Page 43 of The Goat Next Door

“The hydrant system out here was ancient,” I say. “Half the lines were corroded through. Tommy had been fighting with the county for upgrades for years, but nobody thought the mill was worth the budget.”

My jaw tightens.

“The first collapse happened fast. Faster than it should’ve.” I rub a hand over my mouth. “We got one of the boys out with second-degree burns. The other one was still unaccounted for. Tommy went back in with me through the south corridor.”

Emmy doesn’t interrupt. She just watches me carefully from across the kitchen.

“There was this moment,” I say, my voice roughening, “where everything went quiet. That’s the part I remember most. Not the explosion. Not the fire. Just… quiet.”

I swallow hard.

“The dust had ignited up in the rafters, and the whole structure shifted. Tommy looked at me and told me to get the hell out.” A humorless breath leaves my chest. “I argued with him about it. In the middle of a burning mill.”

“Brooks—”

“I wasted time.”

My hand curls around the coffee mug so hard the ceramic creaks faintly under my grip.

“I should’ve dragged him out the second the pressure failed. I should’ve called the retreat earlier. But Tommy was chief, and he kept saying we still had a shot at finding the kid.” I stare down into the dark coffee. “And I listened.”

The kitchen goes silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.

“When the roof came down…” I stop for a second, jaw flexing hard enough to ache. “It pinned his lower half. We tried to get back to him, but the heat was too high. The hoses were barely pushing water by then.”

I shake my head once.

“I could hear him on the radio for almost four minutes after the collapse.”

Emmy’s expression crumples for just a fraction of a second before she smooths it back out.

“That’s why you hate unsafe things.”

I let out a dry laugh with no humor in it at all.

“That’s why I don’t tolerate stupid risks,” I correct. “People think I’m controlling because I like rules. And they’re right, I like rules because I know exactly what happens when something small gets ignored.”

My eyes drift toward the old porch outside.

“One bad valve. One overloaded line. One guy saying ‘it’ll probably be fine.’ That’s all it takes.”

Emmy stays completely still by the sink. She doesn’t offer any of those empty, polite condolences. She just stands there, wide eyes fixed on my face, letting the silence exist.

“The town holds a service at the firehouse,” I say, clearing my throat. “We do a parade, a bell ringing, and then everyone spends the afternoon drinking cheap beer and talking about what a stubborn bastard Tommy was. Nobody works tomorrow, Emmy. Nobody feels like holding a hammer on the day Tommy went down.”

“And that’s when you became chief,” she says quietly.

“Yeah,” I say. “I was twenty-eight. I didn’t want the white hat. But nobody else knew the valley grid, and Tommy’s widow… she looked at me at the funeral and told me I was the only one who wouldn’t let the boys get lazy. So I took it.”

“That’s a lot of weight for twenty-eight,” she says.

“I’m thirty-one now,” I say. “Still trying to figure out if I’m doing it right.”

“Wait. You’re thirty-one?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I’m twenty-five,” she says, her voice dropping into a smaller, sheepish register. She picks at a bit of dried flour on her pants. “I guess I thought you were older. You have that whole… serious, weathered vibe going on.”