Chapter nine Logan
Chapter nine
Logan
“Alright, who’s ready to go teach fire safety to the kids?
” I clap my hands and rub my palms together, smiling at Gray and Kinsley where they both sit at the station’s kitchen table.
Like me, they’re dressed in their Class B’s, still in uniform but more casual for the day we have scheduled.
Other than his mustache, Gray’s face is freshly shaven.
Kinsley’s long hair is pulled back into a ponytail so tight, I don’t know how she manages the bright smile spreading across her face.
“Someone’s excited this morning,” she laughs, standing from the table and carrying her plate to the sink.
“What’s not to be excited about? It’s like a mini adrenaline rush to see their faces light up at the sight of the truck,” I say honestly.
Visiting Hartridge Elementary for fire safety demonstrations is something I’ve been looking forward to since moving here.
The station does this every year for kindergarten and first-grade students, but this will be my first time.
The school is on the smaller side, so we pull the truck onto their blacktop, where the basketball courts are located.
Once we have the truck parked and some gear and equipment pulled out, the teachers begin to lead their classes out to chairs that have been organized into rows, all facing one side of the truck.
With Gray and Kinsley’s assistance, it doesn’t take long to run through basic fire safety and different ways the kids can protect themselves at home in the event of a fire.
We call on a few students to help us demonstrate the Stop, Drop, and Roll method.
I even make a fun challenge out of seeing who can get their gear on the fastest, Gray or Kinsley, while explaining to the kids how important it is to move quickly and efficiently.
As much fun as they seem to have, we know their true excitement is over getting to see the inside of the truck, hear the siren, and ask questions—most of which have nothing to do with fires.
Gray is just getting the siren switched off when I turn to face the crowd of students and ask, “Alright now, any questions?”
A sea of hands shoot into the air, and Kinsley calls on a little girl whose hair is being held back with a pink bow way too big for her head. “My friend right here,” she says, pointing to the girl. “What’s your question?”
The girl beams as she clasps her hands in her lap, her full attention locked on Kinsley. “I never seen a girl firefighter before.” It’s not a question, but my crewmate smiles and handles it like a champ.
“Anyone can be a firefighter,” Kinsley says, first smiling at the little girl before she turns her attention to the other students. “You just have to be strong and brave and do really well in school.” She adds that last part for the school’s sake.
After answering a few more questions about things like whether or not we live at the fire station—we don’t, but it fucking feels like it sometimes—and if firefighters actually have the dogs with spots like in cartoons, the three of us have given up on steering the conversation back toward fire safety.
Some of the kids ask things like who has fought the most fires between the three of us, if we actually have a fire pole, and if we have ever rescued a cat from a tree.
“I’m afraid we can only answer one more question, and then we have to get back to the station,” Gray says.
A little hand shoots into the air, and my attention shifts to a boy with blond hair and a superhero T-shirt sitting in the first row of students. I give a nod and point to the boy. “What’s your question, bud?”
He slides forward in his seat until his feet touch the ground, then stands. “Are you like a real superhero? Because my daddy was a police officer, and my momma says he was a hero.”
I don’t miss the way he says his dad was a police officer, and my mind immediately assumes the worst. He’s way too young to have already experienced the loss of a parent, but it’s an unfortunate reality for far too many first responder families.
It’s one of the things I thought about the most before choosing this career path.
As a child, being a firefighter seemed like a dream job, but not just because it seemed cool.
I’ve always loved the idea of helping those in need, and I knew from a young age that the medical field wasn’t for me.
The only hesitancy I’ve ever had has been regarding my romantic life.
I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a father.
But I do know that having a wife and kids would make the calls that much scarier.
As much as I love the feeling of adrenaline spiking through my system with every call and getting to save and protect people, there’s always a hint of fear that lingers beneath the surface.
I don’t know what it feels like to have a partner whose job involves putting their life in danger every day, but I don’t imagine it’s easy.
Though I guess it probably feels sort of like the fear that twists in my gut every time I watch one of my crew run into the flames.
“We don’t have any superpowers, but we do everything we can to help those in need.
” It’s the best answer I can think to give, and it seems to satisfy him because he smiles and slides back into his chair.
We say our goodbyes and give each of the kids a gold-foiled Junior Fire Fighter sticker.
They were almost more excited about the sticker than about hearing the truck’s siren.
Once we’re back at the station and have checked over the truck and made sure everything is clean and where it should be, we spend time running through a few drills.
It’s all shit that needs to be done, but the familiarity of it all makes it too easy for thoughts to wander back to the woman from the bar.
Tessa.
I get along with just about everybody I meet, but I’m not often drawn to people the way I was to her.
She seemed reserved and cautious but still so full of life.
It makes me think she doesn’t always get the chance to let loose, which only makes me wonder what consumes her during her day-to-day life.
Not to mention the soft fullness of her body was fucking intoxicating.
That night was better than I could have imagined, but it left me wanting more.
More than just her name, the memory of her laughter, and the taste of her on my tongue.
I woke up this morning with cold sheets and a hard cock, desperate for more of her.
I don’t know if I did or said something wrong at some point during our night together that made her bolt while I was sleeping.
My brows pinch as I run through everything in my mind.
We didn’t talk much afterward, and maybe that alone made things awkward for her.
I didn’t want her driving home tired and insisted that she spend the night.
Maybe that’s what made her uncomfortable?
I was hoping for another round in the sheets.
Another chance to commit her taste and every luscious curve to memory.
I figured I would make coffee and breakfast when she woke up.
Then, after she was fucked, fed, and caffeinated, I would convince her to give me her number before we said our goodbyes.
I need to see her again.
But I don’t know how I’m going to find her.
Hartridge is a small town, so it shouldn’t be too hard, but I can’t exactly go around asking everyone I see if they know a woman named Tessa.
We didn’t tell each other where we worked, but I do know she’s friends with Olivia and Tilly, so if I have to, I’ll start there.