“A firefighter from Engine Fifty-Five has been taken to hospital,” the anchor on the news channel says.

I stare at my phone, wishing, pleading, praying that it will ring.

“The fire is finally out, but it took a lot of resources and crews to accomplish. Many in charge are comparing it to the fire six months ago that took the life of Firefighter Hunter Zaxby.”

Nope. I’m not waiting.

I grab my purse and my keys, not caring that I’m in my pajamas.

Racing over to the fire station is scarier than when I checked up on Mauro the first time. I’m so much more invested in our future now. Which I’m not sure I realized until this moment. It always takes something big like this, right? How fucking stupid.

Pulling up, I park on a side street and head up the sidewalk, with each footstep unsure of my decision, but he’s my boyfriend, and I need to know he’s okay.

I round the corner and the truck pulls in, some of the guys hopping out, hugging the women waiting for them. Mumblings of I love you and I was so worried can be heard coming from the women while the men give them assurances of how they were safe and had the fire beat the entire time.

I smile at the man with soot all over his face, cradling his wife’s stomach, relief etched in his face.

“They were trapped and couldn’t get out,” one man says to his wife. “The ambulance took him before I saw anything. They called his brother.”

My heart stops beating and blood rushes in my ears.

Oh my God, it was Mauro. They called Cristian or Luca, I know it.

Why would they not call me?

Because they don’t have my number.

“Excuse me?” I approach the man, needing to know. “The injured firefighter?”

The big man raises his eyebrows and purses his lips like he’s not going to tell me shit.

“Do you know if Mauro Bianco is back yet?” I ask.

“MAURO!” a woman’s voice screeches from behind me.

I turn to see Cailin running across two lanes of traffic, not stopping, heading right to the other side of the truck.

“He’s right there, ma’am,” the guy says to my back and then continues his conversation about whoever the injured firefighter is.

My eyes are glued to the end of the truck, watching Mauro emerge and drop his gear, opening his arms to Cailin. Burrowing his head into her neck, he picks her up like a man coming home from war.

My mouth hangs open and tears prick my eyes.

Mauro places her back on her feet and she looks into his eyes, her hands on his face, his shoulders, like she’s trying to make sure he’s real. It’s like I’m having an out of body experience or peering into an intimate moment between lovers.

Nausea rumbles in my stomach.

She raises on her tiptoes, keeping his head firmly between her hands.

I watch the scene unfold and I can’t look away even though it’s torture and I know I’ll never be able to clear the visual out of my head.

Their lips meet and I close my eyes, tears spilling down my cheeks. The roller coaster of emotions my body went through in the last five minutes too much to deal with.

Turning around, I walk away.

“Hey, Madison, right?” One of the guys from earlier today reaches out to me. “Your guy was quite the hero today. He saved my ass.”

I nod. His pregnant wife looks at me with sympathy, probably because I’m crying and walking away from the scene. She obviously sees something her husband doesn’t.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” I say and step away.

“Wait. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.” His hand lands on my forearm, but his wife hits his arm and he turns to see what she’s talking about. “Oh.”

Sympathy that matches his wife’s tells me I don’t need a second look.

Instead, I round the corner of the street and when I get into the safety of my car, I down the entire bag of M&Ms in my purse, before ripping the wrapper into small pieces. I never want to see those initials again.