Miles drops his forehead to mine.
“Are you?”
“I’m fine. If anything, I’m more determined than anything to make a difference now.”
“Have you any idea how incred?—”
The alarm wails through the speaker system and Miles sighs. “Fuck.”
I chuckle at him, planting a fat kiss to his neck before slipping out underneath his body still caging me in.
I grab the handle and he breathes, “Rain check, beautiful.”
“I’ll hold you to it, sir.”
He rolls his eyes, and I tug the door open and rush for the pole. Miles takes the stairs, and by the time I’m stepping into my turnouts, he’s found his. Schmiddy starts snapping out orders.
That fall on deaf ears.
Sandy glances at Miles.
We’re not following Schmiddy’s word, despite it being his week.
Owens jumps into the back of the engine cab, and I file in beside her as Davey and Miles follow a beat later.
Schmiddy takes shotgun, and we listen to him drone on for the entire eight minutes it takes Sandy to wheel us onto the scene.
This will be fun.
Urgh . . .
The things you do for your captain.
Davey caves first, second-guessing Miles as he holds us back from the scene.
No! Stop!
The three-vehicle crash that includes a truck carrying metal piping has taken out a power line.
Schmiddy’s yelling at Davey to get in there, claiming the line’s too far from the first vehicle to be a threat.
“Don’t move a muscle, probie, or so help me god, I will write your ass up,” Miles grinds out.
This is a disaster.
Schmiddyis a damn disaster.
The woman in the closest car, which looks like it’s right out of the scrapyard, is screaming for someone to help her. Her wild hair and mouth full of rotting teeth is the first thing I notice as she waves at us.
Davey’s attention is torn between her, Schmiddy, and Miles.
Don’t do it, Davey.
Don’t.
“I can reach her in time,” Davey starts.
“You take one step and you’re done.” Miles slaps a hand to his radio. “53 to base, copy?”
