“Yes, sir. Just hang in there, OK?” he says, standing to leave. “If you ever want to talk about it–”
“I don’t,” I bark, more harshly than I intended. “And don’t call me sir.”
He lets out a low chuckle as he leaves the office, closing the door behind him. Letting out a pained exhale, I rest my foreheadon the stack of paperwork I didn’t really have any intention of doing.
I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.
***
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”
I whoop triumphantly as Tyler groans, accepting defeat.
“Alright, alright, I’ll head out on the next call. You can stay here and man the phones.”
“Excellent,” I say, grinning widely and propping my feet up on the coffee table.
It’s been a hell of a shift, and we’re both bone tired. But knowing Murphy and his damn law, we’re bound to get at least one more call before we’re free to go home for a few days off, so we made an unbiased decision the way all grown men do–with a schoolyard game.
Almost comically on cue, the alarms start blaring, and there’s a mad dash of men getting their gear and loading onto the rig.
“Have fun, boys!” I yell with a wave, chuckling as Tyler flips me the bird as they exit the station.
Ten minutes later, the station phone rings.
“Larkspur Fire, this is Jack. Is this an emergency?”
“Jack, you gotta get here quick, man.” Something in Tyler’s voice on the other end of the line makes my blood run cold.
“What is it?”
“You just…you gotta come. Garrett is coming back to the station to take over for you.”
He rattles off the location, and I hastily grab my things, bolting for my Jeep. Overwhelmed by a sense of dread, I tear out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.
***
Another knock on my door drags me from the memory and back into my office. This time, instead of a human tank with a mustache, I’m greeted by freckles and deep green eyes.
“Hi, Jack Robbit,” Abby says, plopping down in the seat previously occupied by Tyler. “Sleeping on the job?”
“No,” I say, “Just pretending that if I ignore it for long enough, the paperwork will do itself for me.”
“What do you say you take a break and come get some food with me?”
“What were you thinking? And don’t say the diner.”
“Unfortunately, Little One wants diner fries,” she says, patting her stomach. “And what baby wants, baby gets.”
“Oh yeah? Little One is sentient enough now to tell you that, huh?”
“It’s a mother’s intuition,” she says smugly. “Also, it’s the only thing that doesn’t make me want to puke my guts up, so unless you want to cause a public scene–”
“Alright, alright, we can go to the diner,” I sigh dejectedly, accepting defeat. “But when Little One comes out of the womb with high cholesterol, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
***
“Oh my god,” Abby moans through a mouthful of fries. “This is exactly what I needed.”
