His face only turns more serious, and I shift in the chair.
“I am still retiring, don’t worry about that,” he says with a strained chuckle. “However, Schmidt from 41 is transferring in. And you two will job share for the next nine months, give or take depending on how it all goes, until the board makes a decision on who takes my place. Then you’ll have three months to settle in while I’m still unofficially kicking about until I’m off to sunsets and mocktails.”
My face is slack.
I have no idea how to respond.
“Now I know what you’re thinking, Miles. This was supposed to be your job. I was more than happy to hand the position over to you, but the bureaucrats in head office want fresh blood in every station. So it means you have one more hurdle to smash out and, god willing, this place is yours to run.”
“But there’s no guarantee?”
“I’m sorry, son. I put up a fair fight for you, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Too close to the problem, they told me.”
“What are you talking about?”
Cap sighs. “They think our station has become complacent. The pencil pushers who analyze the callout data have seen a decline in response times, and there were a few complaints from the public that the station is...”
“Is what?”
“Disorganized... unprofessional. We’re a few more months of bad calls away from getting decommissioned with all the funding rerouted to EMS capable stations.”
“53 is none of those things, sir.”
“Ladder 43’s response times are counted in with yours. The shift is supposed to help the station overall.”
The hell?
Chapter 2
LONDON
“We’re going to miss you when you’re gone, babes.” Kelvin swings an arm around my neck, shoving a goodbye cupcake into my hands. His blue eyes, under a teal sweatband that completes his eighties tracksuit style today, shimmer with tears.
I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’ll be back. I’m not dying, you know, mate.” I try for a chuckle, but the room turns somber. “How could I leave our babies? And you’ll let me know how Rusty and Millie go? Oh, and any new puppers that come in, yeah?”
The work group chat is always flooded with new pup info. Will I still be part of that? Probably not.
Donna, our founder and now CEO, has made the shelter feel more like a home. Now, apart from the six hours a week she comes in to do her business-y things, she’s off somewhere in Lycra and a windbreaker, a headband holding her wiry grey mass of hair back, running and exercising like if she stops the devil will track her down.
We, her devoted children—except maybe Wendy on the other side of the staffroom table—put everything we’ve got intocreating an environment that’s comfy, fun, and loving for every pup that comes our way.
Kels just hugs me tighter, like if he lets go I may, in fact, go up in a puff of smoke and disappear.
Wendy shifts on her seat, crossing her legs as she picks at her own cupcake. “What are the statistics of first year firefighters and survival rates?” She raises a brow. “Especiallyfemaleones...”
I pull a pouty face at her and shove the cupcake into my mouth before it runs away with every retort I’ve ever had for the tiny woman who only wears yellow. Which conveniently matches her frizzy blonde hair. And she’s smelled like moth balls every single day I’ve been working—well, volunteering—at Hearts and Paws Dog Shelter on Fifth.
One part of the shelter I will not miss.
“Hello?” a man’s voice calls from out by the front desk, the sound weaving its way back to the staff room.
Kelvin jumps out of his chair. “Oh, I’ll go. Sounds handsome.”
I shake my head, loosing a soft chuckle.
That guy is a maniac.
Always on the hunt for his next “muscle-bound conquest,” as he calls them. But he’s been one of my closest friends for the past year. We met when I moved to the city—to America—from New Zealand. I’d started my fire department training in my homeland, but life seems to do whatever the hell it likes, and when my mom divorced my shithead dad, we moved as far away from him as possible, to the biggest, busiest place we could disappear into.
