“Thank you for turning what I was certain was going to be an awful night into an incredible one.” His dark eyes sparkle, less somber than when we first met. “And for giving me the perfect excuse to escape my brother’s annoying work buddies.”
My exhale is happy and sated. “Well, goodbye then.”
He dips his chin. “Good luck with the music. Maybe one day, I’ll hear your songs on the radio.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
His engine roars to life when my feet hit the sidewalk. Turning, he waves goodbye, and I watch until his taillights disappear.
That night, the muse to my lyrics is a dark-haired stranger with sad eyes and a story to tell.
EIGHT
WARREN
FOUR WEEKS LATER
Emergencies don’t adhereto a curfew.
Point proven when I’m jolted awake from my bunk, sirens blaring obnoxiously in my ears. There’s no thinking required. I’m conditioned to move before my brain knows what’s happening. Only when my bare feet hit the cold floor do I pause, and the tone continues, not waiting for my brain to catch up to my body.
Bitter realization dawns—this call isn’t for me.
They haven’t been for weeks.
Heavy boots stomp through the corridor as my crew makes their way to the apparatus bay, ready to haul on their gear. Thirty seconds have passed since the alarm first sounded; that’s how quickly we’re trained to move.
Not me. Not today.
I could’ve slept in my bed after finishing my shift three hours ago. Instead, I pretend I’m needed—still a valued member of this firehouse.
One-hundred and four seconds later, the sirens of Engine One echo through the station before slowly fading into the distance. Perched on the edge of the mattress, I close my eyes, imagining the feel of the thick layers of gear weighing me down and the rumble of the engine vibrating beneath my feet as we make our way to a call.
I’m wound tight like a copper wire, desperate to spring into action at the drop of a hat. Technically, the choice to return to full duties is in my court, and it’s for that reason I’m still shackled to desk duties despite my captain’s constant nagging.
As if my thoughts summoned him, the door to the room swings open, revealing a man in a navy uniform. Captain Marcus Frasier, one of the most dedicated firefighters in the city. My oldest and only friend. A pain in my ass for almost twenty years. Who also happens to be my brother-in-law.
Meeting fresh out of college, we joined the same station as probies. I was unimpressed when he started dating my sister, but my grudge lasted three days. We’ve moved around—him for greater things and me for not so greater things—and four years ago, when he was promoted to captain, I got the call Station 82 was looking for an EMT-certified firefighter.
Without a second’s thought, I accepted the job, needing to escape the pitiful gazes of my old crew. My departure was long overdue, having spent countless shifts dismissing a past that refuses to be forgotten.
Marcus rarely wears that look, but as he watches me warily from the doorway, like I’m about to spontaneously combust, our last conversation replays in my head.
You’re not working as part of the team.
This has got to stop.
One day, you’re going to get yourself killed.
Or someone else.
He’s spent the last four years as a buffer between me andthe others, meaning I can go about my shift withdrawn and with no concerned glances or questions as to why I sleep at the firehouse most nights. It means I can escape to the quiet place in the corner of my mind.
It doesn’t mean I can pull the shit I did on my last call. I recognize and respect his decision to suspend me.
“Why the fuck are you still here?” He slaps the switch on the wall, the white-light making me hiss.
Shielding my eyes, I stand, cursing when my knees crack from the movement. “Saving money on gas. I hate the commute home. The lumpy mattresses here are my favorite. Pick an answer. The question is, why areyoustillhere? I thought Diana had you on a strict schedule.”
