Luke Ryder’s in the other corner by the duty schedule, quietly tapping updates into the tablet we use for crew logs. “We got an appliance fire in Lockwood Crescent last night,” he says without looking up. “Chief wants a full truck check done before nine. You’re taking Ladder today, Fletch.”
“Double shift,” I confirm, grabbing a mug. “Guess I get the full tour.”
“Don’t screw anything up, Fletchy boy. Beck’s already pissed,” Colt adds, not looking up from the bacon.
Colt’s always got something to say. A steady set of hands with a smart mouth, but wears his heart on his sleeve. Literally—he keeps a photo of his wife and kids tucked inside it during every shift. He’s married to Remi, Chief Rhodes’ daughter, with two kids under three and still the first one to pull his turnouts on when the bells go off.
“I’m not pissed,” Beck grumbles. “I just don’t like surprises. Or mornings. Or Mason.”
I flip him off over my shoulder and head toward the lockers.
Chief Rhodes appears just as I pass through the hallway—tall, composed, the kind of guy who doesn’t need to yell to be heard.
“Fletcher,” he says with a nod. “Appreciate you stepping up for the double.”
“Anytime, Chief.”
“You’re on Ladder with Beck and Lawson. Get the morning checks done, then swing past Flora’s if you need fuel. You’ll be out for fire inspections around ten.”
“Copy that.”
His gaze lingers for half a beat. “And Fletcher?”
“Yeah?”
He lifts a brow. “You look tired.”
I smile, because I know exactly why I look tired.
“Late night.”
He doesn’t move, just keeps staring at me in that steady and measuring way of his.
“Not a Neverland night, I hope?”
I blow out a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “Nah. Not lately.”
His brow doesn’t budge.
“I mean it,” I say, more serious now. “I’m good. No hangover, no bad decisions.”
That earns the faintest nod. “Good. I’d hate to have to pull you from rotation over something preventable.”
“I know.”
“You’ve come a long way, Mason. Don’t give me a reason to worry.”
My jaw ticks, not because he’s wrong—because he’s right. When my fiancé Connie left, I spent most nights at Neverland Pub getting wrecked. Never while on shift, but it made me a foul person to be around when I was.
With therapy, I’ve come right. Along with the help of the people who’ve fought my corner. Chief Rhodes, the boys. My mom, who never misses a call before shift. And our retired chief, Herb Parnell, who holds a close place for many of the crew here.
“I won’t.”
Chief doesn’t say anything else, just gives me one last look, then moves on down the hall.
We’re barely ten minutes into the morning truck checks when the night crew starts peeling out.
“Try not to burn the place down,” Jayla calls, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She’s one of the newer hires. Tough as hell, sharp with a Halligan bar, andnotabove throwing hands over the last piece of banana bread.
