Figures.
God, this is going to hurt tomorrow—and worse the day after, I bet. And I’m on shift. Resisting the urge to leave the hose up here and walk down without the weight, I shoulder it and start my way back down. I’m halfway up when Schmiddy is riding Davey’s ass up the stairs.
I throw him an empathetic glance as he moves past me at a similar pace I did on my second run. Despite this morning’s torture, his face is still it up with his megawatt smile.
I can’t help smiling as I make my way down the last two flights. Maybe Davey’s onto something. Smile and the rest will follow. Even when pain is being inflicted on you.
The second I step off the watchtower steps, I toss the hose to the ground. It twists, lying in a heap.
“You treat your equipment that way, and you’ll be scrambling on callout and wasting time. And time means lives, Tennison.”
My eyes fall closed in frustration.
He’s right.
I know he’s right.
But does he have to haunt everything I do?
“Roll it out and back neat. Then you can give me fifty pushups to cement the lesson.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
The academy was tough, and we knew it was nowhere near as brutal as belonging to a real house. This... I don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed I’ve ended up in a crew with this much work ethic.
With a sigh, I start to roll out the hose along the ground.
“Add another ten for the attitude,” Hammond growls.
The fu?—
“Now! Tennison.”
I send the hose along the ground like the thing killed my damn kin. I follow it along and then start rolling. By the time I’m standing with the entire hose rolled up and on its edge between my legs, my arms burn and my hands ache from gripping the dense, rigid fabric.
“Sixty over the hose,” Hammond snaps.
I loose it to the ground and drop down. Lowering my body over the hose, I push up. I make forty-three before the burn starts to take a toll. The pent-up exhaustion from the watchtower run has my body shaking like it has damn permission.
I pause, holding myself over the hose.
“Keep going, or I add ten.” Hammond stands at my side.
My cheeks burn.
Every curse I’ve ever learned runs through my head, his name and stupid face attached to them. But I manage to add another seventeen and make sixty before it turns to seventy. Just.
I kneel and sit back on my heels as I look up at him, panting with every heave of my chest, my arms now as liquefied as my legs.
Hammond bends down and plucks up the hose like it weighs nothing. “Get cle?—”
The house wails to life, the dispatch alarm echoing through the outdoor space behind it.
Fuck my luck sideways.
“Move, 53!” Hammond calls up the watchtower, and less than a minute later, we’re filing inside the garage, pulling up turnouts. My legs shake as I slip my boot into the right leg. More so when I have to balance on one foot and step in the other side.
“Goddamn this shit to hell,” I utter.
