Analyse is strong, she always has been, but even the strongest people need a village. And whenever she needs help, one of us steps in. No hesitation. If she’s running late at school, we pick Maya up. If Maya wants to play soccer in the park, we take her. When she wants pancakes for dinner, there’s always one of us willing to cook them. She’s our girl.
I adjust my gear, about to head out, but Mateo smirks. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, huh?”
I nod. “That girl owns me, and she knows it.”
Mateo laughs. “You, man? She’s got us all wrapped around her finger.”
I point at him as I head toward the locker room. “You know it.”
Maya’s got an entire firehouse of uncles looking out for her. And me? I’d do anything for that kid.
Hopping into my truck, I feel a buzz of energy. Maya’s face always lights up when she comes to the firehouse—it’s one of my favorite things to see. It reminds me of myself as a kid.
But unlike me, she has zero interest in being a firefighter, even after I told her girls can be badass firefighters, too. No, Maya’s got bigger plans; she wants to be a ninja clown—clown byday, ninja by night. She says she wants to make people laugh and protect them. I gotta give it to the kid; she’s got her priorities in check.
By the time I pull up to her school, she’s already spotted me.
“TÍO SEB!! You’re here!”
She’s running full speed, her backpack bouncing behind her, arms stretched out like she’s about to take flight.
“Of course I’m here, Maya,” I say, crouching down to catch her as she crashes into me. “I told you I would be, and I never break a promise to my best girl.”
“Are we going to the fire station now??” she asks, tilting her head and hitting me with her best puppy eyes.
I chuckle. “You bet we are.”
I lift her into my car, strapping her into the booster seat I always keep for her. “Ready to see some fire trucks.?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she bounces excitedly, and I can’t help but grin. Her happiness is infectious.
Pulling into the station, I already see Mateo and Andres running around, getting everything ready for Maya’s visit. Their laughter and shouts fill the air—it’s like watching a bunch of big kids at recess.
The second I park, Maya bolts out of the car, heading straight for the kitchen. Her delighted squeal echoes through the station before I even make it inside.
I jog in after her, ready to make sure she has a day she’ll never forget. But the last thing I expect to see? A goddamn waterslide. A giant waterslide. The guys really did go all out.
Standing back, I watch as Maya runs straight into Mateo’s arms. He swings her up onto his shoulders like she weighs nothing, laughing as he carries her toward the waterslide, where Andres and a couple of the other guys are waiting,
I throw my head back, laughing. I was planning to give Maya a fun day at the firehouse. But this? This is next-level. With a grin, I take off after them, ready to join in on the chaos.
Maya is happily sleeping in one of the beds in the station, the sugar crash hitting her like a ton of bricks. There was nothing better than seeing her excited—shoving spoonfuls of ice cream in her mouth, laughing like a little maniac, chocolate smeared all over her tiny face.
She looks so much like Analyse—the same long, curly brown hair, tan skin, and those big brown eyes. Of course, she’d birth a carbon copy of herself. I glance down at my phone, re-reading Analyse’s last text:
Be there in 5. Have her ready.
Yeah, that didn’t happen.
I look back at Maya, curled up like a little burrito, her tiny hands tucked under her cheek. How the hell am I supposed to wake her up when she looks this peaceful?
Not even five minutes later, I hear the familiar sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside of the station. Analyse steps out of what she proudly calls her ‘mom car’—a white SUV that, despite her protests, is covered in stray crayons and forgotten snack wrappers.
She’s got a cup of iced coffee in one hand, sunglasses on top of her head, and an expression that tells me she already knows I let Maya fall asleep.
“Where’s my girl?” she asks, scanning the station.
I grimace. “Uh…in the back. Sleeping.”
