“Don’t worry about everyone else. They have their doubts, too. Trust me.” He leaned toward his sister. “If you want to investigate and find what excites you, you do that.”
She nodded, a small smile on her face.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Not be mad.”
“Listen, it was your idea to be a vet. I never told you that you had to. It’s your life.”
“You’re not disappointed?”
He grinned at her. Their age gap, and losing their father, meant Dhillon trod the line between father figure and brother, and the lines were always blurry. “Of course not.” He walked around his desk and hugged her. “Do you know how hard I had to work to get my degree? The loans I took out to buy this place? Being a veterinarian, having this practice—that has been my dream for as long as I can remember. I’m living my dream. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.” Except gutting this space and putting in place more efficiency and modernization. “But it’smydream. It doesn’t have to be yours. Do what makes you happy. Do what calls to you. Everything else will fall into place.” He lowered his voice. “That’s what Dad told me.”
She smiled, relief brightening her face. “Thanks, Bhaiya. You’re the best.” She paused. “At least if I become a vet, I know I have a job here.”
Dhillon walked back around to the monitor, out of her range. He shrugged, his eyebrows raised, his mouth in an exaggerated frown. “That depends on how good you are.”
“I’m your sister!”
“Whatever. I only hire the best.” He put up his arms in defense of the smack that he knew was coming his way.
Instead, a smirk crossed her face. “Let’s talk about getting you a girlfriend.”
He would have preferred the smack.
six
RIYA
Riya was jolted to her feet by the station alarm. Even after a month of this, her adrenaline pumped, pounding blood to where she needed it, and she thrilled at the excitement. She was up to doing twenty-four-hour shifts now, and she slept in the dorm with the rest of the guys on shift. The dorm had twin beds lined up side by side with half walls in between each to separate them, which gave her a modicum of privacy. The team pretty much slept dressed in case of a call, and the increased time at the station was letting her get to know her colleagues better.
Marcus Evans was the reason the station kept getting asked to do a firefighter-themed calendar. With flawless dark skin, hazel eyes and a smile that radiated joy, it was no wonder he was the station’s charmer. It turned out that Evans was also quite the carpenter. He had built many of the shelves and cabinets at the station. They were sturdy and beautiful, with intricate carvings to accent them. If anything needed to be built, he was the guy. He also had a brother who was a firefighter in another house. Schultz was the firehouse mechanic, and he knew everything about the rigs since he was the engine driver as well. Schultz could also bake like a boss, so the house frequently smelled of homemade cinnamon rolls, which Riya found herself indulging in more often than not. Alejandro “Do Not Call Me Alex” Alvarez, with his dark curly hair and creamy brown skin, towered over them all. His six-foot-five frame and semiperpetual scowl could be intimidating to anyone. But Riya was getting to know that scowl was just a show. He was known to pull out his guitar and play in between calls and was also in a band that played each week at a bar in Baltimore that Riya used to frequent with her paramedic friends. And when he sang, his face lit up, and there was no sign of the tough guy. He was also their resident electrician and plumber.
Ambrose, their lieutenant, came from a family of firefighters and had hit the academy as soon as he was legally able. He was the only one who did not seem to have some sort of hobby. He wasn’t often in the common room, but when he was, he was quiet or watching sports with everyone else. He didn’t say much during their off time, but it was clear that everyone respected him and deferred to his rank and experience, regardless of his youth.
They ate their meals together, family style, and it was at these meals that she saw her tough lieutenant relax, even crack a small smile. Riya’s contribution to this family was that she was an excellent cook. And not just of Indian food, which seemed to be a hit, but of all her food.
She’d started cooking in earnest after Samir had died, when her mother was too grief-stricken to do so. At first, she resented it, like many things during that time, but she quickly found it soothing. She would lose herself in the way the flavors blended together, in how her rotli would turn out depending on how much she had kneaded the dough or in how the dhal would change depending on how long she boiled it. She fed her parents, but soon that became her only connection to them as she started sneaking out of the house at night to meet new friends she knew her parents would not approve of. She smoked and drank and met up with boys. Her parents would have been horrified had they known. But they hadn’t. And they didn’t ever seem to make an effort to find out what she had been up to.
Only two people knew what she was up to. One was Dhillon. She knew this only because she’d seen the light on in his room and him peeking out as she sneaked out the back door, but he never told on her. The other was her cousin Roshni. And she only knew because she sometimes tagged along.
Roshni was Riya’s mother’s sister’s daughter and the closest thing to a sister Riya had ever had. Born only nine months apart, they did almost everything together. So on the nights that Roshni spent with Riya, they sneaked out and headed for the tree house. Riya appreciated the company, but the tree house was never as much fun as when Dhillon was there.
All the firefighters took turns making food, but cooking was her thing. She had most recently made kati rolls, a kind of Indian street food that resembled a burrito, and the guys were still talking about it.
With the blare of the alarm, the whole team was on their feet. Riya controlled her breathing and focused completely on gathering her gear and making her way to the engine. The department was organized chaos as everyone readied themselves, only taking seconds to do so. In less than four minutes, they were on their way, sirens wailing.
Details of the fire came through the comm, and Riya quickly understood that this fire was bigger than the ones she had fought so far. This was her chance to prove that she could do the job as well as any of the guys. As the dispatcher spoke, her lieutenant evaluated her with unabashed judgment. Adrenaline continued to pump through her body, and she swallowed hard and masked her face. Lieutenant or not, she was not going to let him intimidate her. She belonged here, and she knew it, heart and soul.
She smelled the smoke before she saw it. Upon arrival, sure enough, thick smoke billowed into the already-humid July air. She and her colleagues immediately got to work. Their captain, a tall, solidly built man in his forties, called out orders, and they rushed to fulfill them. Riya was assigned to the hose alongside Ambrose and Evans. She fastened her oxygen tank to her back and tightened the straps of her self-contained breathing apparatus, or SCBA, and helmet. They entered the smoke-filled building and began dousing flames. Riya, as the rookie, walked behind the other two and fed them hose. They moved as a unit, attacking the flames. Sweat immediately soaked her through, dripping into her eyes. She blinked to remove the sting. Their efforts were working, but the flames were still eating away at the building when Riya heard a voice from inside.
She turned to the man closest to her. “Lieutenant, did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Ambrose concentrated his attention on the hose.
“It...sounds like someone calling for help. Over on the other side.” She indicated with her head where she had heard the voice come from. “We should go.”
Ambrose spared her a glance. “You can’t go alone. We need you here to feed the hose. Hang on. I’ll grab someone.” He spoke into his radio. “Requesting assistance. Need someone to hold the line—”
