Chapter 13
MILES
The guy in front of me could body double for a neon sign. I fold my arms, leaning a hip on the front desk as he chatters on about dogs. My dog, in particular.
“So, how old are you?” His eyes study me as he waits for a response. Is he looking for honesty? Who’d know.
My brows drop. “How is that relevant to Petal’s care?”
“Well, is she going to outlive you and fret her little self into an early grave?” He pops a hip, tossing an accusing look my way.
Why do I have the feeling I am being set up?
“Thirty-four, and I don’t think I’m going to do her the disservice of ending up on the wrong side of the grass before she does.”
His face pinches. “Well, this vocation of yours might be the thing to do it.”
What the fuck is it with this week and death, hey?
Yeah, nah, I’m done talking to this gu—
“Kels! What on earth are you doing here?” London flies from the side door that leads to the garage.
Kels, or whatever his name is, bursts to life like a busted pipe on Main Street. His hands fly out, and he runs for her. London throws herself around him, and they cuddle for what feels like an age.
“Oh, I missed you this week,” London says, releasing him. Her gaze lands on me, and she tilts her head. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, girl. Isn’t a concerned citizen and puppy lover allowed to make absolutely certain his pride and joy is taken care of?”
“I told you.” I lean toward them, still not leaving the safety of the bench. “Petal is fine.”
Kel turns back, huffing a laugh. “Who was talking about the dog, handsome?”
Oh, so now Petal’s the dog. This guy’s flipped his lid.
His gaze narrows as I stand watching.
Christ above. That’s my cue.
I roll off the counter and make for the stairs.
“Ah, where do you think you’re going?” Kels says.
London slaps him, muttering something inaudible before burying her head in her hands with a mortified groan.
“Back to work. I suggest you do the same.” I point at the front door and take the stairs two at a time.
“God, I see what you mean,” Kel says, not bothering to be quiet at all, “that man is hot and cold and every season in between.”
Excuse me?
Shaking my head, I stalk for my quarters. It’s far too early for this shit. Whatever London’s told him, I guess it’s none of my business.
Dammit, I thought we were friends. It sure felt that way.
Friends is safe. Friends is acceptable.
We’re not crossing any of the lines I’m tempted to annihilate on the daily.
I slam my door, and the sound echoes down the hallway. Dropping on the bunk, I shuck off my boots and stretch out. I could use a time out from humanity after—I glance at my watch—a grand total of eleven minutes with that guy.
And London . . . The glimmer of betrayal sliding into my chest pinches tight. It shouldn’t bother me the way it does.
A soft knock taps my door.
Fucking hell, can’t a guy have two seconds to himself?
I tug the door open. “What?”
Surprise flattens London’s face before she schools it to annoyance.
I run a hand through my hair. “Sorry, Tennison, I need a few min—”
“Kel—he’s . . . I’m sorry, he shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have said that stuff.”
Her chest snaps up and down at a rapid shallow pace.
My gaze drops to her mouth. My own parts, breath puffing past my lips as I tighten my grip around the edge of the door.
“Forget it. Go rest.”
She opens her mouth to say something but pushes up a tight smile and turns on her heel, heading for her quarters, two doors down and across the hall.
I close the door and my forehead meets the hard, cool surface. “Fuck.”
London and me are a hard no.
Every inch of my body is alive, even with that tiny interaction.
Starting something with London, despite the fact I’ve never been so affected by a woman close to this, would be a mistake.
I lose the will to deny myself . . . and the door opens under my hand.
My palm slams down on the other side, shutting it.
One of the few barriers between me and her.
With a low groan, I roll my forehead over the door and push off. Stepping back, I open the door and stalk my way to the gym. The place is empty, and I flick the light switch with too much pent-up . . . something.
I fire up the treadmill. Four miles pass before I manage to take the edge off the need for the sweet, fiery woman upstairs. When I stride past six miles, sweat runs down my back, over my chest, and down my stomach.
The sensation over my skin has my breath choppy.
I up the speed on the machine, sending my legs faster than is safe. Lungs on fire, legs jelly, I punch a finger to the stop button and step off, pacing a small circle. Hands on my hips, I heave through each stupid, useless breath.
I have no idea what to do with myself.
It’s one thing to know the rules, know the stakes. Another thing entirely to be unaffected by them.
By her.
Fuck.
A voice clears in the doorway.
I stop, hanging my head, not turning around.
“Sir?”
Davies.
Thank fuck. I don’t think I could muster the self-control I need to be around London right now and not make a huge mistake.
I turn back and he gives me a tentative smile. “Can’t sleep?”
“Not a chance. Treadmill’s all yours, if you want it.”
“Oh, no, I’ll bust out some reps. Can you spot me?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks.” He wanders in, laying on the bench, forgetting to set his weights.
“What weight do you want, Davies?”
“Ah, what do you do, sir?”
I huff a laugh. “Probably more than you, bud. How about we start at forty?”
“On each?” His eyes go wide.
“Total, then?”
“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”
I set the weights on the bar and move behind his head to spot. He grabs the bar, lifting up before his hands are in position.
“Have you done this before, Davies?”
“Not exactly, sir. I usually use dumbbells and a kettlebell. Nothing that heavy, actually. Never saw the need.”
I raise a brow.
“You can never have enough muscle, bud. Adrenaline will only carry you so far.”
“Yes sir.”
“Hands shoulder width apart, breathe in and breathe out when you lift. Don’t hold your breath. One at a time.”
He shuffles on the bench a little before lifting the bar. His arms shake but he manages to extend all the way nicely.
Lowering the bar, he lets it rest in the cradle. “Can I ask you for some advice?”
“Sure, what’s it about?”
His gaze diverts across the room.
“Ah, about a girl?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, I may not be the right person to ask, but shoot and I’ll do my best.”
“Sure, okay. I know the policy doesn’t allow intra-crew relationships, but—”
I hold up a hand.
“I’m going to stop you right there, Davies.”
He sits up, his expression bordering on desperation. “What if I transfer to another engine?”
He has to be talking about London. Owens is spoken for. So, unless Davies has a penchant for older guys with a mean streak that comes out misogynistic and without regard to other people . . .
“Davies, who—”
“London, I have feelings for her. Like since our first day, and they’re only getting stronger, Cap. I’m so screwed.” His face is pained.
I’m rigid, hands curling around the bar.
“Sir?”
I should tell him to go for it. It makes sense. They’re both probies. They’re the same age. They’re . . .
“. . . ammond?”
I drop my gaze to the guy sitting on the workout bench.
“You alright? You kind of zoned out there. You know what . . . Forget I said anything, I’ll get over it.”
He pushes from the bench and walks out of the gym.
He’ll get over it.
He’ll get over her.
Molars grinding down hard, I sink to the bench, hands running through my hair.
Nothing like a little perspective to show a man what worth looks like.
Still, I won’t act on this.
I won’t have the selfish flippancy of Davies. Not for this. Not for London.
And when the alarm screams its siren call, I’m glad to be put to work. Autopilot sounds far better than the place my head has me right now. I rush through the house, bypassing the stairs, and straight into the garage.
London flies off the pole, almost slamming into me. Davies is right behind her. Were they together?
I shake my head violently.
Not my business.
“You right, Cap?” Heids calls, her brows knitted as she pulls up her turnouts.
“Fine. Time 53!” I bark out.
We’re filing into the engine as Sandy fires her up and the roller door rises. Schmiddy sits with Davies, and I’m on the double seat with London, who is staring out the window, headset in her hands still.
I nudge her knee with mine.
Her eyes drift to me.
I tap my headset with a finger, and she slides hers on her head, her focus wandering back out the window.
“Head in the game, 53. Davies, tell me the most important safety aspect of a house fire.”
Davies is swiping his floppy hair from his face in an effort to put his headset on. It slips from his hand and into his lap.
I fold my arms and set my gaze on him.
He finally has his headset in place, and I repeat the question.
“Ah, I—”
We hit a pothole the size of the Grand Canyon, and London lurches sideways, almost ending up in my lap.
Fuck.
Hell, a man can dream.
I guide her back to her seat, my grip around her upper arms. Davies is talking to himself.
“Now, probie.”
“Yes sir. Life hazards. Who needs rescuing. Water access and . . .”
“Come on, bud. Two more.”
“Exposure, hazards, and smoke and fire behavior, sir,” Tennison finishes the question for him.
“Don’t.” I pin her with my stare.
“He—”
“He needs to know this. We are only as strong as our weakest link.”
Davies closes his eyes, swallowing.
“You don’t have to be an ass about it,” London says. “Sir.”
Sandy’s low chuckle rumbles through the headset, Heids raising a brow at me.
I can only imagine what they’d be saying if they could freely, but we keep the ranks on a callout. It’s a survival mechanism many have learned the hard, devastating way.
“Follow my lead, sweetheart, no weak link here,” Schmiddy says, chewing his gum, his lips flapping.
London glances at him. “Sorry, Schmiddy, not your week.”
That’s my fucking girl.
No . . . not my girl. Not at all.
My subordinate. My probie. Who I need to keep in ranks to keep safe.
“Heads up, crew. Thirty seconds out.” Sandy turns the old girl onto a suburban street.
And that’s when we see it.