My boot hits the first tread, and I grind my molars to prevent the groan of pain from slipping through my lips.
I make the first turn to the second flight. My thighs burn, my lungs shriveling further with every inadequate, fiery breath.I take the steps one at a time, despite the need to make a faster time.
I can’t.
I’m shot.
I’m done.
Left turn.
Step.
Step.
Fire creeps through my veins as the last breath sticks, not budging from my constricted throat.
I stumble, falling on the third-floor landing.
“Fuck,” I rasp. My knees flare with pain a second later.
Footsteps thunder up behind me.
“Get up!” Hammond’s ripping the hose from my grip.
I struggle to my feet, my legs jelly.
In the same heartbeat my back is straight, the hose lands on my opposite shoulder. “Go!”
“I can’t!”
He’s in my space.
He towers over me.
“Again, Tennison. Not halfway. You think fire cares if you’re tired? You think your crew cares if you’re hurting? Again.”
He points up the stairs at the remaining flights.
Heat prickles the back of my eyes, but like hell am I crying in front of this asshole. I adjust the hose and take off up the stairs on wobbly steps. The burn flares back to life after three steps. I breathe through it, holding the hose with both hands. There’s no way I’m dropping this and having to start over again.
When my footfalls slow and my breath turns rasping, I hear the familiar heavy steps close in behind me.
“Move, Tennison.”
Hammond runs up the steps behind me, pushing me up the last flight. God, this guy is something else.
At the top, the hoses fall from my shoulders, and I don’t even care if he starts on me again.
I pace a tight circle, hands on my hips, struggling to take in a deep, useful breath. He stands there at the top step, shoulders heaving as he stares at me, panting.
The temptation to shove that oversized chest of his and send him backward down the stairs is almost too much right now.
Turning away before instinct overrides my rational brain, I bend over, planting my hands on my trembling knees. Air swells my lungs, and I finally catch a solid breath.
A small, low sound registers from behind me, and I snap up to find Hammond taking the steps two at a time back down the watchtower.
Guess he’s properly tortured his probie. His job here is done.
