Trevor is perched on the edge of the couch. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs as he looks at me.

“What do you mean you hesitated?” he asks.

“I hesitated, putting not only my life at risk, but the lives of my students, and inadvertently you and Mikey’s lives as well.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and tell Trevor everything that happened that day. I tell him about my goal of living up to my father’s standards, then about wavering when the alarms went off. I tell him how I forgot the boys were in the bathroom and every little detail in between, and when I’m done, my heart is racing, my palms are sweaty, and tears are threatening to spill from my eyes.

“Claire.” Trevor runs a hand along his jaw and shakes his head. “You did not make a mistake. You got your entire class out. You saved those boys’ lives.”

Damn it, that’s exactly what I don’t want to hear. I was stupid for thinking Trevor would look at this any differently than everyone else.

“You don’t understand, Trevor, and I don’t expect you to.”

He flinches as though my words slapped him across the face. “Are you serious? I don’t understand? Do you know how many times I’ve wondered if I’ve done the right thing? And I do this for a living, Claire. This is my job. Every single day, people depend on me to react quickly and make the right choice. Some days are great and I save a life, and other days I’m not so lucky. Do you know what that does to a man, wondering if something he did—a choice he made—could’ve been the deciding factor in someone’s life? I live with that guilt on a daily basis, Claire. So yes, I get it. I understand what you’re going through, probably better than anyone else ever will.”

Shit. Now I feel like an ass because he’s right. I can’t imagine how stressful his job must be. “How do you do it? This one thing has my head so messed up I can barely function, let alone concentrate. How do you deal with it day in and day out, over and over and over again?”

“It’s not easy,” he admits. “Some days are better than others. I’ve learned that in order to be happy and not let those moments consume me, I’ve got to check them at the door.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“I acknowledge what I’m feeling. I internalize it and accept it, and if it’s a really bad day, I let myself ponder it, and I get rip-roaring drunk, and then I let it go. Because if I don’t, it’ll consume me, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“It’s consuming me, Trevor. And you were right, it was stupid of me to go back into that building. I knew better—my dad taught me better than that. My whole life I’ve worked hard to make him proud, and I failed that night, Trevor. I failed him.”

My nose burns. My chin quivers. I drop it to my chest to try to hide the tears.

Trevor pulls me into his arms and holds me. He doesn’t whisper words of encouragement or inspiration, he simply offers me comfort in his warm, strong embrace. I open the floodgates and let it all out. I cry harder than I’ve ever cried. I cry for the pain I still feel from the loss of my father. I cry for Mom and the years she’s had to live without the love of her life. I cry for Milo and Mo and Rhett and Cooper. I cry because Trevor has to deal with this sort of thing every single day. I cry for Tara and Troy and Marcus and all of the kids in the building that day. But most of all, I cry for myself. I cry because I need to, because I have to purge this pain from my system so I can find some form of normalcy again.

Minutes pass, maybe hours—who the hell knows—but eventually the sobs slow and my tears dry. I pull back, but I can’t look Trevor in the eye, because I’m afraid if I do I’ll break all over again, and damn it, I’m tired of breaking.

So very tired of breaking, and tired of feeling all this guilt and shame.

“Claire, look at me.” It’s a gentle command.

I shake my head, my hair dropping in front of my face.

With a finger under my chin, Trevor lifts my head, and when our eyes connect, it’s as though he’s opened himself up to me, and I can see into his soul. It’s as if the worst moment in my life, aside from my father’s death, has bonded us in a way I’ll never experience with another human being.

“Do you know what I saw that day when Mikey and I busted through the bathroom door?”

I shake my head, afraid to talk.

“You were hovering over those boys, protecting them, putting their needs above your own. You were strong and brave, and it’s because of you that they made it out of there that day. I was so damn proud of you, Claire, and I know your dad would be as well, and I’m sorry if I let you believe otherwise.”

A tear slips down my face. Trevor frames my jaw with his hands. Using his thumb, he brushes the tear away.

“Can you imagine how scared Troy and Marcus would’ve been without you? They sure as hell wouldn’t have known to put a wet piece of cloth under the door to keep the smoke out, and what if they’d tried to run out of the building on their own? They could’ve gotten burned or killed by falling debris. I don’t care what you say. You will never convince me that you made the situation worse.”

His words soak into my soul, gripping it tight, forcing me to hear them, and I do. For the first time since the fire, I allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, I ultimately did the right thing. It’s overwhelming, and emotion bubbles up my throat. I let out an unladylike cry.

Trevor tucks me against his chest. “You’ve got to let it go, baby. You’ve got to move past this.”

I want to. God, how I want to. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Well, I do. I know you can, Claire, and I’m going to be here every step of the way. We’ll do it together, okay?”

Pinching my lips together—a poor attempt at not crying again—I nod.

“Good. That’s good. The first part of letting go is realizing that you’re okay. You’re alive and well and so are those boys, and the rest of the kids in your class.”

“And you.”

“And me.” With his arms still wrapped around me, Trevor leans back, and my heart flutters when he smiles. “We’re all okay. No one got killed or seriously injured. For now, I want you to focus on that. Focus on the lives that were saved instead of the what-ifs, because those what-ifs? They’ll eat you alive.”

“I’ve been what-if-ing myself to death.”

Trevor laughs. “I know you have, and it stops tonight.”

“Trevor?”

“Yeah?”

I lace my fingers with his, needing to feel his touch, hoping the warmth of his skin will continue to soothe me the way his words have. “Will you stay with me tonight? I’m tired of being alone.”

His eyes cloud over, darkening for a split second, and then he draws me closer into his arms. “Whatever you need, Red.”

“You. I just need you.”