I shake my head violently.
Not my business.
“You right, Cap?” Heids calls, her brows knitted as she pulls up her turnouts.
“Fine.Time53!” I bark out.
We’re filing into the engine as Sandy fires her up and the roller door rises. Schmiddy sits with Davies, and I’m on the double seat with London, who is staring out the window, headset in her hands still.
I nudge her knee with mine.
Her eyes drift to me.
I tap my headset with a finger, and she slides hers on her head, her focus wandering back out the window.
“Head in the game, 53. Davies, tell me the most important safety aspect of a house fire.”
Davies is swiping his floppy hair from his face in an effort to put his headset on. It slips from his hand and into his lap.
I fold my arms and set my gaze on him.
He finally has his headset in place, and I repeat the question.
“Ah, I?—”
We hit a pothole the size of the Grand Canyon, and London lurches sideways, almost ending up in my lap.
Fuck.
Hell, a man can dream.
I guide her back to her seat, my grip around her upper arms. Davies is talking to himself.
“Now, probie.”
“Yes sir. Life hazards. Who needs rescuing. Water access and...”
“Come on, bud. Two more.”
“Exposure, hazards, and smoke and fire behavior, sir,” Tennison finishes the question for him.
“Don’t.” I pin her with my stare.
“He—”
“He needs to know this. We are only as strong as our weakest link.”
Davies closes his eyes, swallowing.
“You don’t have to be an ass about it,” London says. “Sir.”
Sandy’s low chuckle rumbles through the headset, Heids raising a brow at me.
I can only imagine what they’d be saying if they could freely, but we keep the ranks on a callout. It’s a survival mechanism many have learned the hard, devastating way.
“Follow my lead, sweetheart, no weak link here,” Schmiddy says, chewing his gum, his lips flapping.
London glances at him. “Sorry, Schmiddy, not your week.”
