. No one said it would be.

When I saw what that did to Brooke, it broke me. I cried for her, for him, for Amelia, and the goddamn shitty reality that it should have been me in that fire.

But no. Here I was, with Brooke, comforting her.

And I was sure, had it been me and not Logan, he would have been with Aubrey right now.

The difference?

Well, there’s no fucking chance in hell Logan would have left me on that ship. Had I said to him, “Go ahead, I’m right behind you,” he would have waited and made me go out first.

That’s just who he was. First in, last out.

Always.

And two, Brooke knew how Logan felt about her. There’s never been a question there.

Did Aubrey know how I felt? Did she know that to leave her and the kids would kill me?

As I watched Brooke that night, trying to be strong for friends and family, only inside she was hurting so bad she could barely keep the tremor from her voice and the shaking in her hands under control, I kept thinking about how unfair this was, but also how fucking angry I was.

When you lose someone close to you, the news, while shocking, has a way of festering. Like an infection. It starts out painful, sharp and radiating. Then it takes over, and before you know it, you can’t move or so much as breathe without thinking about it. And then you get medication, because without it, then what?

So let’s say in this case the medication is the funeral. It’s closure. Maybe the only closure you’ll get. An end to it.

Sure, it will never take away the pain of them being gone, but the initial shock, the pain, the redness, it’s fading with time. It may not feel like it, but it is. The pain doesn’t last forever. It can’t.

Brooke knew that very well. She was always such a strong woman, someone I looked up to completely — not just for her will, but her compassion and the understanding she had for the way of life that took her husband.

I keep having this dream now. It’s one where I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and crying. It’s the one where Logan is in flames and I’m walking away from him.

It’s an image I can’t shake.

To me it’s strange how you can convince yourself that death lurks in every corner, but when it happens, nothing feels like you are prepared for it.

The faces and voices all contained the same stoic tone, one that conveyed their grief, but I didn’t want to hear what everyone said that day, and I knew damn well Brooke didn’t, either. They all offered condolences and shit that didn’t matter. I didn’t want to hear, “We’re sorry for your loss,” or “Everything happens for a reason.”

Fuck that shit. Everything didn’t happen for a reason. Everything was fucked up right now. I wanted none of it.

Inside the church, my mind went blank.

As a firefighter, you never wanted to attend another firefighter’s funeral.

It made the possibility of it happening to you and your family real. You saw it. You saw the family suffering and knew that it could have been you. Death was suddenly right there in your face, taunting you. It reminded you just how precariously you were balancing on the edge of disaster.

There was heartache in this room. It was suffocating. Agony, excruciating agony that wouldn’t be relieved by anything I was about to say. The pain — it was unyielding, a merciless torture that wouldn’t let up, because with every breath, I knew he was no longer taking one.

Nothing would bring him back. Nothing. As devastating as that was, it was reality. Something I knew, understood, and had known would always be a reality of this life. I saw people die every day. Sometimes more than one a day. It never made it easier.

And I was proud to have fought on the line with him; I was a better person for having known him. A benevolent man, undefeated in nearly everything he did.

Soon Logan would be laid to rest. Buried. And soon people would forget him. But not us. We could never forget a guy like him. A man whose memory would always be there.

He had exceptional courage when others didn’t, and never doubted the ones he loved.

Could I say the same about myself?

Death brings a lot of questions.

Command to dispatch, Seattle PD has a male victim now in custody and checking building. Two patients now being transported.

10-4, do you need more ambulances?

No.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Aubrey

I
WASN’T
sure, but I knew today could go either way. There was a part of me that was curious as to how Jace would react today — and every other day from this day forward.

We’d already had our problems looming over us. Now we had this, and I had no idea how to comfort him.

Don’t take this as being selfish, because it wasn’t that. All this was about me thinking that Jace would either push me away further, or that Logan’s death would bring us closer together.

My mom’s brother was killed in a car accident when I was ten. He was driving drunk. I wasn’t close to him, but I was to his daughter, my cousin. When her dad died, she and her mother got really close. Her younger sister went the opposite way and pushed everyone away. Now she’s a prostitute.

I really hoped that wouldn’t happen to Amelia. She was such a sweet little girl.

But you never know how someone’s death will change your life.

Do you get my point here?

Death does things to those of us left behind. It sometimes changes us in ways that, had the ones we lost still been there, wouldn’t have happened. It puts doubts and fears of the unknown into our minds.

There was no way you can imagine that kind of numbing hurt, either. The kind of pain that takes your heart and beats for it, because if not for the pain, you wouldn’t be breathing at all.

“J
UST LOOK
at it for me.” I loved that Axe was trying to make him laugh. He needed it, and it was exactly what Logan would have done.

“No fucking way.” He looked at me. “Can we switch seats, please? I’m not checking out Axe’s dick for him.”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

Axe was trying to get him to laugh. It was sweet.

When we arrived at the church, Jace regarded it with steely eyes. With a deep breath, he did what his friend needed him to do, for he was the “brave” he said his friend was.