“Every firefighter says that, Matthews. And every one of them believes it. But when the moment comes—when your partner is in danger—training can go out the window. So we have protocol in place to avoid that.”
Beside me, Rhett’s bouncing knee had gone still, replaced by a rigid tension I could feel radiating off him. His face, usually so expressive and quick to smile, had settled into a gravity I’d never seen on him before.
“So what does that mean for us?” Rhett asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
The Chief sighed. “It means you need to work different shifts. I’m sorry, but that’s the department policy.”
Rhett’s face fell, his usual joking demeanor replaced with genuine distress. He started tapping his foot anxiously under the table, a rapid rhythm that betrayed his mounting panic.
“If we’re on different shifts, we’ll barely have time together,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “I mean, after a twenty-four-hour shift, we’re wiped. We need a day to recover. If we’re on opposite shifts, that leaves us with so little time together.”
He wasn’t wrong. The shift pattern at our station meant we’d be like ships passing in the night. Our days off would only happen while one of us was recovering from a twenty-four-hour shift.
The Chief’s expression softened. “I understand this is difficult. Would you like a moment to talk privately? I can step out.”
Rhett looked on the verge of tears, something I’d never seen in all our years of friendship. My protective instincts flared, and I reached over to squeeze his knee, public professional setting be damned.
“It’ll be okay,” I told him, though I had no idea how.
The Chief studied us both, then sighed. “Matthews, have you thought more about the lieutenant position at Station 12?”
I froze. Rhett’s head snapped toward me.
“What lieutenant position?” Rhett asked.
“I put in for a promotion. You knew that,” I said.
“You said you got turned down!”
“He did. There were no openings at our station when he applied a few months back. This is new, an urgent opening at Station 12 that I told Troy about last week,” the Chief said. “It would be a promotion, more responsibility, higher pay grade. And,” he added meaningfully, “it would serve as adequate separation.You’d be at different stations, which gets rid of our policy problem.”
Hope flickered across Rhett’s face. “When would it start? He’ll take it!”
I jabbed him with my elbow.
The Chief chuckled. “Let me give you two a minute and I’ll try to figure that out. If you think you’re going to take the promotion, Troy, I’ll make a quick call to get some details on Station 12. I can grab the HR paperwork, too.”
I looked at Rhett, who waved me on with his hands, then sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, I think so.”
He stood and walked out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
The moment we were alone, Rhett went from devastation to excitement so rapidly it gave me whiplash.
“A fucking lieutenant position?” He grabbed my arm. “Troy! That’s amazing! You’ve been working toward this for years!”
I winced, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big—are you kidding me? It’s a huge deal! Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
The genuine hurt in his voice made me feel like shit. “I wasn’t going to take it.” I stared at my hands. “I didn’t want to leave the crew or you.”
“Leave us?” Rhett looked bewildered. “Troy, Station 12 is like ten blocks away. It’s not like you’re moving to Alaska.”
“It’s not just about the distance.” I struggled to articulate the knot of feelings I couldn’t untangle. “It’s about the crew. Our brothers. The team we’ve built. I didn’t want to walk away from that. Or you.”
Understanding dawned in Rhett’s eyes. “You weren’t going to take a promotion you’ve earned—a promotion you deserve—because you didn’t want to leave me?”
Put like that, it did sound kind of stupid. But the thought of not working alongside him every day, not having his back on calls, not sharing those post-adrenaline moments when we were coming down from a rescue—it felt like losing a limb.
