Chasing Mr. December (Magnolia Point)

Chapter 1

Jason

“Touchdownnn! Come to Papa!”

This rookie is starting to chap my ass. Maybe I’m just bitter that my team’s only won two games this season, but Breck’s boisterous overconfidence isn’t helping. Truth be told, I wish I had an ounce of his self-assurance when I was a cub in the fire department. Not that I’d ever let him in on that.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, cubby. The game’s not over yet,” I bark. Hell, it might as well be. His team is up by fourteen and they’ve just announced the two-minute warning. I guess there’s always room for a miracle. Two minutes is a long time in football.

“Awe, don’t give the probie a hard time, Jase. You’re only jealous because he reminds you that you’re old. And your team sucks.”

Flipping Trevor the finger, I cross my arms over my chest in defiance and train my eyes on the screen as Miami’s kicker lines up his shot. Who in a million years would’ve thought this team could’ve taken my Bears by this much?

“And the extra point is gooood!” Breck’s voice grates like teeth dragging against a metal fork.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so. A large white object flies through the air, causing me to swiftly duck behind the recliner. I pop up in time to see it collide with the side of Brecken’s head.

“Someone tell this FNG to take a seat,” Matt grumbles. He must have more riding on this game than I do.

This kid would do well to rein it in a little. If nothing more than to save us from giving him any more rookie nicknames. At least calling him a cub is fairly innocuous. Not sure what it is about him that’s rubbed Matt the wrong way, though. He’s the last guy in this department to bully anyone. Yet it didn’t take long after Brecken’s arrival, and Matt had labeled him the fucking new guy.

As if the universe knew we needed a diversion from Brecken’s antics. The door opens, and three beautiful women stride in.

“Hey, what did we do to deserve this visit?” Matt springs from his chair, grinning widely like Santa came early this year as he walks over to greet his girlfriend. He takes the tray of what appears to be Ellie’s mouthwatering cornbread and deposits it on the island before placing a kiss to her temple.

“Well, between your twenty-four-hour shifts, poker night, and football season, we don’t get to see that much of you anymore.” Addison pouts. Trevor dashes over to squeeze his girl tight enough to make her squeal, then sneaks a peek inside the pastry box she’s holding.

Not to be outdone, Alex pulls Tuesday into his arms, nuzzling her hair. It’s clear why he calls her Sunny T. His face glows whenever that girl is near.

A pang of jealousy tugs at the hollow within my chest as I observe my friends with their girlfriends. As much as I’ve tried to stay focused on my career, it’s times like this when I have to admit my job can’t fill this void. That yearning to have someone to come home to at the end of a long shift. But I’ve been there, done that, and have the scars to prove it. It’s clear the universe has other plans for me. No sense fighting it.

Even if watching my friends stokes the fire of my loneliness.

“Hey, Jason, you got a minute?”

Jumping at the large, warm hand on my shoulder, I turn to find the imposing presence of Chief Roberson behind me. “Hey, Chief. When did you sneak in? Did the word get out that Dave was in the kitchen?”

Everyone quickly turns from the TV. The Battalion Chief’s arrival met by a chorus of hellos from my firefighter brothers. There are twice as many of us here than usual today given the game is on. Well, that and Dave’s whipping up his famous chili.

“Something like that.” His voice rumbles with a slight chuckle, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes.

What the hell? Has something happened?

I hastily follow him through the kitchen. Dave’s brows furrow together as we pass by.

“Save me a bowl, will you, Dave?” The chief tosses over his shoulder. His casual tone should relax me. But, nope.

Once we reach the office, the chief takes a seat, and I quickly lower myself to the chair facing the large wooden desk. It somehow seems more imposing when he’s sitting behind it. Taking a slow inhale, I anxiously await the reason for his visit, feeling like a child who’s been called into the principal’s office.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

I laugh nervously. “No, you did me a favor. My team was losing spectacularly.” At least that debacle seems less painful with this unexpected visit.

Chief Roberson leans back in his chair, running his fingertips along the salt and pepper whiskers on his chin. “How long have you worked here, Lieutenant?”

“Going on six years, sir.”

Where’s he going with this? There’s no doubt he’s fully aware of my tenure. Battalion Chief Roberson is as good as it gets. But his rank alone makes me appreciate the seriousness of this conversation.

“As I recall, you dove in headfirst once you arrived to station twelve and have made quite the name for yourself here. You were promoted to lieutenant about two years ago, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” I’m still shocked I was afforded the ability to apply for that. Most of the firefighters I knew back in my hometown had to wait until they’d worked five to six years before they had the same opportunity. But in this mountain town environment, where few fire stations cover a large area, the turnover can create a need for dedicated men to be promoted sooner.

Sitting taller in my seat, I feel a sense of pride that my hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed. Once I moved to Sycamore Mountain, my career was my top priority. I continued my EMS training, obtaining my paramedic license as well as attending any search and rescue classes available. As a lieutenant it’s my responsibility to supervise the men in my department, ensuring we’re prepared for any situation. There’s a lot of education and safety demonstrations to lead.

“Hank Fowler advised he’d be taking retirement within the next ninety days.”

“The Assistant Chief?”

“Yes.” Chief Roberson pauses, his expression taking on more of a benevolent visage. “His wife has been undergoing chemotherapy for her second battle with breast cancer, and he’d like to be home.”

“Hell, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Linda’s a lovely woman. She doesn’t deserve the hand she’s been dealt.” He looks away momentarily before continuing. “But rather than recruit for Hank’s position, Chief Morton would like to promote our current staff and transfer a new lieutenant. That is, if you’re interested in applying for captain?”

“Interested?” I shake my head, astonished. “I’d be honored, sir.”

Battalion Chief Roberson abruptly stands from the chair and makes his way around the desk, his hand outstretched in my direction. “Well, I’m relieved to hear it, Lieutenant. I ask that you keep this between us for now. But I’ll be back in touch soon.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for considering me.”

“There’s no one else I feel is better suited for the job, Jason. Just be ready to step in within the next six to eight weeks so we can make a smooth transition when the time comes.”

“You’ve got it,” I answer, my voice quavering a bit at my overwhelm.

Dave hands Chief Roberson a steaming container of his chili as he exits the office. The Chief gives a hearty groan of appreciation before he waves a quick goodbye.

“What was that about?” Dave asks as Trevor joins us at the kitchen island.

“Oh, just some administrative stuff he wanted to run by me.” Hell, I hate lying to these guys. Not only are they my firefighter brothers, they’re also my closest friends and confidants. Not just here in Sycamore Mountain, but anywhere. I may have only moved here six years ago, but this is home to me. This conversation with Chief Roberson was just the reminder I needed to forget about women and stay focused on my job.

“Hey, Jase! You’re Mr. Popularity today,” Brecken bellows from the dayroom. “Phone’s for you.”

I reach for the receiver, grateful for a diversion from Dave and Trevor’s inquiries. “Hello.”

“Hi. Is this Jason Bristow?” a soft voice asks.

“Speaking.” Why does she sound so familiar?

“I’m so sorry to have to call you. It’s about your dad.”