“We’re here to work out, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’m going to bench.”
He nods.
I lay back on the bench, squaring my feet, bracing my back with my abdominal muscles. Rolling my shoulders back, I place my hands evenly on the bar and inhale. On the exhale, I lift the bar off the rack, extending my arms skyward with a thrust and grunt. It’s the least ladylike movement imaginable. I’m shaking and I’m sure a vein is bulging in my neck. I grit my teeth.
“You okay?” Dustin asks, all humor absent from his tone.
“Yep.”
I slowly lower the bar to my chest and push it away.
“One!” Dustin shouts.
“Nope,” I say, my voice strained. “That’s only half a lift.”
I hold the bar high, calculating my breathing. Lower it. Press with all my might to raise it again. “One!”
My arms are shaking. I’m like a human earthquake on the bench, but I’m still in control. I lower the bar and with a pop of exertion, I press it high overhead a second time, my elbows practically straight.
“Two!” Dustin shouts. “You’ve got this, Hallie!”
I lower the weight again, just a centimeter away from my chest, and then I grunt and press the barbell high overhead and release it with a clank onto the rack.
“Three!” Dustin and I say in unison.
When I sit up, my breath comes out in gasps, sweat beading my forehead.
All eyes are on me again. A heavy silence fills the small space.
My eyes flick to Greyson’s. He nods briefly, almost imperceptibly.
I remain seated. All the men in the room are watching me, but the look in their eyes has shifted from curious and guarded to one of respect. The heaviness in my center dissolves into a slow, steady calm. My legs still straddle the bench, chest heaving from the exertion.
Dustin lets out a loud whoop. “Dang, girl! Talk about beast mode! You can haul me out of a fire any day!”
Patrick chuckles. “No one’s hauling you out of any fire, Dustin. You and the fireman carry.” He looks at me. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over breakfast tomorrow.”
“Okay, this wasn’t a show,” Cody says. “Let’s get back to business, men …” He turns to me. “... and woman.”
The air in the room changes. It’s so subtle, like a warming by a single degree. When I move to grab a piece of equipment, or pick up a jump rope to jump, no one accommodates me with extra space. We simply work out.
Inside, I’m screaming. A whole bleacher-full of inner cheerleaders is freaking out like their team just won the championship. On the outside, I’m calm, collected. Just a firefighter exercising with her crew.
With no warning, the bell rings through the station.
Dispatch’s scratchy relay simultaneously comes through Cody’s handheld and the overhead speaker system. “Fire situation at Sycamore Assisted Living.”
Cody grabs the handheld and presses the com button. “What’s the situation?”
“Apparently the resident in room three-sixteen refuses to leave. There are other individuals in that apartment as well. Staff report six people trapped in the room. Everyone else is evacuated and accounted for. Smoke detectors went off on the third floor.”
“On it,” Cody says, looking around the room at the rest of us.
We’re already quickly filing out of the room toward the lockers in the bay where we keep our turnout gear.
