Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) by Zoe Norman Read Free Book Online Page A

fucking toy box!” I continue to shout at the horrified mother.
    “Maxwell! That’s enough! She doesn’t need you making her feel worse,” Walt says, turning me around and walking me toward the company rig.
    “She doesn’t deserve those kids!” I reply, shaking my head.
    “It won’t be an issue anymore, Maxwell,” Walt murmurs. “The kids didn’t make it, Owen. They were gone before they made it to the ambulance. Too much smoke inhalation,” Walt says, gripping my shoulder tight.
    I look up to meet Walt’s gaze and lower my head again, shaking it from side to side. I knew the kids couldn’t have survived, but it stings to have my fears confirmed. “Fuck...” I breathe out, bringing my hands to my head as I turn to watch the building burn.
    “You did all you could, Owen.” He squeezes my shoulder again and turns to walk back toward the trucks.
    “I could have saved them,” I mumble.
    “Excuse me?” Walt asks, stopping in his tracks.
    “I could have saved them,” I say quietly, repeating myself. “I found them in the second room I checked. The smoke… It was so thick…I didn’t see… They could have been alive when I was in the room the first time.” I turn to look at my commanding officer with wide eyes filled with regret. “I called out…I did, but I didn’t hear them scream. I…I didn’t see the toy box. They were in a fucking toy box, Walt! Huddled together! Why didn’t I see the box?”
    “Owen,” Walter consoles. “Owen, you’re not at fault here. Those kids were likely gone before you got to the room the first time.”
    “No. I could have done more. I could have done better. Their faces… You didn’t see their faces...” I plead with him, disgusted with myself.
    “Get in the rig, Maxwell,” Walt says. “Let’s get you back to the firehouse.”
    For months, I wasn’t right. I was depressed and kept beating myself up about what I could have done differently and how I could have approached the rescue better. During my two weeks of mandatory medical leave, I had plenty of time to ruminate about it. I’ve lost people before in fires; I’ve come across scenes more grisly than this. But these two… They were just babies and the youngest I’ve had to rescue in my career. But I didn’t rescue them. I should have, but I didn’t.
    After the first call on my first day back to work, I was visibly shaking and I couldn’t understand why. When the initial blast of heat from the fire hit me, I was back in the children’s room at the apartment fire again. I struggled through the rescue without incident, but that night, while sleeping at the firehouse, I woke up in a cold sweat and my heart was beating so hard that I thought I was having a heart attack at the age of thirty-four. My captain got wind of the nightmares and ‘strongly encouraged’ me to talk to the department’s psychologist. Not having much of a choice, I made an appointment to see them the next day.
    The shrink was a joke. He just sat there, shook his head, and took a few notes. He didn’t tell me how I could help myself or give me tricks for stopping the nightmares. Seriously. What kind of help is it when they just listen and don’t give any advice?
    On my second visit, we ended up sitting in silence. I didn’t have anything more to tell him. I had talked ad nauseam about it during the last session, so he had gotten all he was going to get out of me. I was done talking about it. He was the one who was supposed to be helping me. Toward the end of the session, he assured me that things would get easier. That, in time, I would learn to process my feelings.
    I could process my feelings on my own, thank you very much.
    After the third required session and getting nowhere, I made the decision to stop seeing the asshole.
    As time went on, I was doing better. The nightmares became more and more infrequent. I started getting more sleep and adjusting to a new normal. The nightmares came and went, and after a while, I put