This is a work of fiction. While many of the places, organizations, and institutions mentioned in the story are real, the characters and events are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author has no affiliation with any real-world organizations or agencies referenced in the narrative. These references are included for authenticity and setting, not as endorsements or representations of those institutions.
The story does not endorse, excuse, or condone professional misconduct of any kind. Any actions or decisions made by fictional characters are solely in service of the narrative and are not intended to reflect real-world standards or practices.
Chapter One: Twin Falls
People always imagine a park ranger’s day to be all wilderness and coyotes: trekking through the backcountry, doing chin-ups on fallen logs, maybe searching for lost hikers before dusk. I get it. That’s the dream. That’s why I started down this path in the first place.
Reality in July, when Vancouver’s docks disgorge three cruise ships a day, and Lynn Canyon becomes a human traffic jam? It’s mediating screaming matches between Tesla owners, fishing Starbucks cups out of the creek, and praying today isn’t the one day of the week North Shore Rescue has to chopper someone off a mountain.
Not exactly what I pictured when I signed up three years ago.
Still, it beat sitting in a lecture hall or some internship in a tower on West Hastings. After three years in the University of British Columbia’s (UBC) Forestry program and going into my fourth year, I still needed this seasonal Park Ranger job, something tangible. A summer job where I could lace up my boots, breathe air that smelled like cedar and glacier melt, and feel useful, even if just barely.
My name’s Charlie—CJ to most of my close friends. I grew up in Maple Ridge, one of those bedroom communities feeding into Vancouver from the east. Full of new subdivisions and old habits, where people still go to church on Sundays. Not exactly the backwoods, but enough trees to make you feel like something ancient’s still holding on. I moved into the city for school at eighteen and haven’t looked back, though I’ll always feel more at home in hiking boots than anything you'd wear on The Drive. I’m twenty-one, lanky with a mountain-biker’s frame, messy chestnut brown hair that never sits flat after my helmet, and a decent beard if I let it grow, though I usually don’t. Singles’ easiest, most days. Dating as a gay guy in the outdoor scene isn’t exactly effortless, even in the outdoor paradise of Vancouver.
That morning, I’d already diffused a screaming match over a parking spot between a family from California and a couple from Washington. I stood there with my clipboard, wondering if any of my textbooks or papers had ever covered how to mediate a passive-aggressive standoff between a Tesla Model Y and a RAV4.
“We had our signal on before they even turned down the row,” said California.
“Yeah, well, we were waiting here for ten minutes,” Washington countered.
I didn’t pick sides. I just pointed out there’s more parking in the Lower Lot or for free along Peters Road, and told them to work it out like adults, which earned me two pairs of sunglasses thrown in my general direction and zero thanks.
As I walked back towards the crowds, the trail dipped beneath a cathedral of evergreens: Western Red Cedar, Douglas Fir, Hemlock. Sunlight filtered through the canopy like stained glass, and for a moment, it almost felt holy. What I love most is the contrast: the park’s so close to Vancouver’s glass towers, yet it feels ancient the second you step off the pavement, past the café and washrooms.
Until you reach the bridge.
Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge swings fifty meters above the rushing gorge, packed with international tourists every summer. While you might see Capilano Suspension Bridge on the postcards, Lynn Canyon is the free version, slightly further away from downtown Vancouver. Today it bounced with children daring each other to jump at the midspan and parents gripping the cables like they might suddenly snap.
On the trail to the Twin Falls Bridge below, I heard the cliff divers before I saw them.
Splash. Laughter. A whoop echoed off the canyon walls. It’s always the same teenage boys chasing adrenaline, girls egging them on, someone filming on their phone.
Five kids had scrambled through a hole in the fence down onto the rocks. One of them, lean, shirtless, probably not a day over eighteen, stood at the edge, pacing, bouncing on his heels.
I noticed him instantly. Not because he was about to do something reckless, but because something about him snagged my attention. His body was all lean muscle and sharp edges, golden hair dripping into his eyes, a restless kind of energy practically buzzing off him that made him the center of my attention.
The way he kept shifting his weight, the quick flashes of a cocky, nervous grin, there was something magnetic about it, something that prickled against my skin in a way I didn’t let myself think too hard about.
I leaned over what was left of the railing, above the multiple signs that read DANGER: FATAL INJURIES HAVE OCCURRED, and called down:
“You know you’re not supposed to be down there.”
The kid looked up, squinting through his mid-length, wet blonde hair. He had this half-smile like I was the punchline to some joke only he understood, and adjusted his underwear with a smirk.
Something tightened low in my gut, reflexive, unwelcome.
“We know what we’re doing,” he said, flipping his wet hair back with a cocky grin.
“So did the guy who cracked his skull open last August,” I said.
This is the part of the job that wears on you, knowing you can’t stop them. You can only warn, report, and hope.
Still, as I stood there, I realized I was watching him more than the others. Tracking his movements too closely. Worrying about him more than I should for just another dumb teenager in the canyon.
I lingered for a little bit, a slight unease churning in my stomach. I watched another teen jump, disappear, then break the surface, laughing. Then I turned and headed back up the stairs along the Baden-Powell Trail toward the main bridge and the crowds.
For exactly fifty-three minutes, I almost convinced myself it would be an ordinary Tuesday afternoon: sunbaked families, the distant shrieks of cliff divers, the constant inflow of vehicles vying for a prized parking spot. Then, as I traced the Baden-Powell route on a German couple's map (their Nikon dangling precariously near the railing), Base's transmission shattered the illusion.
"Ranger Three, come in." Static distorted the dispatcher's usual calm. "We've got a 10-54 at Twin Falls. Male jumper, three minutes underwater. BC Ambulance and District Fire Rescue are en route. You're closest."
The map fluttered from my grip. The Germans' questions died mid-syllable as my boots hit the trail too fast, too desperate for Canadian park-ranger professionalism.
Then my boots pounded down the stairs and the trail. Ferns whipping past my knees. Adrenaline like static under my skin. The sound of the creek roared louder the closer I got, no longer peaceful, more like a warning.
Someone had gone under.
Someone hadn’t come back up.
And I was the first responder on the scene.
My lungs burned by the time I returned to the Twin Falls bridge.
A dozen tourists packed along the narrow span, jostling for a view over the railings, their faces a blend of curiosity and unease. Phones were out, filming, snapping pictures. A few whispered in Spanish or Korean. I elbowed my way through, my gray ranger hat and uniform shirt finally earning me some space.
Down on the slick rocks where I’d seen them earlier, the four teens stood frozen. Two girls huddled together, clutching each other’s arms, and a boy in black board shorts and a backward Blue Jays cap paced in a tight circle, muttering something under his breath.
But it was the lanky blonde clad in just a pair of colourful, long PSD boxer briefs, the one who’d grinned at me, that made my stomach drop.
He was perched on a ledge, maybe two meters above the churning pool, still shirtless, shivering now despite the humid July air. His arms hung limp at his sides. His face was blank, almost stoic, except for his eyes, wide and fixed on the whitewater below like he could will it to give something back.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and called out.
"Hey! You, can you see him? Can you see the person in the water?"
He flinched slightly, but didn’t answer. Just kept staring.
One of the girls yelled up, voice cracking: "He never came up! He never, he never came up!"
I scanned the surface, heart thudding in my ears. Nothing was moving or visible in the dark green pool below them, but I knew how deadly those undercurrents were from my previous two summers.
"Did he hit his head on the way in?" I shouted. "Was there blood?"
The kid in the ball cap swore under his breath and turned away, hands gripping his hair through the hole in the front.
I keyed my radio, forcing my voice steady. "Base, this is Ranger Three. On scene at Twin Falls. No visual on the subject. Request urgent update on ETA for Fire Rescue."
Static. Then: "Ranger Three, copy. I can hear Fire Rescue pulling in now. Delta One is running down there now to deploy with them. They should be on you in five. BCAS still on route."
I squeezed the radio so hard my knuckles whitened.
Five minutes. In this current, five minutes was a lifetime.
I leaned over the railing again. Somewhere down there, under the whitewater and boulders, a kid was either fighting for his life or already gone, and all I could do was wait. Every second dragged heavy and useless across my skin. But just standing here while people crowded the bridge, filming? That wasn’t an option.
I turned and cupped my hands around my mouth again.
"Everyone back! Clear the bridge! Off the trail, please!" I barked, sharper this time. "Rescue's inbound! We need access!"
Murmurs rose, some confused, some annoyed, but slowly, the tourists peeled back from the railings, their sneakers scuffing against the wooden planks as they retreated uphill.
I pivoted back toward the kids on the rocks.
"You four, you need to get back up here!" I called, trying to slice through their shock without spooking them worse. "Away from the water, now!"
The two girls started like I'd fired a gun. They stumbled backward, clutching each other, scrambling for the narrow goat path that led back up toward the trail. The kid in the ball cap cursed under his breath but followed, fists jammed in his boardshort pockets.
Only the blond kid, the one in nothing but long PSD boxers, didn't move.
He stayed crouched on the ledge, locked into the water like it was hypnotizing him.
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, then softened my voice. "Hey, man. I need you to listen."
No reaction. His shoulders were trembling now, the way a tree shakes before it falls.
"You can't help him by staying there," I said, pitching my voice low and even, like coaxing a spooked animal. "Come on. You gotta move. You gotta be safe so the firefighters can get in."
For a long, terrible second, I thought he wasn't going to respond.
Then, shakily, he stood.
The kid swayed on his feet, blinking like he was waking up from a nightmare. He clambered back over the wet rocks, slipping once on the moss-slick stone. I took three steps down the trail to meet him, catching his elbow before he could fall.
“Easy,” I said, steadying him. Up close, I could see he was young, maybe eighteen, but not a kid. He had a wiry strength to him, a toughness that didn't match how vulnerable he looked shivering in just his damp underwear.
He stared at me blankly. His mouth opened once, like he was about to say something, but no words came.
I gave his arm a firm squeeze.
"Stay with your friends," I said, guiding him gently up the slope. "Don't move from there, okay? Just stay put."
He nodded numbly.
As soon as the kids were huddled against the base of a cedar, I turned back, just in time to hear the rapid crunch of boots from the opposite bank.
"CJ!" a familiar voice barked.
I spun to see Dean Bidwell, Delta One, my direct supervisor and 10 years my senior, hustling down the stairs in his black District jacket, a grim set to his jaw. Behind him, three Fire Rescue techs lugged gear: rope kits, dry suits, and an orange rescue basket.
"Dean," I said, breathless.
"You were first on scene?" he asked, eyes already sweeping the canyon.
"Yeah. No visual. He's been under for almost 15 minutes now."
Dean swore under his breath, then clapped a hand on my shoulder, not for comfort, just confirmation. I was still useful. Still part of the response.
"Good work clearing the rocks. Stay with the witnesses. We’ll take it from here."
I nodded, my mouth dry as kindling, and watched as they spread out, ropes uncoiling, orders flying sharp and fast.
I backed up toward the four teens, who looked impossibly small now, shivering in their swimsuits and sneakers, surrounded by towering trees and adults in uniform.
The blonde one, the one who hadn't moved, had sunk down with his back against the cedar trunk, arms wrapped tight around his knees, face hidden.
There was something about him that made my chest tighten. Maybe it was the way he looked so alone, curled into himself like that. Or the way his damp, messy hair stuck to his forehead in the humidity, the quiet defiance in the way he held his ground despite everything.
I crouched next to him, offering an emergency blanket from my pack, keeping my distance, close enough that he could hear me but far enough that he might feel some space, still unsure if he'd push me away.
"Hey," I said quietly. "I'm Charlie. What's your name, man?"
A long pause. Then, muffled:
"Drew."
"Okay, Drew," I said softly, glancing down at his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. "You're safe now. You're doing good."
His response didn’t come in words, but his tense posture relaxed ever so slightly. I could feel the weight of that silence, the shared moment that pulled me in more than I expected.
The truth was, we didn’t know if his friend was ok. The river had gone quiet again, except for the low roar of the current downstream.
Across the rocks, the rescue team moved with steady, seasoned movements, they had done this same rescue here multiple times before. A diver in an orange drysuit gave a thumbs-up signal. Then, one after another, they slid into the cold water, the surface splitting around them.
Beside me, Drew sat hunched, his knees tucked inside the blanket like he was trying to shrink away from everything. His hair, still damp, stuck to his forehead in messy strands. Every so often, he'd sniff, but the silence between us was heavy and filled with more unspoken words than I knew how to say.
I stayed close, positioning myself between him and the worst of the scene, though I couldn’t help notice the small tremor in his shoulders that had nothing to do with the light breeze. Something about him, the way he looked right now, vulnerable, but not broken, had a pull on me that I couldn’t shake.
I nudged Drew lightly with my elbow, trying to offer even the smallest distraction. "Hey... those are some cool boxers, by the way," I said, nodding at the yellow fabric. "SpongeBob, huh?"
A weak laugh bubbled out of him, just a breath, but it was something, something that made my chest tighten.
"Yeah," he rasped, voice barely there. "They’re... uh. PSD. Got 'em at Zumiez."
He tugged self-consciously at the blanket, trying to cover himself better, and I was drawn to how the fabric of the underwear clung to his damp skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. I looked away quickly, trying to focus on something else, anything else.
"Stylish choice," I said, trying to keep it light, but my voice came out a little softer than I had envisioned.
Drew gave a tiny, lopsided smile, his attention snapping back to the river. But something in the way his gaze lingered a little longer than it needed to, it wasn’t just the water he was focused on. My heart gave a little jolt as I realized how enthralled I was with this teen, even in this raw, quiet moment.
At least 20 minutes dragged out painfully. Then, finally, one of the surface techs waved a hand. The rescuers moved into position, two of them hauling something heavy up from below. My stomach twisted as I caught sight of a black and gray Ripcurl wetsuit, the arms limp, the body unmoving between them.
The rescuers wrestled him into the orange rescue basket. The ones meant for rough terrain. Their grim faces told me everything: there would be no CPR attempt.
I tightened my arm around Drew. "Don't look, bud," I murmured, steering his head back toward me.
He stayed buried in my blanket, nodding miserably.
Two firefighters onshore shouted up the trail, signaling to the paramedics.
A pair of medics came pounding down the steep stairs with a spineboard and extra hands.
Together, they hoisted the rescue basket with the teen inside and started the long, grueling carry up the dusty, uneven trail toward the parking lot. It would be another ten minutes before they even reached the waiting ambulance.
I exhaled slowly, heart heavy. This was going to be on the six o'clock news.
Lynn Canyon Cliff Jumping Tragedy. Another teenage boy was lost in the water. I'd seen it before, but it never stopped hurting.
Dean appeared beside me, his face expressionless. "You good with him?" he asked quietly, nodding at Drew.
I nodded back. "Yeah. We're staying put for a bit."
Dean gave me a firm pat on the shoulder before following the paramedics up the trail, already fielding radio calls about people blocked in by the firetrucks.
I waited until the last paramedic’s bootsteps faded up the trail before turning to Drew. His SpongeBob boxers had mostly dried in the July air, but he still looked like a half-drowned alley cat, all wiry limbs and hollowed-out shock.
“Your clothes,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Where’d you ditch your bag?”
It took a few seconds, like he had to swim up from someplace deep to even register the question.
"My bag...," he croaked, licking his lips, voice rough from the canyon air. He blinked like he was just remembering he had a body at all. "Left it along the fence."
"Alright," I said gently. "How about we go grab it, huh? Can’t be running around in just your underwear."
For the first time, he looked right at me, brown eyes wide and raw. Trust flickered there, fragile, but real, and I felt it hit me square in the chest.
I stood and offered him my hand, trying to be friendly even as my pulse kicked up a notch. For a second, he hesitated, then his cold fingers slid into mine. I pulled him up carefully, steadying him when he stumbled a little. Under the blanket, he was all angles and dampness, like he could shatter if I wasn’t careful.
I made a mental note, when we got up to the parking lot and base, I'd grab a sweater from my truck. No way I was letting him walk around like this, not looking the way he did, all wrecked, beautiful, and lost.
I steadied Drew as we climbed through the fence and along the rooty embankment, my hand hovering near his elbow, just in case. His bare feet slid a few times, but he didn’t fall. Behind us, the other three kids trailed along, the other boy also barefoot and still wearing only board shorts, and two girls wrapped in damp beach towels, both shivering.
I knew I should have been doing a headcount, making sure they were all accounted for, checking for injuries, calling their parents, all the right things a ranger’s supposed to do.
But all I could seem to focus on was Drew.
Beside a lookout, the group's stuff was scattered along the fence, half-zipped backpacks, sandals, and more towels.
"Grab your gear," I told the group, keeping my voice calm but firm. "And no more going into the water today, understand?"
The two girls nodded quickly, clutching their towels tightly around themselves. The other boy gave a mumbled "Yeah," glancing nervously between me and Drew.
I barely looked at them. My focus stayed locked on Drew, who crouched stiffly to pick through the pile. His fingers found a battered navy blue Herschel backpack, yanking it toward him like it was a life raft.
"You got anything dry in there?" I asked, dropping to a knee beside him.
He shook his head, wet hair flopping into his eyes. "Just... phone. Wallet. Cargo shorts, but I dunno where my t-shirt is, maybe I left it on the rocks."
His voice cracked a little at the end, like the last hour had finally caught up to him.
"It's alright," I said quietly. "My truck’s close. I’ve got something you can throw on."
He blinked at me like he wasn’t sure he heard right, then nodded, clutching his bag to his chest.
Behind us, the other kids had started making calls, huddled together. I caught snatches of conversation, "Mom, can you come get us?" voices thin and scared. One of the girls started crying softly, and the boy in board shorts put an arm around her shoulders.
I scooped up the untouched fifth bag, planning to bring it back to the RCMP or Base once I got everyone sorted. The other three kids had each other to lean on. But Drew, Drew looked like he had no one.
"Come on," I said again, keeping my voice comforting. "Ranger Station is this way."
He followed me without hesitation, trailing just a step behind, his bag hugged against his chest like armor. His shoulder brushed mine once, quick and accidental, but I caught myself wanting to slow my stride, just to keep him close a little longer.
I led them up the steep steps along the opposite bank, the trees closing in overhead, the roar of the falls muffled behind us. I wanted to spare them — him — the sight of the ambulance still parked in the lower lot. Drew stayed close, brushing his hand against the splintery railing, his fingers occasionally bumping against mine when the trail narrowed.
Halfway up, just before one of the main viewpoints, I spotted Maya Cantor from our staff posted along the path. She stood squarely across the trail, gently redirecting tourists who wanted to keep hiking down. Her Ranger shirt was starting to darken from sweat, her expression firm. She glanced at me, a silent question as if everything was over.
I shook my head slightly as we passed, "Taking them to Base."
She nodded once, then turned back to stop a family with ice cream cones from heading farther down toward the falls.
The air grew lighter as we climbed, though the weight between us stayed. Drew stuck close enough that I could feel his breath at my shoulder, warm and quick. Neither of us spoke until we all reached the top, where the suspension bridge stretched out in front of us.
Up here, the world had tilted stubbornly back to normal. Tourists still crowded the bridge and viewpoints, bright jackets flashing, selfie sticks waving in the air. A girl posed with a peace sign just upstream from where the boy’s body was being loaded into the ambulance.
Drew's voice tugged me back. "Did you know him?" he asked softly, his shoulder brushing mine as he turned to look at me.
I shook my head. "No," I said. "I didn’t. Did you?"
Drew’s expression flickered, that fragile grin slipping away. “No… I just met him. At the café, before we headed down.”
I nodded, letting the silence settle between us. It wasn’t fair, the way strangers could stumble into your life for an hour and leave something heavier behind than you knew how to carry.
He watched me, his eyes rimmed red but searching, needing something. Maybe just someone who wouldn't look away.
I shifted the extra bag higher onto my shoulder. "Come on," I said, my voice hushed. "Station is just across the bridge."
Drew hesitated just a second longer before falling into step beside me, close enough that the mist on his skin brushed against mine when we moved.
The Ranger Station wasn’t a separate building; it was tucked away at the end of the Cafe’s huge glass windows, and most people would have missed it if they blinked.
I led the group across the road and nudged the door open with my shoulder, the fifth backpack still slung across me.
Dean was inside talking to two RCMP officers. One was a heavyset Sergeant with a navy ball cap and mirrored sunglasses, the other, a younger female Constable who hovered with a clipboard. In the back, Soraya Gul half-heartedly checked supplies in the first aid cabinet, but her ears were tuned to every word Dean and the Mounties exchanged.
The Sergeant, Leroux, according to the stitched name on his vest, gave me a quick once-over as I approached, then turned back to Dean, muttering low.
"Found this, and these are the kids from Twin Falls," I said, dropping the stray backpack onto the table beside him.
Dean gave a tight nod. "Good," He tipped his head toward the officers. "Almost wrapped up."
The Constable turned to the group, asking a few soft questions: names, what they saw, and how they ended up at Twin Falls. The two girls stuck close together, fidgeting with the strings of their backpacks. The boy in board shorts barely looked up.
Drew hovered near me, arms loose at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore.
Dean tapped the clipboard against the counter. "We’re off in about half an hour," he said. Then, glancing over, added, "Wanna meet me at Browns for a beer after?”
I shook my head, a tired smile tugging at my mouth. "Nah. Raincheck."
Dean smirked knowingly, then let it drop.
I watched Drew rub his arm across his face, trying to look casual. It hit me, again, how alone he seemed. After everything, it didn't feel right just handing him off to the system.
"I can give him a lift," I offered, nodding at Drew. "After my shift."
Dean lifted a brow but nodded. "Fine by me. Appreciate it."
Below the Ranger’s Station, the afternoon haze was starting to burn off, the sun turning the pavement silver. Thankfully, the ambulance was gone by now, but one Fire Truck remained with the RCMP Cruiser. I led Drew to my blue Chevy Colorado, parked next to the District Parks truck.
I dug a beat-up UBC Thunderbirds hoodie from behind the seat, navy blue, sleeves smattered with white lint, but still clean.
"Here," I said, tossing it over.
Drew slipped the hoodie on, the sleeves almost swallowing his arms. I opened the truck front door, started the engine, and rolled down the windows to let the cool air flow through.
“You good in here? I’ll be back in 20 minutes at the most.” I asked, looking back at him.
“Yeah,” he nodded, already pulling out his phone and unlocking the screen. He gave a small, distracted smile before settling in. “Thanks again.”
I hesitated, observing him longer than I probably should have, but I turned and made my way back inside the station.
Inside the Ranger Station, the air felt heavier now, thick with the lingering aftermath of the day. Dean was still talking to the Sergeant, his back turned to me as I leaned against the map-covered wall, trying to process everything from the scene.
The Constable retrieved the backpack I'd dropped earlier, offering me a small, professional nod before following Leroux out the door. Their departure left the Ranger Station oddly hollow, like the air hadn't caught up to the weight they carried out with them.
Dean turned toward me, his face creased with concern despite his calm exterior. "You holding up alright, CJ?" His tone was casual, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something behind the routine question that I didn’t miss.
I shrugged, keeping my response neutral. “I’m fine, Dean. It’s just another day on the mountain, right?”
Dean didn’t buy it. He set his pen down on the counter and studied me, the kind of look that told me he wasn’t going to let me slip by with an easy answer. “It’s different this time. I know you’ve dealt with this before, but it hits harder when it’s right in front of you.”
I didn’t respond right away. There were moments where you could push things down, pretend it didn’t affect you, but there was always a tipping point. Dean had seen it too, felt it, even though we both tried to keep a professional distance.
“One or two times a summer, yeah,” I said finally, my voice quieter than usual. “But that doesn’t make it easier. Especially when he was just a kid.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze softening. “I know. I just want to make sure you’re good, CJ. We can’t be numb to it. Not for long.”
I let the silence linger between us, thankful he wasn’t pushing too hard. I was still processing everything, still trying to wrap my mind around the whole afternoon. But I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
Just then, the Constable reappeared and handed Dean some paperwork. Dean took it quickly before turning back to me.
“I’m good,” I said, offering a tight smile. “I’ll be alright.”
Dean didn’t seem fully convinced but gave a slow nod. “Alright. But if you need a day off, just ask.” He was still half-distracted, thumbing through the new paperwork, when the base radio on Soraya’s desk crackled with Maya’s voice
"Delta One, are you still available? It’s Ranger Four. Got a report of a lost child here in the East Parking Lot."
Dean let out a breath through his nose, weary but automatic. He grabbed his radio off the counter. "Copy. Delta One heading over now."
He shot me a quick look as he passed. "You’re off shift, Charlie. Get outta here. Of all the days for Conrad to not try to come in early."
I nodded, already reaching for my pack.
As the door swung shut behind him, the station settled into a quieter hum. Soraya, the Base Dispatcher I was communicating with earlier, flipped through her phone, then looked up at me over the desk.
"You still good for the Whitecaps game Saturday?" she asked, a friendly grin tugging at her mouth, like she knew how badly I needed something normal to look forward to.
I glanced out the dusty back window toward my truck. Drew was still there, hood up, his face lit blue from his phone screen.
"Might have to bail," I said, shifting my pack higher onto my shoulder.
Soraya put her phone on the desk. "That's one of the kids?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Figured I’d get him home."
She studied me a second longer than normal, not suspicious, just reading the tired lines under my eyes, before she shrugged lightly.
"You're a good one, Charlie. If you were straight, I’d have asked you out on a date first. Text me if you change your mind."
"Will do," I said, offering her a chuckle before pushing out the door.
Down by the curb, I spotted the other three teens piling into a black Caravan, a woman, probably someone's mom, standing outside the open sliding door, corralling them with a mix of sternness and relief. The boy in the Blue Jays hat threw a nervous glance back toward me before climbing inside. I lifted a hand in a small wave he probably didn’t even see.
I let out a quiet sigh, watching the van pull away toward the exit. My duty to them was finished.
But not to him.
When I reached the truck, I saw Drew still sitting inside, his phone lit up in his hands, his gaze distant. It was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that felt at peace; it was the kind of quiet that spoke volumes.
I slid into the driver’s seat and started the truck, the engine rumbling to life. Drew glanced up, offering a small, tired smile when he saw me. The hoodie swallowed him even more now that he’d pulled the sleeves over his hands.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice light, “you hungry?”
Drew looked over at me, his tired expression softening just a bit. “I’m okay. I don’t really know what I want.”
I thought for a moment, running my hand over the wheel, feeling the vibrations of the truck underneath my fingertips.
“How about Boston Pizza? You can eat whatever you want there,” I suggested, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got an early dinner vibe going. My treat.”
He hesitated, glancing out the window before nodding. “Yeah. That sounds good. I could eat.”
“Alright, let’s go.” I threw the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, the hum of the road filling the space between us.
We drove in silence for a few minutes, but the tension seemed to ease just a little. Drew started scrolling through his phone again, his fingers lightly tapping the screen.
“Thanks,” he said quietly after a moment, his voice still croaking. “For... everything today. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”
I looked over at him, feeling the weight of the words hanging in the air. It wasn’t just a thank you; there was something else there, an unspoken connection that I wasn’t sure how to define, but I felt it.
“Anytime,” I said, keeping my eyes on the traffic ahead. “You’re not alone in this, Drew. I’ve got your back.”
He met my gaze for a brief moment, then looked away, but there was a softness to the way he did it, like the weight had been lifted a little, just for a moment.
Drew stayed quiet beside me, picking at the cuffs of my hoodie. His knee bounced the whole drive, only stilling after we crossed the freeway. “You sure about this? You can just drop me off,” he asked, voice rough.
I stopped at a red light and looked back at him. “Food first. Then we figure out the rest.”
I swung the truck down the ramp into the underground parking garage tucked beneath Boston Pizza. The tires rumbled over the concrete, the fluorescent lights casting everything in a dull, washed-out glow.
Drew stayed quiet beside me as I found a spot near the elevator and cut the engine. The cab filled with the faint hum of city noise leaking down from the street above.
"Come on," I said, grabbing my keys. "Let’s get some real food in you."
We climbed out, and as I locked the truck, Drew lingered behind me. His gaze caught on the back windshield, on the small, weathered pride sticker tucked low in the corner.
He tilted his head slightly. "Cool sticker," he said, voice easy but carrying a quiet kind of curiosity.
I smiled over my shoulder. "Thanks."
I hesitated for half a second, then asked casually, "You’re eighteen, right?"
Drew nodded. "Yeah. Just turned, actually."
"Good," I said with a small grin, nudging his shoulder lightly. "Means we can get you pizza, but no beer." After confirming he was 18, there was some relief there, but I thought to myself, is this what I’m into now? Boys, I picked up from the canyon?
He laughed, a low, real sound, and fell into step beside me. We made our way to the elevator, the faint smells of fryer oil and ocean mist threading even down here.
As the doors slid open and we stepped inside, I caught a glimpse of our reflections in the mirrored walls, him standing just a little too close, the afternoon still hanging thick with something unspoken but growing.
I picked a booth near the window, away from the afternoon crowd. It was quieter there, just the clink of glasses from the bar and the banter of SportsNet playing overhead.
Drew slid into the seat across from me, curling his shoulders in like he was trying to take up less space. He barely glanced at the menu when the server came by. I ordered Great White North Pizza and water; he asked for tacos in a small voice, the server giving him a quick, polite nod before heading off.
As soon as she was gone, Drew set the menu down and fidgeted with the edge of the table, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
He cleared his throat, then hesitated before sniffling. "If we had listened to you," he said, voice tight and breaking at the edges, "Chase would still be alive."
I sat back slightly, letting the weight of it settle before I answered. Chase, that was his name. Just another added to the list that the canyon had taken.
But Drew didn’t feel like just another kid.
Something about him stuck, the way fear and stubbornness fought behind his eyes. He wasn’t asking for comfort. He just needed to say it.
"You can’t keep thinking that," I said quietly. "Even I did some stupid stuff on my mountain bike when I was younger than you. The world’s full of what-nows, not what-ifs."
"You bike?" he asked, sounding half-interested.
"When I have time," I said with a shrug. "You?"
"Skate," Drew said, grinning.
I glanced at his hands on the table, calloused palms and rough knuckles, the hands of a skateboarder, not a gamer. I shook my head a little and leaned back, steering the conversation back to the practical.
"Were you able to get hold of your parents?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "But my dad’s stuck in court downtown until three-thirty."
"He’s a lawyer? What about your mom?"
Drew’s grin faded slightly. He nodded again. "She lives in Winnipeg."
I didn’t pry after that. The way he said lives: distant, final, told me enough. Divorced, separated, maybe worse. Either way, he wasn't counting on her. “Where did you say you lived again?” I asked to keep the conversation going.
“I haven’t told you yet.” He said with a smirk. “Up Lonsdale, I can take the bus if it’s out of your way.”
“No,” I shook my head. “I promised to take you home, we’ll probably have you home before your dad gets there.”
“Thanks, Charlie,” He looked down at my sweatshirt on him. “You went to UBC?”
“Still go there,” I laughed, “4th year in September, do I look like I graduated already?”
The food interrupted us, and we ate quietly after that. Drew picked at his tacos at first, then demolished the last two like he hadn’t eaten all day. I worked through half my pizza, more for something to do than out of actual hunger. The conversation between us drifted in and out, light, simple, like we were both pretending we hadn't spent the afternoon standing beside tragedy.
After he drained the last of his Coke, Drew leaned back against the booth, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I, uh... thought you were older," he admitted, a little sheepish. "Like... already graduated or something."
I smirked and set down my slice. "Still got a year left. BSc in Forestry."
Drew smiled a little, fidgeting with a paper straw wrapper. "My dad went to UBC too. Back when it was affordable, I guess."
I laughed. "Yeah, tell me about it."
"But... I'm starting at Cap College this fall. Just general studies," he said, sounding a little apologetic, like he had to explain himself.
"Hey," I said, nudging his foot lightly under the table, "it’s a smart move. Save some money, figure stuff out first. I almost went that route, too."
Drew's eyes warmed a bit at that, the tension in his shoulders loosening.
I made a small hand motion, and the server slid the bill onto the edge of the table with a smile.
"We give first responders a discount," she said, tapping the bottom line. "Thanks for what you do."
I glanced down at the receipt, catching the reduced total, and gave a quiet, "Appreciate it." However, deep down, part of me didn’t want the attention. What had I accomplished today? Cleared gawkers off a bridge and admired a teenager in his boxer briefs, while the real men fished his friend’s body out of the creek?
Across the booth, Drew was watching me, his elbow propped casually on the table, but his brown eyes sharp.
"You’re, like, officially a hero for saving me? he asked, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
I shrugged, feeling the tips of my ears go hot. "Something like that."
Drew shook his head, still grinning. "Kinda badass, not gonna lie."
Inside the parking garage, the air was cooler, and the sounds of the street were muffled again. Drew climbed into the passenger seat, pulling the sleeves of the UBC hoodie over his hands like armor.
Before I started the engine, I flipped open my phone.
"Here," I said, holding it out. "Airdrop."
He blinked at me, caught off guard, but pulled his phone out of his pocket. A second later, the transfer pinged through.
"My number," I said casually, tossing my phone onto the console. "If you want to talk about today, or anything."
Drew stared down at the new contact: ‘Charles Deyton’, then locked his screen and tucked it away.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
I started the truck and we pulled out into the afternoon light, the sun glinting low against the downtown towers across Burrard Inlet.
It only took a few minutes to drive back up the hill, and soon enough, we rolled up in front of a sleek condo building, all concrete, glass, steel, and understated wealth.
"This is it?" I asked, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice.
He nodded. "Yeah. My dad’s place."
I shifted into park, leaning my arm casually against the steering wheel. "Looks nice."
Drew shrugged, already unbuckling. "It’s... fine."
He hesitated a moment, his hand lingering on the door handle. Like he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t fumble together the words.
"Take care, Drew," I said, giving him a warm smile.
"You too, Charlie."
Then he slipped out and jogged up the steps, the sleeves of the hoodie still enveloping his hands.
I waited just long enough to see him disappear through the lobby doors before shifting back into drive, the engine humming low as I pulled away from the curb and back toward the Ironworkers Memorial Bridge, into the city again to swallow me whole for another night.
