With forty minutes left of shift, I can’t be in the same space as the probies. Or Owens and her defective damn winking eye. Not a minute longer. I strip out of my turnouts and position them for the next callout before downing a gut full of water.
“Cards, Cap?” Sandy calls, halfway up the stairs.
“No, I’m good.”
“Let the man blow off some steam, Sandy. God knows he needs it after?—”
Sandy clips the back of Heids’s head playfully, and she chuckles before they both disappear into the hallway.
Fuckers.
Am I that goddamn transparent?
I stride for the back door of the house. The morning sunshine hits my face, and I haul in a long, steadying breath.
Fuck, I needed that.
Stalking for the watchtower, I bend down en route and tug a hose onto each shoulder before taking off up the stairs. I’m at the top before the burn catches me.
I spin around and sprint back down.
Adjusting the hoses with a shrug, I turn right round and sprint back up the flights. On the fourth lap, I slow, my legs on fire. My shoulders aching with the weight. But I will not stop.
Double.
That’s what I do.
Double of everything I ask of my probies.
What kind of leader asks more of their team than themselves?
Tennison’s smile bursts into my mind.
With a low growl, I push my legs faster. My breaths pant quicker.
Up. Up. Up.
Down. Down. Down.
I double over, sides screaming with the slicing pain over my ribs.
Tennison’s hands in mine, the touch ghosting over my palms...
Grunts puff out with every breath.
I spur back into movement.
Up. Up. Up.
Down. Down. Down.
The hoses fall from my shoulders. Still, every sense clings to her.
The scent in the shower.
Her fingers over mine.
Her expressions as they changed, and I watched each damn one.
