“She was the funny one in our house, growing up,” he continued. “Most people assume I get my sense of humor from my dad, but it was her. She loved to laugh. She was constantly making jokes, teasing my brother, me, or our dad. Making up silly dances to get us to laugh.”
“So, you carried that to the fire station?”
“Not quite,” he said. “I went in expecting the firehouse to be a serious place. As a rookie, I got teased relentlessly. It’s a rite of passage, but I didn’t realize what was going on at the time.” His voice took on a severe note, capturing my full attention. “One day, about six months into my rookie year, there was a bitch of a fire. Three people died. Two of ‘em were little kids. I carried the youngest one out. The little girl was only three. It almost broke me. I seriously considered quitting.”
“That night, the guys were quiet at the station. I was in a stupor. The next morning, someone substituted salt for sugar, and I ended up putting it in my coffee.” He stared ahead with a far-off expression on his face. “I was pissed.”
“I would’ve been upset too.”
He shook his head. “Not at the salt, but at the fact that they’d done it. I yelled at all of them, standing around and laughing. I called them assholes for joking while a man and his niece and nephew were dead and told them they were heartless sons of bitches who didn’t deserve to be firefighters if they thought anything was funny. Then I stormed off.”
“I bet they took that well.”
We came up to a bench in the park, and Don wrapped an arm around my waist, leading me to it. He then draped an arm over my shoulders, and I sunk into his body. When he kissed the top of my head, I wilted even deeper into his embrace.
“They let me off the hook,” he said. “One of ‘em pulled me aside and explained to me where I had them fucked up. Everyone in that station mourned those children. They took it hard, but laughter was how we survived. We bonded through laughter and jokes. We grew stronger because of them. And then, when the fire comes, we trust one another to do our jobs. When the fire wins, we grieve, and then we laugh, because the next fire is around the corner. We can’t dwell too long on the last one.”
I thought about his words. About the importance of laughter in a job that’s so demanding. Back when I was a cop, I recalled one of the ways many of my fellow officers and I bonded was through laughter. It made me think about how long it’d been since I’d heard Corey laugh.
I placed my empty food carton on the bench beside me and laid my hand against his abdomen. I swore I felt a muscle in his torso flex, but I might have made that up in my head.
“You guys are heroes,” I said. “My dad was my hero, and while I’d never tell him to his face, Corey is my hero too.”
My heart constricted. If my brother felt even an iota of what Don felt about his job, and I knew he did, it hurt to think of the place he was in.
I peered up at Don. “Do you think he’ll ever make it back?”
“Corey?”
I nodded.
He tightened his lips and stared off into the distance again. “I hope so.”
There was so much strain in his voice, it harkened me back to that night in the hospital. Leaning up, I pressed a kiss to his cheek. Don surprised me when he turned, cupped my cheek, and held my face in place as he ravaged my lips.
The kiss was like an energy flow between the two of us. Everything inside us synced up. I felt as if there was no one else around as we spiraled a little bit off the ground.
Only when he broke off the kiss did I remember, of course, we remained sitting on the bench.
“You kiss me like no one else ever has,” I admitted, then instantly wanted to kick myself. I hadn’t meant to say the words out loud.
His lips spread into that smile that caused my panties to dampen. “Good. Because I plan to keep on kissing you for a very,” he kissed behind my right ear, “very,” another kiss behind my left ear, “long time.”
He ended with another kiss on my lips.
I was thankful when he pulled back. I needed the space to clear my brain. It had gone hazy in such a short period, but there was something I needed to focus on. Aside from the sausage sandwich, the date had a purpose. What was it again?
“Captain Rogers.”
Don’s eyes widened at my sudden outburst.
Clearing my throat, I sat up a little taller. “We’re supposed to discuss this Captain Rogers over at Station Two.”
“He’s a drunk, and his wife left him,” Don said.
I stiffened.
“He frequents a couple of different nightclubs, most nights. For years, guys at his station have called him an empty shirt. The type to give the bare minimum. There’re rumors that the only reason he made it to the captain position is because of his family connections.”
