Chapter Thirteen
Kira
I hate lifting weights in front of firehouse bros.
They aren’t all bad, obviously. I do have male co-workers I like. I rarely see my female and nonbinary co-workers at all;
they seem to deliberately spread us out between shifts and fire stations, like too many of us on duty together will bring
down the team or something. And I do like lifting weights in general, especially when I’ve got something on my mind—like Nic.
I’ve tried other types of exercise and found them all boring as hell. But some bicep curls, some deadlifts, and my mind clears,
leaving all the space wide open for memories of Nic’s skin.
But these days, every time I go to pick up a barbell, suddenly, there’s Jared.
Sorry— Lieutenant Jared now.
I hate Jared.
“You only do fifteens for bicep curls?” Jared says as he piles plate after plate onto a bar. Any minute now, this place will
be filled with manly grunting and shouting as he lifts.
“I’m going for low weight, high reps to prioritize stamina,” I say primly. “Also, I don’t want to go so hard that I’m useless
when we get a call. Can’t carry a kid out of a burning building with noodle arms.”
“Ha, I never get noodle arms,” Jared says, lying back on the weight bench.
“Well, then, you aren’t really challenging yourself, are you?” I grumble. But just as he’s about to lift the bar off the rack—
The intercom clicks on, and all the bullshit falls away. Three long beeps indicate a structure fire, and the robotic voice
on the intercom provides details.
“Engine 25, please respond to a structure fire—”
Gear on. Downstairs to the apparatus. Grab my bunker jacket from where it hangs on the door. Pull myself inside.
“Apartment fire,” says Mark, our driver, as he settles in the seat and fires up the engine. My gut twists as I flick on the
lights and buckle myself in, prepping us to leave. Apartment fires are always worrying because of the sheer number of people
packed inside one building. But I stay focused. This is my job. I know how to do it, how to breathe and get my head in the
right place to respond.
Then the dispatch loops back around, and this time, I catch the address.
Nic’s address.
Oh, god.
I want desperately to call Nic, to see if she’s okay, to call everyone and rally the group. But I can’t just whip out my phone
while I’m responding to a fire call.
I’ll just have to do what I do best: fight the fire, work with my team, and save what I can. Stay low, be safe.
Mark eases the apparatus out of the garage, I flick on the siren, and we’re off.
The next hour is a blur. I do a quick half-second scan of the crowd beyond the caution tape for Nic’s face when we first arrive,
but don’t find her. There’s no time for anything more.
Instructions come down from the chief: we’re making an interior attack, I’m leading the hose team, and we’re first in. From
there, it’s all about properly deploying the hose, managing the stretch, evaluating our interior path and angles into the
active fire zone. My breath rasps in my respirator as time dilates with the adrenaline and focus. Seconds stretch into minutes,
then an hour, feeling the scorch through my sixty pounds of gear as we beat the fire back to its origin point in one of the
first-floor apartments. Other response teams sweep the building floor by floor, looking for anyone still needing evac.
When Nic’s floor is finally called clear, I spare another half second for grateful relief. But it isn’t until a full hour
later, when the fire is completely out and we’ve moved on to site duties and cleanup, that I spot Nic in the waiting crowd
and my body finally releases its coiled tension.
She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s not even being treated for smoke inhalation or anything. She’s just standing there with Skylar
beside her, rubbing her upper arms for warmth.
She’s okay .
I, on the other hand, am sweating my tits off and smell very bad. I can’t wait for a shower. I pull my helmet and respirator off, and even though my hair is relatively short, I still
feel it when my soaked curls slap back against my forehead. Gross.
Once our engine is finally called to return home, I search the mess of vehicles and flashing red lights for the lieutenant— Jared —and ask for five minutes to check on a friend.
“Oh, shit, you have a friend who lives here?” he says, glancing back at the blackened brick exterior of the building, harshly
lit by flood lamps and dripping water. “Could have been a lot worse. I’m glad they’re okay. You got five.”
I nod, fighting the thought that maybe Jared isn’t a total asshat, and jog past the three engines, two ladders, and ambulance,
over to where I caught a glimpse of Nic and Skylar earlier. When I don’t see them right away, I worry they’ve left. But finally,
there, just beyond the caution tape, I spot the two of them huddled together, cradling what looks like... the wreckage
of a pie? With my helmet under my arm, I approach the line, ignoring the whispers and stares of the other onlookers.
“Kira! Oh my god, Nic, look!” Skylar says, clutching Nic’s arm and shaking her. Nic seems to wake up out of a fog, looking
up and blinking until her eyes focus on me—the first time we’ve seen each other since I fell asleep in her bed, soaking up
the feeling of her skin. Not exactly the reunion I’d imagined, but the relief at seeing her okay and with a friend to care
for her overrides any weirdness I might otherwise feel. Nic’s eyes flash through a series of unreadable expressions...
then widen, scanning down my body.
“I know, I’m a mess,” I say, shifting my helmet to the other arm self-consciously. “I don’t want to get too close—I stink.
I just... had to see you. Make sure you were okay.”
“We’re glad you’re okay!” Nic says. “Skylar said your station would be one of the ones responding, and we were so worried.”
“I’m okay. See? All in one piece,” I say, rubbing the dripping sweat from my forehead. I’m sure it leaves a streak of soot
behind, but I’m not exactly posing for the firefighter calendar here. “The building is not okay, though. The lower floors won’t be habitable for a few weeks, at least. Structural inspection, smoke remediation...”
“Yeah, someone came over and talked to us,” Nic says, picking absentmindedly at a piece of broken pie crust. “So I guess I’m
homeless for a while. And I don’t have any of my stuff.”
“I told Nic she could have stayed with me if I hadn’t just moved back in with my mom,” Skylar says. “I’m staying one last
night to do the last ‘please give me my security deposit back’ cleaning, but I have no furniture or bed.”
Nic and I lock eyes, and the same crazed look crosses her face that I imagine is on mine.
The plants. What happened to the plants ?
“Yes, before you ask, I took all your plants with me. And they’re all still alive, ye of little faith. I have a spreadsheet.”
Skylar taps her lip and shrugs. “Well, except the hens and chicks. I really did manage to water those to death somehow.”
My mouth hangs open, and I glance between Nic and Skylar. Does she know about...?
“We have a lot to talk about,” Nic says, a complicated expression shadowing her eyes. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow, Kira. Well,
maybe. I guess I need to figure out where I’m staying first.”
“Oh, this is an easy one,” Skylar says, ticking off each point on her finger. “You could stay with our family, of course,
but that’s an hour and a half away. Fine for me, but terrible for a daily commute. Willow is a reclusive woods witch who I’m
not sure I could locate if I tried—they might live in a tree for all I know. Marco can’t handle sharing his space long-term,
and Ian has that dudebro roommate none of us can stand. So that leaves...”
She lets the sentence hang until I finally get the point.
“Oh! Uh, you could stay with me and Grace! We don’t have a spare room, but our apartment is pretty big, and the couch is more
comfortable than my actual bed. I’m sure Grace would be okay with it.”
Nic’s eyes bore into me, her head tilting to one side as she thinks. She raises her eyebrows as if to say, Are you sure?
I purse my lips and look away, avoiding Skylar’s gaze. She doesn’t know what happened between me and Nic. She doesn’t know
that twenty-four hours ago, I had my fingers buried inside her, feeling her clench around me as she came. And now I’m supposed
to share my apartment with her for some unspecified length of time, with Grace there as chaperone.
But... maybe this is a good thing. I wanted to pursue her, after all. I wanted to see if she was willing to give us a shot.
Temporarily living together is an intense way to start, but at least we’d see pretty quickly if we’re compatible outside of
sex.
“I’ll check in with Grace,” Nic says, hesitant. “I really appreciate the offer.”
I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way. “No problem at all. I gotta get back, but text if you need anything, okay?”
“Thanks, Kira,” Nic says, her voice so quiet it’s nearly swallowed up by the rumbling engines of the two ladders pulling out
of the parking lot.
I really hope this isn’t a mistake. Too much pressure on something so fragile and new, something that isn’t even really a
thing yet.
But if the way she’s looking at me in my full firefighter gear is any indication... it might be a thing soon enough.