Vi leans over and whispers loudly, “You do realize that she’s talking aboutyou, Teddy.You’rethe hot neighbor.”
Ooooohhh.
I flush hotly and take a gulp of my drink. The carbonation tingles my nose and I cough.Subject change, stat.“Do either of you have anything stronger?” I ask, wheezing.
Scottie beams, leaning over to grab the grocery bag she’d set down, then with a flourish pulls out a bottle of whisky. “Shots, ladies?”
“We’re so not setting alarms in the morning,” Vi laughs, hopping off the bed to grab the little complimentary plastic cups from in the bathroom. Unwrapping each one from their plastic wrap, she hands them to Scottie, who pours out two fingers worth into each of the three cups. I swallow hard, nervousness making me giggle.
The last time I was drunk was the night I’d met Cal for drinks at Shifty’s because he’d needed to talk about Scottie—not that he’d actually talked about her, he’d mostly answered in grunts and monosyllabic responses, and I think he’d even forgotten I was there at one point. I’d been giggly and drunk after three drinks thanks to my low alcohol tolerance. Logan had basically shoved me out the door to go spend time with my brother with the promise that he had Dalton and Penny handled for the evening.
Thinking about it now, I have a very fuzzy, extremely vague memory of Xander helping me with my jacket and the sensation of his fingers in my hair. And I’m pretty sure he’d driven me the half hour back home to Cedar Valley. Or maybe I dreamed that…
Shaking my head, I sit up straighter. Scottie holds out the plastic cup to me, one brow raised in question.
“Fuck it. Okay. I’m in,” I say, reaching out for one of the cups. “To friends, no baby monitors, and sleeping in.”
“To badass women,” Scottie says, grinning, raising her plastic cup. “And the men we bring to their knees.”
“Oh hell yes, I’ll drink to that,” Violette giggles, and I can’t help the genuine laugh that leaves me.
I may regret this in the morning, but for now, this is exactly what I needed.
“Sup, that’s the last of it,” Opp calls out from the side of the second engine rig. They look like those animal control trucks, with all the little doored compartments along both sides that hold all of our gear when we travel. If the fire we’re called to is close enough, we just truck it. Others, like this SoCal fire, we drive to the nearest airport and are loaded onto basically a cargo plane and shipped off to wherever we need to go.
I nod over to Opp in thanks from where I’m finishing unloading the first rig. He’s been with us a little under six years.He’d come in as a temp after Dixon broke his leg in the fire that killed my dad, and he’d fit in with the rest of the crew so well that he’d decided to stay. Big, burly bear of a guy, and I’ve never seen a man throw a fucking snag the way he does.
Curly, Gareth, and Dixon are all carrying the last of their packs into what makes up essentially our home base. It’s a large, glorified metal pole barn that sits just outside of Sky Ridge. The greenish-grayish paint is worn but it’s got enough space for our equipment, parking for the rigs, a decent set up for gym equipment that we utilize often to stay in shape for the job, a half janky billiard table with scuffed up green felt, a dart board, and afoosball table that’s on its last leg. Literally. It’s propped up by old phone books I’d found in the office after my dad passed.
My field office is located at the back and it’s got a kitchenette that the guys are always welcome to use. Along one wall is a couple of XL Twin bunks that are stacked three high for the crew members that don’t live here in Sky Ridge year-round and don’t want the hassle of finding living quarters. Along the other white cinderblock wall are rows of lockers where we keep our gear.
“Good work on this fire, guys,” I call out to everyone. “Now, go get a fucking shower and some sleep. You’re all rank as hell.”
Cal waves as he climbs into his vehicle and I tip my chin to him. King’s not far behind. We arrived at the airport just after six this morning. Another two hours before we pulled in here, and then the last hour has been unloading and cleaning gear before we all crash.
Most of the time, when we get back from a fire, we head over to Shifty’s as a group to celebrate, but it’s so damn early in the morning we’re all fucking wrecked. I can’t wait to eat, take a shower, and sleep.
But more than any of those things, I can’t wait to see Teddy.
When I pull into the driveway on my side of the yard, I frown. Her minivan isn’t in sight, and a small SUV is parked there instead. I climb out of the truck and stretch my tired, aching muscles, glancing around. Both halves of the lawn are in desperate need of a cut. Her mower has been moved out of the middle of her yard and closer to her patio, a small red gasoline can next to it.
An older gentleman steps out of the front door of Teddy’s duplex, Dalton behind him. Dalton waves excitedly when he sees me and races over as I grab my pack from the passenger seat.
“Xander!”
“Hey, champ, how are you?” I ask, grinning down at the kid. His brown eyes are crinkled at the corners as he smiles widely.
“I’m great! We got to have a sleepover with Gramma and Grampa and we got to stay up late watching movies and eating ice cream, and now Grampa and I are going to mow the lawn to surprise Mom, isn’t that great?”
His words come out fast and excited, and he’s fairly bouncing on the balls of his feet. I chuckle, then squeeze his shoulder before looking toward the man walking across the sadly neglected lawn toward us. He has kind brown eyes the same shade as Teddy’s kids’ and thick gray hair. I recognize him from the hospital after Teddy had Bea. Teddy’s father-in-law, Kent Hansen. I’ve seen Colleen here a handful of times, but this is the first time I’ve seen Kent since Bea was born.
“Were you out on a fire? Where was it? Was it bad? Is Uncle Cal okay?” Dalton continues, firing off questions quicker than I can answer them. I laugh again, turning my attention back to him.
“Did you have ice cream for breakfast, too?” I ask, only half joking. The kids on a sugar buzz or something.
“No, but Gramma let us have extra extra syrup on our waffles. I really like syrup, but Mom doesn’t let us have a lot of it.”
“You’re not great at keeping secrets, are you, Dalton?” the man scoffs as he stops in front of me. He extends a hand and I reach for it, shaking it firmly as the man pins me with those brown eyes. “Nice to see you again.”
