“Fuck’s sake,” Spencer grumbles.
I open my eyes at the sound of the table scraping across the concrete floor as he stands abruptly and ends up knocking all the chess pieces over. “Stupid fucking game.”
My gaze flicks to O’Connor. His lips tip into a smug grin before he quickly looks over to me.
I shake my head.Don’t do it, I silently plead. But he ignores me anyway.
“Just because you suck at chess doesn’t mean it’s a stupid game,” he says, full of the snark he knows will get under Spencer’s skin.
As expected, Spencer rounds the small games table and shoves him hard enough for the chair to topple back. O’Connor lands in a heap on the floor and bursts into laughter, which only gets louder as Spencer jabs him in the ribs.
“Knock it off, kids,” I mutter under my breath. “I didn’t know I was running a day care center instead of a firehouse.”
Spencer snaps his head at me and points an accusatory finger at O’Connor. “He fucking cheated.”
“I don’t fucking care,” I argue back, then press my fingers into my temple as the pain radiates down my jaw. Damn, this is going to be a long shift if this doesn’t ease up. “I’m gonna throw that thing in the pit if you keep it up.”
He actually rolls his eyes, like he’s five years old instead of thirty-one, and heads toward the kitchen.
Snickering to himself, O’Connor pulls himself up off the floor, straightens his long-sleeve T-shirt, and follows close behind. They wind each other up constantly, but they’re always in each other’s pockets. And although they frustrate me sometimes, it must be nice having that level of friendship where you can be at each other’s throats one minute and laughing the next.
I used to have that in the military. My SEAL team members were my brothers. But there comes a time when you stop letting people in—after you’ve seen the life drain from your friends’ eyes one too many times.
And after you received a phone call letting you know your husband had died, and your entire home you built together was destroyed.
It changes something in you. Rewires your brain where it becomes too risky to allow anyone to get close. It becomes this fragile thing, waiting to be detonated.I don’t think I could handle losing anyone else,so it’s better for everyone this way.Safer.
I’m about to shut my eyes again when a cup of coffee appears in front of me. I glance up to see one of my crew members, Lucas, wearing an understanding smile. “You look like you could do with this.”
I accept the steaming mug and murmur a tired “Thanks” as he drops a bottle of pain relief into my lap with his other hand. I quickly take two capsules and wash them down with my coffee.
He takes a seat next to me, silently sipping on his own drink.
Lucas is a quiet guy. He joined us here at Engine 3 about ten months ago after he moved from Los Angeles Fire Department. He’s a hard worker and tends to keep to himself a lot. There’s one thing he always picks up on, though, and that’s when I haven’t been sleeping. Although, he never brings it up. He just silently takes care of me, whether it be supplying me with a cup of coffee, handing me a bottle of pain relievers, or telling the others to be quiet when I do find some time to put my head down.
I’m about to ask him about his holiday plans with his boyfriend, Daniel, when the call alarm blares. Someone groans from the kitchen, but we make our way out onto the main floor, all listening to the dispatcher read the alert out over the intercom.
“Elevator entrapment at four zero two East Wacker Drive. Special extraction equipment needed.”
I step into my turnout gear that’s conveniently placed by the rig and climb into the passenger seat. Within a minute, the station doors are up, and Charlie drives out onto the street, flicking on the siren. We pull up in front of the hotel/residence high-rise three minutes later and all jump out.
Glancing up at the building, I inwardly groan. It’s one of the newer skyscrapers that’s been built in the last couple of years, and is at least a hundred-stories high. If the elevators are down, we’re going to need to take the stairs with all our gear, and depending on which floor the elevator is stuck, it’s going to be a shit journey up.
“Damn.” O’Connor lets out a low whistle, then echoes my own thoughts. “It looks a long way up.”
“You’re gonna feel it more after shoving that slice of cake into your mouth before we left,” Avi teases.
“Hey! I needed the sugar boost after kicking Spencer’s ass at chess.”
“You did not kick my ass. You cheated,” Spencer argues.
Leaving my crew to unload the equipment, I head toward the doors as an older man in pressed pants and a blazer steps outside. Hopefully, I can get an idea of what we’re dealing with while they’re busy bickering with each other.
“Hi, I’m Lieutenant Bowen with Engine 3,” I say as I approach the man. His shiny name badge reads Lawrence. “We’ve received a call about someone stuck in an elevator? Can you tell me how many people are stuck inside?”
“Just the one. We lost power for about twelve minutes. We tried to initiate the recall, but it just made this whirling sound before halting again,” the guy says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“How long has the elevator been stuck since the power outage?”
