desertion

67

LYDIA

The fire station was bustling when me and Miles arrived from work a few days later. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, and the familiar hum of activity made the station feel like a second home. I immediately made my way to the counter where Bobby stood with a clipboard, while Miles wandered over to join Buck, Hen, and Chimney by the truck.

"Hey, kiddo," Bobby greeted warmly, setting down his clipboard. "How are you holding up?"

I raised an eyebrow, sliding onto one of the stools. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? You're the one who just got out of the hospital after being shot."

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm fine, Lydia. But that's not what I meant." He paused, his tone softening. "Buck told me."

My brows knitted together in confusion for a moment before realization dawned. I sighed heavily. "The waiting room conversation."

Bobby nodded, his expression serious but kind.

I crossed my arms, my frustration evident. "Miles had no business telling him any of that. Now Buck's going to be even more worried about me."

"He has a right to be worried about you," Bobby said, his voice calm but firm. "We all do."

"There's nothing to worry about," I muttered, looking away.

Bobby's gaze didn't waver. "Lydia, there is something to worry about. The doctor may have said your seizures were caused by an electrolyte imbalance, but that doesn't mean it can't happen again. You need to take care of yourself."

I sighed again, nodding reluctantly. "I know. But I'm fine, Bobby. Really."

Before Bobby could respond, Dad appeared behind me, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Hey," he said softly. "Can we talk?"

I glanced up at him and nodded, sliding off the stool. I followed Dad to the nearby bunk room, where he closed the door behind us.

He turned to me, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Are you okay?" He asked bluntly. "Do we need to move your therapy session to more sooner?"

I shook my head quickly. "I'm fine, Dad."

Dad's jaw tightened. "Buck told me what Miles' said. About Chris stopping you from... you know."

My eyes narrowed, and I let out an exasperated sigh. "Miles had no business ever telling them that."

Dad's frustration began to show. "Miles was worried about you, Lydia. We all are. And you just brush it off like it doesn't matter—like it's nothing."

"Because it doesn't matter!" I snapped. "None of it does. I'm fine now!"

Dad's voice rose slightly, his patience thinning. "You think it doesn't matter? You think it wouldn't matter if I just woke up one day and you were gone? Just gone, Lydia? Do you know what that would do to me? To Chris?" He sighed, his voice cracking slightly. "Miles had every right to tell Buck if he was worried."

I sank onto one of the beds, burying my face in my hands. My voice was muffled as I said, "I don't want everyone worrying about me. They're wasting their time. I can handle myself!"

Dad sat down beside me, gently pulling my hands from my face. "You don't have to handle it alone, Mija," he said softly.

I looked at him, my eyes glistening with tears. "I just want to be okay," I whispered, my voice breaking.

"I know," Dad said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "We're going to figure it out together."

********

When I walked out of the bunk room, Miles was walking near the door. He smiled briefly but sensed my mood. "Ready to go?"

I nodded, but my expression was cold.

The drive home was tense. I stared out the window, arms crossed, as Miles occasionally glanced at me from the driver's seat.

Finally, he broke the silence. "What did your dad want to talk about?"

"He's worried about me," I said, my tone clipped. "Because someone—" I shot him a pointed look—"decided to tell Buck, Hen, and Chimney my business."

Miles cleared his throat, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "I was just worried about you, Lydia. So was everyone else."

"I get that," I snapped. "But you had no right to tell them anything."

Miles nodded slowly, his jaw clenching. "Fine. From now on, I just won't care."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Don't be dramatic."

Miles glanced at me, his tone sharp. "No you're the one who doesn't want anyone caring about you. You act like it's some crime for people to give a damn."

"I never said that!" I shot back.

"Really?" Miles said, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Then why do you keep pushing everyone away? You barely eat, you don't talk about what's bothering you, and you act like everything is fine when it's not!"

I froze, my anger simmering. "That's none of your business."

"It is when I'm the one watching you destroy yourself!" Miles snapped. "You think I don't notice when you skip meals? Or when you brush off everyone's concern like we're idiots? Newsflash, Lydia: you're not fooling anyone!"

My voice dropped to a low tone. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Miles let out a bitter laugh. "I know more than you think. And you know what? Maybe you don't want people caring about you because you don't even care about yourself!"

My chest tightened, his words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit.

********

When Miles pulled into my driveway, he sighed, his frustration still evident. "I'll pick you up in the morning."

"No need," I said coldly, opening the door. "I'll drive myself." I slammed the door shut behind me, not waiting for a response.

Miles watched her go, regret flashing across his face, but he didn't call after her.

Lydia stormed into the house, her emotions a whirlwind of anger, hurt, and exhaustion.