Chapter 29
Wyatt
Jolting forward on my couch, my feet hit the floor from where they were on the coffee table. I reread the comment on my social media over and over again.
Don’t trip again, firefighter Dalton. It might start a fire.
I get a lot of comments on my posts. Some I read, some I don’t.
Majority of them are from women, especially on my videos that are more thirst trap than not.
Like this post about the auction and tickets.
Which might be why this comment caught my attention.
It’s different. Familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.
The tripping part has me clicking on the profile for the user, but it doesn’t reveal anything.
No posts, no information. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was a bot account.
Except it mentioned me tripping. That’s knowledge only a few people have.
The guys haven’t posted my tripping incident, and I didn’t bring it up in any of my other videos.
Firetofire831Station9.
Station Nine is the station I’m at. Eight-thirty-one is an area code for Santa Rosé. And fire to fire… could this be another firefighter?
Clicking on the “replies” portion of the profile, my stomach bottoms out, blood running cold. Whoever this is has only replied to my videos. There’s not a single other comment through the entire thing, right down to the end of the replies.
Aw, look. Did the wittle firefighter not get the girl’s number? Cry me a river.
Put some clothes on. No one wants to see this shit.
Of course you snagged the girl. Firefighters get all the hot ones.
Gag me. Or her. This display of updates is stupid. You should talk more about the fires you fight. Fought any good ones lately?
HAH. HAH. You got friend zoned? Pathetic. Start talking about firefighting, Dalton.
The comments go on and on. Sometimes multiple on the same video. Like whoever this is has nothing better to do than comment on my posts. And the dates to all the comments are all over the place, not in order. Not necessarily when the posts were first made.
Nice fighting fire today, Dalton.
My eyes land on the comment, and the world stops around me. I don’t breathe as I stare at it. The date matches the last fire we fought. Fucking hell.
The arsonist. There’s no doubt in my mind it’s him.
Bounding up from the couch, I grab my keys, water, and hat, and head for the door, stuffing my phone into the pocket of my athletic shorts.
It’s just before eight in the morning, and I have plans to meet the guys at 10-42 to work on the dance portion of my spot in the auction, recruiting Nate, Liam, and Luke to help.
My horseshoe of luck making this the perfect time to find these messages.
It’s not long before I’m knocking on the door at the bar, bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet, waiting for someone to answer.
I know they’re here because Liam’s motorbike is here, and Luke’s jeep is sitting beside it.
Nate’s truck isn’t around, but I’d bet he has a spot somewhere in the back.
Anxiety ratchets through me until the door opens, Nate on the other side, letting me in.
“Hey.”
“Need to talk,” I tell him, blowing past into the bar.
“Okay…”
There are more lights on than when I’ve been here before, and the daylight shines through windows above some of the booths lining the walls. Liam and Luke are near the dance floor, but I screech to a dead halt when I take them in.
“What the fuck are you guys wearing?”
They’ve both got shit-eating grins, an arm slung over each other’s shoulders in an act of solidarity.
Both of them wear sleeveless shirts—Santa Rosé Fire t-shirts with the arms cut off—and Liam has a pair of navy-blue sweats on, while Luke opted for a pair of shorts.
All normal. What isn’t normal is the layers of tulle wrapped around their waists in the form of tutus.
Liam in pink. Luke in purple.
“A couple years ago the girls went as fairies for Halloween. We may have stolen their skirts,” Liam explains, fluffing out the tulle. “We figured it would help our dance moves.”
Liam was the easy one to recruit. He jumped at the chance to be involved besides hosting the event, since he isn’t auctioning himself off this year. It took the two of us a day to convince Luke to say yes. And me offering to cook the next three shifts when it was his turn.
It took the big guns to convince Nate. Liam and I went straight to Savanna.
Liam was confident that would be the only way to get Nate on board, and given they’ve been best friends for years, I wasn’t going to argue.
Two weeks after I first accepted a spot in the auction, Savanna managed to persuade Nate to agree. I never want to know how she did it.
“Plus it’ll look great for the camera,” Luke adds, releasing Liam to do a spin for all of us.
Nate steps up beside me. “I tried to tell them they were idiots.”
“Idiots that will get us views on socials,” I agree with both of them.
While we’re all here to work on the routine with the help of my brother, it’s no longer the most pressing thing on my mind.
“I think the arsonist follows me,” I blurt out, pulling my phone out of my pocket.
“What?” Nate turns fully in my direction.
Luke blows out a breath. “Bro…”
“Dude,” Liam says, the two of them walking towards Nate and me.
I took a screenshot of the replies just in case the profile ended up deleted before I got here, but when I get to it, it’s still there. Turning my phone around so they can all see, I point at the screen.
“Does that make you the target?” Liam asks, eyes darting up to me.
“Or is he just the most visible?” Luke counters.
Nate raises his hands. “Okay, hold on. Everyone take a breath. You get tons of comments, and everyone knows you’re a firefighter.”
We all look at him. After watching him and Brody fight about the arsonist, I figured Nate’s reaction would be this. The voice of reason. The reason he’s lieutenant.
I nod. “And maybe it is random. But the username, Nate. Did you note that?”
Nate’s eyes glance back to the screen, along with the other two men. Luke whistles, and Liam curses.
“Fire to fire could mean arson to firefighter,” I say, explaining the thought I had on the way over here. “Eight-thirty-one is our area code, and Station Nine is rather obvious, don’t you think. Plus, it’s not like the usual comments I get.”
“You mean the thirsty ones?” Liam smirks.
“Exactly what I mean. When you add all that up, plus the tripping comment,” I point it out on the screen, “it’s sus, man. I mean, how would anyone know I tripped? You guys haven’t stolen my phone and posted that video yet.”
“Yet being the keyword.” Luke elbows Liam and they share a grin.
“Enough, you two,” Nate snaps at both of them. He runs a hand through his hair, then rubs at the back of his neck. “You’re sure you haven’t said anything about tripping in any of your videos?”
Eyebrows raising, forehead creasing, I give him a dubious look. “You think I’d post about that shit? Never.”
“You know, I saw Tyson last week and he mentioned you tripped the week before you left Station Six, too,” Liam says, lighting up like he’d forgotten the story until now. “Trip really is a suitable nickname.”
Fuck. I was hoping that would never get out.
“Wait.” Nate holds up a hand. “You’re telling me you’ve tripped at two different scenes?”
Deflating like a balloon that my dad just popped, I cringe, locking my phone and sliding it into my pocket for something to do so I don’t fidget under his scrutinizing gaze.
They aren’t my proudest moments, especially since it happened twice.
It’s like I didn’t learn my lesson the first time around.
“Hey, I don’t give a shit if you’ve tripped, it’s not a big deal,” Nate says, picking up my train of thought. “We’ve all done some stupid shit. But if you’ve done it at two different scenes, maybe this guy is targeting you.”
Slapping my hands on top of my head, my fingers interlock. “It was the arson fire that I tripped at.”
That was one piece I hadn’t put together.
A lot of arsonists stick around the fires they set to watch the excitement afterwards. If this guy has been watching me, chances are he saw me trip at one or both fires.
Silence fills the space between the four of us as we all look around at each other, letting this sink in.
Am I the target? If I am, why?
“Nate, didn’t you say there were fires at other stations, though?” Luke asks as serious as I’ve probably ever seen him when not on a call.
Nate nods. “One and Four.”
“So maybe Wyatt isn’t the target,” Liam suggests, and I’d love to agree with him.
“Or maybe he wasn’t to begin with, and the arsonist picked him along the way for some reason,” Luke counters, crossing his arms over his chest.
Nate hasn’t looked away from me, but I can see the gears turning in his head. “Can you remember anything happening at that fire other than tripping? Anything stand out? A passerby yelling or you interacting with someone?”
Thinking back to the call, I sift through my memory of what happened.
It was an easy, standard grass fire. Similar to the first one we all fought together.
Didn’t take us long to put it out. The only thing that stands out is when I came around the truck and tripped myself up on the hose Tyson was holding.
He had a front row seat to the entire thing and laughed until he almost pissed himself.
“Nah, nothing,” I finally tell them. “Other than me tripping and landing on my face.”
“I’m gonna call Tina,” Nate informs us, pulling out his phone. “You available today if she wants to talk to you?”
My arms flop down from the top of my head and hit my sides. “Yeah, I’m free.”
“Hey, we don’t know for sure you’re the target,” Liam says, clapping me on the shoulder as Nate walks towards the bar to make his call. “Whatever has the brain buzzing, knock it off.”