His gruff shout lands like pins. I’d never really wondered about how my dad had done it when we were kids. He’d had a good reason, from where I could see. This job, the alarming understaffing that runs rampant through this line of work… I understood. Zach and Joel had been younger, so they’d struggled with it more than I had. And then I’d come out here to work with Dad as soon as I was able to.
“Anyway, that letter should be to you in a day or two, I just wanted to let you know so you could keep an eye out for it. I never know when you’re going to be out on a call,” Zach says, clearly reigning in his own hurt and anger from his current situation. “I should get back to unpacking.”
“Sure,” I say into the phone, wishing like hell there was a way for me to help my brother more, but knowing there’s nothing I can do from half a country away. “Thanks for letting me know, and for sending it my way. Take care of yourself, Z. Hug those girls for me.”
“Will do, brother. Be careful out there.”
“Always am,” I say gravely before hanging up, the only promise I can give.
I peek at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to me as I listen to the orders, phone pressed to my ear. Shit it’s early. Oh well,rise and shine, boys. Speaking into the phone, I say, “Thank you, we’ll be on the road within the hour.”
I end the call and open the text thread to Cal and King, then quickly type out the orders that I’d just received for our latest assignment. It’s early as fuck, but I know they’ll both get my message quickly. As captain and squad leader, they will take over sending out orders to the rest of the crew and getting them ready to leave. I hit send and stand from the bed, heading to my closet. My bag is almost always prepped and packed, ready to go. Once I grab my pack, I head out to the kitchen, where I have a pot of coffee started to brew. It’s early as shit, but this fire has been burning for a solid nine hours already.
My phone buzzes and I check it, reading the responses as they come in.
King
Copy that, Sup.
Little early for Labor Day fireworks, huh?
Cal
All of SoCal is on a fire ban. Idiots.
Lead says it was a non-resident tourist.
King
Morons.
Lead also says the tourist perished.
Cal
Natural selection at its finest, folks.
I groan, rolling my eyes. Even though I’d had the same exact thought, I type out:
Someone died, guys.
Get your asses moving.
Wheels on the road in one hour.
Cal
Sorry, Sup.
Wheels in one hour.
I take a sip of the coffee as I stand at the kitchen sink, looking out over the front yard. The moon is bright, casting the yard outside in sharp relief. Teddy’s lawn mower is in the middle of her side of the yard, half of the grass cut, as if she’d stopped halfway through. Setting my coffee down, I frown. If it’s still there when I get back from this fire, I’ll make sure to finish the lawn.
Bracing my hips against the kitchen counter, I cross my arms over my chest as I sip my coffee. That’s when I hear it, the indignant wail of an infant cry. It’s muffled, but I can hear it through the window at my back. I wonder if Teddy is in her own kitchen, walking around trying to soothe the squalling Bea, who’s cries just get all the harder before finally ceasing abruptly.
I can hear her then, murmuring and talking to the baby, and I realize she’s walked out her front door. I spot her as she steps off the covered front patio and walks toward her minivan, the headlights flashing as she unlocks it with the fob in her hand.
I’m around the kitchen and stepping out of my own front door a heartbeat later. “Teddy!” I call quietly, trying not to startle her.
