Prologue
Remi
“That was a beautiful service,” I murmur as we walk through the double doors of the Baptist church right off Main Street.
Ford, captain of the Wolf Creek Fire Department and one of my closest friends, nods. “Yeah, it sure was.”
Ricky Murphy was a fellow firefighter who lost his life in a fire at the old Triton oil plant recently. He worked for Station 120 in Wilbur, the next town over from Wolf Creek, where I live. While I didn’t work directly with him, we did go through training together back in the day, and I wanted to pay my respects and show support for a fallen comrade.
This isn’t my first funeral for an on-duty firefighter, and it won’t be my last. In our line of work, deaths like this happen more than we’d like, and no matter how many times we learn about a line-of-duty death or hear their last call—the fallen firefighter’s name and designation announced over the radio one final time—it never gets any easier.
Ford and I are some of the last ones to leave. We stayed back to help Ricky’s mother and the rest of the 120 box all the food and clean up the area. Taking a drag from my cigarette, I scan the parking lot and notice the only person out here is a boy leaning on the hood of an old, beat-up Volkswagen Bug.
I recognize him from the funeral.
“That’s Ricky’s son, ain’t it?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Lukas.”
I’ve never met him, and don’t know too much about him, other than the fact that Ricky was a single father. He’s the spitting image of his dad, that’s for damn sure.
“How old is he?”
Ford glances at me, something passing through his gaze that I can’t quite place. That is, until he says, “Thirteen.”
It hits me like a ton of bricks, and suddenly, my chest aches for the kid even more because I’ve been exactly where he’s at, and I know what he’s going through on a deeply personal level.
I don’t know what comes over me, but the next thing I know, my feet are carrying me across the parking lot, toward the yellow hunk of junk and the kid with the messy brown hair and wrinkled suit that’s, at least, a size too big. His head snaps up, gaze meeting mine as I approach, and with his brow furrowed, he slowly removes the headphones from his head.
“Hey, I’m Remi,” I say, standing about two feet in front of him. “Lukas, right?”
He nods, his jaw tensed and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“I went through trainin’ with your dad. He was a great man. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Gee, thanks.” He huffs, and I remember that same bitter, annoyed, chip-on-my-shoulder feeling all too well.
“I’m sure you’ve heard that no less than a hundred times over the last week, am I right?”
There are dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes. He looks exhausted, but not just physically. Lukas doesn’t respond, and that’s okay. I don’t expect him to. He’s probably more overwhelmed than he’s ever felt in his life. I know I was.
“Buddy, I know exactly how you feel.” My throat tightens as his gaze lifts to meet mine. “I was the same age as you are when my dad died.”
“H-How did he die?”
Swallowing thickly, I say, “A fire.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
I nod. “I don’t remember a lot about that time in my life—trauma is a pesky thing like that—but what I do remember is how alone I felt, surrounded by dozens of firefighters, and family, and strangers I’d never even met. I was scared and confused. But most of all, I was angry. Really fuckin’ angry. At the firefighters who worked with him that survived that day, at the universe for takin’ my hero away, and at him. I was so unbelievably angry with my dad, and that made me feel so guilty, you know? He was a hero who lost his life savin’ the lives of others, and I was mad at him for that? It made me feel like a piece of shit.”
Tears glisten in his eyes, and his chin quivers. My heart breaks for him, and I don’t even know him. Without thinking, I close the distance and pull him in for a hug. Lukas’s arms wrap around my abdomen immediately, and he clings to me like he might fall apart if I let go.
“It’s okay if you’re angry, Lukas,” I murmur as his shoulders shake. “With him, with the world, with me for standing here, giving you advice that you didn’t ask for. It’s okay, and it doesn’t make you a piece of shit.”
I take a step back, swallowing against the lump in my throat.
Glancing at me, Lukas wipes the moisture from his cheeks. “Glad to know you don’t think I’m a piece of shit.”
