A HERO FOR HOLLIS
CHAPTER 1
DAVE
Coming back to Utica is bittersweet.
There were good times while I lived here. Nights out with my new friends, playing pool and sharing pitchers of beer while we cheered on the Syracuse basketball team. Grilling out on the back patio of my tiny apartment, drinking Utica Club and catching a Yankees game. Day trips to Glimmerglass State Park and the Adirondacks to go hiking and take in the scenery.
When I first came here, I was excited to take the first official step into my adult life. I arrived filled with fantasies of making the city my home, proving myself at work, and truly making a difference.
I even entertained hopes of finding a real relationship, despite the dismal example my parents set for me.
Back in those early days, over a decade ago, I was young and hopeful.
And for a while, it seemed like I’d found everything I’d dreamed of.
Then everything came crashing down.
The people I trusted more than anyone in the world betrayed me.
My job became something I dreaded, instead of something I took pride in.
So I slunk back home to Sleepy Hollow under the auspices of taking care of my ailing father. But deep down, I knew the truth. It was just too painful to stay here anymore.
It’s the height of irony. Me. A firefighter tasked with running into burning buildings, risking my life to save those in danger, not afraid of literally holding someone’s life in my hands. But when it came to heartbreak and betrayal, I was a coward.
When my buddies at the station asked if I’d mind going to the annual Fire and Rescue Conference in Utica, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hesitant. Over the last six years, I’ve built a comfortable life in Sleepy Hollow, a small town just north of New York City, and I wasn’t overly eager to leave. Especially to come to the site of such bad memories.
But it made sense for me to go. First, most of my friends are coupled up, either with kids, expecting, or still enjoying the honeymoon stage of their relationship. As one of the lone single guys at Station 4, I could leave for the three-day conference and no one would really miss me. Not my dad, who passed away four years ago. Not my nonexistent girlfriend. Not even a dog, though that’s something I’ve been thinking more and more about over the past year.
Plus, as the town Fire Marshall, it’s my job to stay on top of these things—networking with other fire departments across the state, talking with vendors about the best fire response equipment, and hearing speakers discuss recent advances in arson investigation.
So here I am. In Utica. Again.
It felt eerily familiar coming here, driving west along I-90 past the exits for Herkimer and Little Falls and Cooperstown. I couldn’t help remembering the first time I made the trip, so fullof youthful enthusiasm it makes my heart twinge just to think about it.
Once I got to the hotel, it wasn’t so bad. With hundreds of firefighters and first responders in attendance and a packed schedule, there wasn’t time to get nostalgic. But now that the conference is winding down, all the sessions over with just a final closing breakfast tomorrow morning, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.
The last time I went to something like this, it was up in Albany, almost three years ago. Back then, my attitude was much different. In the evening, I was happy to hit the hotel bar with the other firefighters, enjoying the attention of the female guests flocking around us.
It’s kind of funny; the appeal of firefighters—or any first responder, really. As a group, there are some good-looking ones, but most of us are pretty normal. But as my friend, Ari, explained, “I think it’s the uniform that really does it. Police officers, firefighters, military…”
Then her gaze grew distant and her cheeks went pink, and I just knew she was thinking about her husband, Cash, who happens to work at the station with me. “The uniform is pretty sexy,” she added. “If you wanted to do the Sleepy Hollow calendar in your uniform, Dave, I bet you’d have tons of women after you.”
Back at the conference in Albany, I embraced my firefighter status. Not to seek a relationship, but for a mutually-agreed-upon one night thing. That’s all I wanted. No commitment. No ties. And no chance of ending up broken-hearted again.
Now? Sitting at the hotel bar doesn’t seem as appealing.
Maybe it’s because I’ve seen what my friends have, and anything less feels kind of… empty.
I don’t want to hook up with a random woman for the night only to navigate the awkwardafterpoint, when we have to talkabout phone numbers and texting even though we both know full well it’s not going anywhere.
It’s not that I’m looking for what my friends have, exactly.
But if I happened to find the right person—notin a hotel bar during a firefighter conference—I might consider it.
Maybe.
