Chapter 4
Carina Hadn’t Slept.
Not really.
Not in the way she needed to.
She had dozed off for a few minutes at a time, her body exhausted beyond words, but every time her eyes closed, a sharp pang of fear jolted her awake.
Because every time she drifted into unconsciousness, she would remember—
The phone call.
The panic.
The way her heart had stopped beating for a moment when she heard Andy’s voice on the other end of the line.
And when she had arrived, when she had seen Maya lying there, when she had touched her face and felt the warmth of her skin and the slow rise and fall of her chest, she had been able to breathe again.
But only just.
Because something still didn’t feel right.
And Carina couldn’t ignore it.
She had spent the entire night sitting in that horribly uncomfortable hospital chair, curled up next to the bed, her hand never once letting go of Maya’s.
She had listened to the sound of the oxygen machine, the steady beeping of the monitors, the slow, even rhythm of Maya’s brbreathing.
And still—
It wasn’t enough to quiet the fear pressing against her ribs.
Because she could feel it.
A whisper in the back of her mind.
A warning she couldn’t shake.
Something was wrong.
And she didn’t know how to fix it.
Maya Stirred Just Before Sunrise.
Carina felt it first—the slight shift of fingers against hers, the way Maya’s grip tightened just slightly, like she was reaching for something before she was fully awake.
Carina lifted her head immediately, exhaustion still heavy behind her eyes.
“Maya?” she whispered, her voice softer than it had been in days.
Maya’s eyelids fluttered.
She let out a slow, sleepy breath, her body shifting slightly under the hospital blanket, her brows furrowing just a little before her eyes finally opened.
Carina felt her chest tighten.
Because Maya’s eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, were still hers.
Still warm.
Still alive.
And for a moment—
Just a brief moment—
Carina allowed herself to believe that everything was okay.
"Hey, bella."
Maya blinked at her slowly, her lips curving into the smallest, sleepiest smile.
“Hey,” she murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep and smoke inhalation.
Carina exhaled, shifting closer to the bed, her free hand reaching up to brush strands of hair from Maya’s forehead.
Her fingers lingered.
Because she had to touch her.
Had to feel her.
Had to remind herself that she was still here.
Maya let out a slow breath, leaning into her touch.
“How are you feeling?” Carina whispered.
Maya sighed, stretching just slightly, wincing at the ache in her muscles.
“Tired,” she admitted. “Sore.”
Carina’s fingers traced gently over her cheek, her worry deepening.
“That’s expected,” she murmured, but her voice was too careful, too soft, and Maya caught it immediately.
The blonde let out a gentle hum, tilting her head slightly.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice still raspy but soaked with concern.
Carina huffed out a weak laugh, shaking her head.
“You’re the one in the hospital bed,” she reminded her.
Maya smirked, barely.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “But you look worse.”
Carina sighed, shifting on the chair, rubbing at her temple.
“I didn’t sleep much,” she admitted.
Maya’s smirk softened, her brows furrowing slightly.
She squeezed Carina’s hand.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
Carina inhaled sharply, her heart aching.
“Don’t apologize,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Just—” her voice caught, just for a second, before she took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay steady. “Just don’t scare me like that again.”
Maya’s fingers tightened around hers.
“I won’t,” she whispered.
Carina wanted to believe her.
Desperately.
But something about the way she said it—
Something about the way she wasn’t meeting her eyes—
Made Carina’s stomach twist.
Maya shifted again, adjusting the pillows behind her, wincing slightly as she moved.
Carina moved instantly, hands gentle, guiding, steadying.
“Here,” she murmured, voice full of unspoken tenderness. “Let me help.”
Maya let her, exhaling softly, her body relaxing under Carina’s touch.
And then—
For the first time in hours—
A silence settled between them that wasn’t heavy.
That wasn’t filled with fear.
That wasn’t weighed down by unspoken truths.
Maya let out a slow breath, tilting her head slightly.
“Lay with me,” she murmured.
Carina blinked.
Maya gave her a soft smile, her fingers squeezing gently.
“Please?”
Carina let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
“Maya, the bed is too small for—”
“I don’t care,” Maya cut in, her voice still quiet, still rough, but so full of love.
Carina hesitated.
Because part of her wanted to say no.
Wanted to keep her distance—not physically, but emotionally.
Because if she let herself get too close, she would have to acknowledge that something still felt wrong.
But then—
Maya’s fingers brushed against her wrist, a touch so gentle, so full of unspoken need, and Carina couldn’t resist.
She sighed.
And climbed onto the bed, shifting carefully, pressing close.
Maya let out a soft sigh, curling into her, her face resting against Carina’s shoulder, her hand slipping down to rest on Carina’s stomach.
Carina felt her chest tighten.
Because Maya’s fingers—warm and familiar and safe—brushed over her barely-there bump, tracing slow, gentle circles.
“Hey, little one,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Carina’s throat locked.
Maya let out a soft, breathless laugh.
“I scared your mama,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to. But she’s really stubborn, so she won’t admit that she’s still worried about me.”
Carina let out a choked laugh, blinking rapidly.
Maya’s fingers kept tracing.
“She won’t tell me what she’s thinking right now, but I know she’s scared.”
Carina swallowed hard.
Because Maya wasn’t wrong.
She just wasn’t saying the whole truth.
She was scared.
But not just because of what had happened.
Not just because Maya had been in danger.
But because something was still wrong.
And Maya wasn’t telling her what.
Carina exhaled slowly, her fingers slipping into Maya’s hair, stroking gently.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Maya smiled softly, eyes closed.
“I love you too.”
And for now—
For this one moment—
Carina let herself believe that was enough.
Even though she knew it wasn’t.
Maya Walked Into the Station Like Nothing Had Happened.
She had barely been discharged from the hospital.
She had barely slept.
She had barely been able to look Carina in the eye that morning, knowing the exhaustion clinging to her wife had more to do with worrying about her than the baby growing inside of her.
But she walked into the station anyway.
Head high. Shoulders squared. Movements sharp and practiced.
Because that was what she did.
She pushed forward. She kept moving.
The smell of coffee and damp gear hit her the second she stepped inside. The familiar sounds of shuffling boots, the soft chatter of her team in the common area, the distant hum of the treadmill from the gym—it all felt normal.
And normal was exactly what she needed right now.
She needed to erase the last two days.
Needed to forget the fire, the hospital, the way she had woken up to find Carina gripping her hand like she was afraid she’d slip away again.
She couldn’t afford to dwell.
Not now.
Not ever.
She made a beeline for the locker room, her fingers already moving on instinct—unzipping her duffel, pulling out her gear, lacing up her boots with a tightness in her jaw that she refused to acknowledge.
Everything was fine.
She was fine.
And no one was going to tell her otherwise.
She Was Halfway Through Her Routine When Andy Walked In.
Maya had been in the gym for almost twenty minutes, the treadmill pounding beneath her feet, sweat dripping down her spine.
She was going too fast.
Too hard.
Her lungs still felt tight, her ribs still ached, but she didn't stop.
Because if she ran fast enough, maybe she wouldn’t think.
Wouldn’t think about how her hands had started shaking when she put on her gear this morning.
Wouldn’t think about the way her chest had clenched when she smelled the faintest trace of smoke in the air.
Wouldn’t think about how she had frozen in that fire, just like she had in the wildfire before it.
She cranked the speed higher.
Ran harder.
Ignored the burn in her legs, the way her heart hammered against her ribs—
Until she saw Andy standing in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her.
Maya's hands tightened into fists on the treadmill rails.
Because she already knew what was coming.
She forced herself to slow down, breathing heavier than she should have as she hit the stop button, stepping off the treadmill like she wasn’t just trying to outrun her own thoughts.
She grabbed her towel, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she gave Andy a forced smirk.
"Here to remind me how fast I am?" she teased, voice too light, too casual.
Andy didn't bite.
Didn't even move.
She just stared at her for a beat too long, assessing her.
And that—
That was when Maya knew this wasn’t just a normal conversation.
This was something else
Something she wasn’t going to like.
"You’re On Desk Duty."
Maya blinked.
The words barely registered for a second.
She had been expecting Andy to lecture her, to tell her to take it easy, to ask how she was feeling.
But this—
This was something else entirely.
She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head as she grabbed her water bottle.
"Yeah, no," she muttered, taking a sip. "Not happening."
Andy didn't even flinch.
“This isn’t up for debate.”
Maya’s grip tightened around the bottle.
She set it down slowly, turning fully toward Andy, crossing her arms to match her stance.
"So, what? You’re benching me?” she challenged.
Andy’s jaw clenched.
“You collapsed in a fire, Maya.”
Maya scoffed.
“I inhaled a little too much smoke," she corrected.
Andy’s brows shot up.
“A little too much smoke?” she repeated, voice laced with disbelief.
Maya rolled her eyes, moving past her toward the locker room, grabbing her towel.
But Andy stepped in front of her, cutting off her path.
And now—
Now Maya’s irritation flared.
She squared her shoulders.
“I’m fine.”
Andy’s expression darkened.
“You’re not.”
Maya’s fists curled at her sides.
“I am."
Andy inhaled sharply, tilting her head.
"You froze, Maya," she said, voice low, firm. "Not once. Twice."
Maya's stomach tightened.
Her breath hitched.
For a second—
Just a second—
Her mind flashed back to the fire.
To the way the heat had curled around her.
To the way she had stood still, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to function.
She shoved it down immediately.
“I didn’t freeze,” she muttered.
Andy’s eyes burned into hers.
“Yes, you did.”
Maya’s heartbeat pounded.
Her fingers twitched.
She needed to shut this down.
Now.
"I'm fine," she snapped.
Andy’s gaze didn’t waver.
"No, you’re not."
Maya exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered.
Andy’s voice hardened.
"If you keep ignoring this, I’m calling Diane."
Maya froze.
Her whole body went rigid.
Because that—
That was too far.
Her hands curled into fists.
"You don’t get to do that."
Andy stepped closer, eyes unrelenting.
"I do if it means keeping you alive."
Maya's chest tightened.
Her pulse spiked.
She wanted to argue.
Wanted to tell Andy to back off, that she was overreacting, that she was fine.
But Andy was watching her too closely.
Like she was waiting for Maya to crack.
And Maya—
Maya couldn't afford to crack.
So she forced herself to scoff, to roll her eyes, to shake her head like this conversation wasn’t grating against every nerve in her body.
"You're being dramatic," she muttered.
Andy’s lips pressed into a thin line.
"You know what’s dramatic?" she shot back. "Me having to drag your unconscious ass out of a burning building because you were too damn stubborn to admit something’s wrong."
Maya’s breath hitched.
Because the truth of it stung.
Because Andy wasn’t wrong.
But she still wasn’t ready to admit it.
So instead, she let out a sharp breath.
“Are we done?” she muttered.
Andy studied her for a long moment.
And then—
She nodded once.
“For now.”
Maya turned, walking away before she could say something she’d regret.
But Andy’s voice followed her.
“You’re on desk duty, Bishop,” she called after her. “That’s final.”
Maya didn’t stop.
Didn’t turn around.
Didn’t acknowledge the way her chest felt tight, suffocating, heavy.
Because she wasn’t fine.
She just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
Golden sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting soft patterns across the countertops. The scent of freshly brewed espresso curled through the air, blending with the aroma of warm bread and cinnamon.
Carina moved effortlessly between the stove and the counter, humming softly under her breath, the melody familiar and soothing—an old Italian song her mother used to sing while cooking.
The eggs were nearly done, the toast golden brown, the coffee still warm in its mug.
This was her ritual.
One of the few moments of normalcy she and Maya had left.
She had been trying—God, she had been trying—to keep things steady.
To remind Maya that she was here, that she wasn’t going anywhere, that their home was still warm and safe despite everything.
That even though Maya had collapsed in that fire, even though she was barely sleeping, even though she was pushing herself to the brink again—
Carina wasn’t leaving this time.
She sighed, brushing a stray curl behind her ear,her fingers pausing against the counter.
Maya had barely spoken last night.
Had barely met her eyes when she came home.
Had kissed her forehead—soft, lingering, almost like an apology—but hadn't said what was on her mind.
Carina had let it go.
Had told herself to wait.
To let Maya come to her on her own terms.
Because pushing too soon—that hadn’t worked before.
And she had learned that lesson the hard way.
So instead, she made breakfast.
Hummed softly.
Let herself believe, for just a moment, that maybe today would be different.
That maybe Maya would walk in, kiss her on the cheek, sit down, and eat something.
That maybe she would let her in.
But when the front door opened and closed with too much force, Carina felt it immediately.
That familiar, awful shift in energy.
Her humming stopped.
She turned toward the hallway just as Maya walked in.
And immediately, she knew.
This wasn’t going to be a good morning.
"What Happened?"
Maya barely looked at her.
She moved to the coffee machine with too much focus, like she needed something—anything—to keep her hands busy.
Carina watched as she poured herself a cup, her fingers gripping the handle just a little too tight, her posture too stiff, too controlled.
Carina had spent years studying the human body, years learning how to read tension, how to recognize distress even in people who didn’t want to admit it.
And right now—
Maya’s body was screaming.
Carina took a small step forward, keeping her voice gentle, even.
“Maya?”
Maya didn’t answer.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t even acknowledge her.
Carina felt something in her stomach twist.
She knew this silence.
Had seen it before.
Had lived through it before.
She took a slow breath, watching the way Maya’s shoulders tightened further, how she exhaled just a little too sharply.
“Maya, what happened?”
Her voice was softer now, filled with quiet concern.
Maya froze—just for a second.
Her fingers tightened around her coffee mug.
And then—
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head, her voice clipped, tired, frustrated.
“I am so sick of everyone asking me that.”
Carina’s breath hitched.
Because the way Maya said it—the way her voice edged with exhaustion, with exasperation, with something close to anger—
It wasn’t just irritation.
It was something deeper.
Like she was running out of patience.
Like she was running out of ways to pretend.
Carina felt her chest tighten.
She took another step forward, careful, slow, reaching.
“Maya,” she tried again, keeping her voice calm, steady, grounding.
But Maya just let out a dry laugh, shaking her head.
“Every single person—Andy, Vic, Travis, and now you,” she muttered. “It’s always Maya, what’s wrong? Maya, are you okay? Maya, maybe you should take a break.”
Her voice wasn’t raised.
Wasn’t aggressive.
But it cut deep anyway.
Carina exhaled slowly, trying to hold onto her patience, onto her concern, onto the love she felt even when Maya was pushing her away.
“Because we care,” she whispered.
Maya scoffed, rubbing a hand over her face.
“That’s great,” she muttered. “I don’t need everyone breathing down my neck.”
And that—
That was when Carina reached for her hand.
Instinctively.
Because she had always reached for her before.
Because Maya had always let her.
Because this was how they had always anchored each other.
But this time—
Maya pulled away.
Carina’s chest ached instantly.
Her fingers hesitated in the empty space where Maya’s hand had been.
And Maya—
Maya froze too.
Because she hadn’t meant to pull away.
She hadn’t meant to do that.
But she had.
And now, she had to live with it.
Because when she finally looked at Carina, she saw it—
The hurt.
The same hurt she had put there before.
The same hurt she had sworn she wouldn’t cause again.
But instead of saying anything, instead of reacting, instead of pulling her hands back or arguing or pushing further—
Carina just stared at her for a second.
And then, she took a step back.
Just enough.
Just enough for Maya to feel the distance loud and clear.
Maya’s stomach sank.
She had done it again.
The silence stretched too long, too heavy.
And suddenly—
Maya remembered.
The hospital.
The empty closet.
Carina packing her bags and leaving their apartment.
The memory slammed into her, suffocating, sharp, painful.
Because she had almost lost her.
And now—
Now, she was doing it again.
Carina was pregnant.
Pregnant with their baby.
And she was still pushing her away.
Still refusing to let her in.
Still distancing herself from the one person who had never walked away from her, even when she had every reason to.
Maya felt sick.
Because what the hell was she doing?
"Carina, wait—"
Maya stepped forward, voice quieter now, softer, desperate.
But Carina was already grabbing her coat, slipping her arms through the sleeves, moving too smoothly, too practiced.
Like she had already expected this.
Maya hated that.
Hated that Carina had been preparing for her to react this way.
She reached for her again.
"Carina, please—"
But Carina shook her head.
Not harshly.
Not angrily.
Just quietly.
And somehow, that was so much worse.
“I don’t want to do this right now,” Carina whispered.
Maya felt her chest cave in.
Because Carina wasn’t leaving.
But she was hurting.
And it was Maya’s fault.
Again.
Carina Needed to Leave.
Not because she wanted to.
Not because she was walking away from Maya.
But because if she stayed any longer—if she let herself look at Maya, really look at her—she might not be able to hold herself together.
And she needed to hold herself together.
Because Maya wasn’t.
Because Maya was falling apart, and she wouldn’t let Carina catch her.
Because this morning was just another reminder that nothing had changed.
Carina had woken up hoping for something softer.
Something lighter.
She had made breakfast, hummed an old Italian song, let herself believe that maybe today wouldn’t feel like walking on broken glass.
But the second Maya walked through the door—
She had known.
The tension.
The exhaustion.
The way Maya had snapped the second she had asked what was wrong.
It was all too familiar.
It was the same thing over and over again.
Maya refusing to talk.
Maya pretending to be fine.
Maya pushing her away, then realizing too late that she had done it.
Carina couldn’t do it.
Not right now.
So she went to Liam’s room.
Because Liam was safe.
Because Liam was the one part of their life that still felt untouched by this storm.
Because Liam wouldn’t see the hurt in her face, wouldn’t feel the weight in her chest, wouldn’t ask her why Maya kept doing this.
She leaned over the crib, brushing her fingers lightly through his curls, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his tiny chest.
He was still sleeping, peaceful, unaware.
And Carina wanted to keep it that way.
She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead.
"Ti voglio bene, piccolo mio."
She closed her eyes for a second, inhaling deeply.
Then she turned.
And saw Maya standing in the doorway.
Watching her.
Eyes unreadable.
Fists clenched at her sides.
And Carina knew.
Knew this wasn’t over.
Knew Maya was about to try to fix this the way she always did—too little, too late.
And she couldn’t do this in front of Liam.
So she walked past her.
And Maya—of course Maya followed.
Because this fight wasn’t over.
Not even close.
The Second They Stepped Into the Hallway, Carina Turned.
And before Maya could speak—
Before she could try to explain, to soften, to say something that wouldn’t be enough—
Carina’s voice came sharp and tired.
"It’s always the same thing, Maya.”
Maya froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Because she had expected distance.
Expected Carina to brush past her, to leave without another word.
But this?
This wasn’t Carina walking away.
This was Carina breaking.
“You never let me in,” she continued, her voice trembling, barely holding steady.
Maya swallowed hard.
“That’s not—”
Carina laughed.
And it wasn’t warm.
Wasn’t soft.
It was bitter.
It was exhausted.
It was the sound of someone who had given too much for too long.
“Do you even hear yourself?” she whispered.
Maya stayed silent.
Because what was she supposed to say?
Carina shook her head.
“Maya, you keep everything inside. You tell me you’re fine, but I see you. I see the way your hands shake, I see the way you can’t sleep, I see the way you disappear inside yourself. And when I ask—when I try to help—you act like I’m suffocating you.”
Maya’s chest tightened.
Because she wanted to deny it.
Wanted to tell Carina she was overreacting.
Wanted to say she was fine.
But she couldn’t.
Because Carina was right.
She had seen it.
Seen the way Maya had woken up gasping for air in the middle of the night, pretending it was nothing.
Seen the way Maya had started running in the middle of the night again, chasing something she couldn’t outrun.
Maya swallowed, her throat tight, painful.
“I’m not trying to push you away,” she murmured.
Carina let out a breath, shaking her head.
“That’s the problem,” she whispered.
“You don’t even realize you’re doing it.”
Maya’s pulse spiked.
Because that was the truth, wasn’t it?
She didn’t mean to.
She didn’t want to.
But she was.
And now—
Now she was losing Carina.
Carina sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples, inhaling deeply.
“I don’t want to do this before work,” she finally said.
Maya’s stomach dropped.
Because this wasn’t a fight.
Carina wasn’t yelling.
Wasn’t arguing.
Wasn’t trying to pull the words out of her anymore.
She was just…
Tired.
Maya stepped forward, her hands shaking slightly.
“Carina, I—”
But Carina shook her head.
“I can’t keep doing this.”
Maya’s breath hitched.
Not I’m leaving.
Not I’m done.
Just—
I can’t keep doing this.
And that was worse.
Because Carina hadn’t given up yet.
But she was getting close.
Maya’s throat tightened.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
Carina took a slow breath, adjusting the strap of her bag, running a hand over her belly.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
And Maya let her.
Because for the first time—
She wasn’t sure if she had the right to stop her.
She stood there.
Frozen.
Listening as the door opened.
As it closed.
As the house suddenly felt too big, too empty, too quiet.
And Maya—
Maya finally let herself realize—
That she was the reason for all of it.