Chapter 7
Seven
Declan
The station wakes slow and I force myself to match it.
Checks on the engine. Inventory on the cart.
I chase routine like it can quiet a head that will not stop replaying last night.
Tarryn let me in close, then shut the door.
She called it smart. She’s probably right.
Today, I need steady hands and a steady voice. No errors. No drama. I do the job.
I’m wiping down a helmet when boots strike the concrete. Heavy. Purposeful. I know before I look who it will be. Beckett and Ryker stride in like they’ve got authority here, not just blood ties to the woman who has owned my heart longer than I care to admit.
“Morning,” I say because someone has to act civil.
Ryker doesn’t bother. “Stay away from our sister.”
I set the rag aside. Slow. Deliberate. “Good to see you too.”
Beckett crosses his arms, calm but iron under it. “We mean it. She’s been through enough.”
The words hit like a hard cuff to the chest. I keep my expression even, though I feel my jaw clench. “I was there for a lot of that. You know it.”
“That’s the point,” Ryker says, voice sharp. “You already broke her.”
I swallow hard. That one cuts. I deserve it. Still, I keep my tone level. “And you think me breathing the same air is going to finish the job?”
Ryker leans in. “Don’t play with words. You don’t get another shot at her.”
“Ryker,” Beckett warns, but his eyes never leave mine.
“You finished?” I ask.
“Not until you get it through your head,” Ryker snaps. “Whatever you two had—it’s done. She doesn’t need you confusing her again.”
Maybe it’s foolish, but I can’t let that stand. “Maybe that’s for her to decide.”
“Not this time,” Beckett says. “Not when she’s vulnerable.”
The word lands heavy. Vulnerable. She’s the strongest person I know, but I’ve seen her walls collapse before.
I’ve been the reason. I bite down on the instinct to argue and instead say, “Look, I’m not your enemy.
If she tells me to walk, I’ll walk. But don’t think you can bully me out of town.
I left to fix something, so I could be the man for her.
You telling me to get lost is not how this works. ”
Ryker smirks. “Sounds like you think you’ve got a chance.”
I hold his stare. “Sounds like you’re worried I do.”
The muscle in his cheek jumps. Beckett shifts, and for the first time, I see his armor slip. “She doesn’t need more chaos,” he says quietly.
“I’m not here to cause chaos,” I answer. “I’m here because this is my job. And because she’s still in my blood, whether you like it or not.”
Beckett studies me. He’s searching for a crack, maybe hoping I’ll show the reckless kid I used to be. Instead, I give him the truth.
“You sat with our mom in the emergency department after my dad caught the lightning strike three summers ago,” he says.
“I did,” I reply.
“She cried after you left.”
“So did I.”
His eyes flicker, and something shifts. A recognition. A memory that softens the edge. That’s a win. Not much, but enough to count.
Ryker mutters under his breath, then jabs a finger at me. “If you hurt Tarryn, you answer to us.”
I manage a half-smile. “You planning to take a number? Because I’ve already got the fire chief, the mayor, and half the town breathing down my neck.”
For the first time, Ryker’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin. The tension thins for a beat.
When they leave, I wave goodbye. “I’ll see you at the walk through this afternoon.” The warning still hums in my bones long after their footsteps fade.
Marshal Eric Reynolds mentioned it to me in passing, and there is no way I’m going to miss it.
The rest of the morning drags until Max Paradise shows up. He doesn’t belong in a firehouse—pressed suit, too-bright smile, cologne that doesn’t mix with diesel. He leans on the counter like he’s here for a friendly chat, but Max doesn’t do friendly unless he’s digging.
“Heard about the fire at the cottage at Paradise Hill,” he says casually. “Ugly business.”
“You’re late to the headline,” I answer.
He smirks. “I like confirmation. Word is the investigators are circling permits. Old approvals flagged, maybe edits in the county system. The Dempseys have friends. Friends who open locked doors.”
I hear the bait in every word. “I know nothing about that, but it sounds like an issue for the marshal.”
“Everything’s a marshal issue until it isn’t,” Max says. “You used to be close to Tarryn. If the Dempseys played games, the press will drag her in. You’ll be stuck in the middle. I’m offering a cleaner path.”
My pulse jumps because for half a second, I wonder if there’s truth in it. The Dempseys are known for pushing lines. If he’s right, it could shift everything. Then I look at Max’s smile and remember he doesn’t deal in truth. Just leverage.
“What path?” I ask.
“Help me make sure the right people ask the right questions. Direct attention where it belongs. Clear the air.”
“You want me to launder a rumor,” I say flat.
He chuckles. “Call it civic duty.”
“I’ll call it what it is,” I reply. “If you’ve got proof, bring it. If you don’t, stop planting stories and expect me to whip up more drama for the Dempsey-Paradise grudge.”
Max’s eyes flicker, a little too curious. “Careful, Declan. Some fires burn longer than you expect.”
I give him a dry smile. “Good news. We bring water.”
He laughs and drifts out, leaving the air colder behind him. Roger wanders over, brow furrowed.
“That guy creeps me out,” he says.
“Trust your gut,” I answer.
Dan lugs a coil of hose in, eyeing the door. “Was that Max or a game show host who lost his stage?”
“Same thing,” I say.
“Want me to tail him?” Dan asks.
“No. We log what he said, pass it to Jerome and Eric. Stick to our lane.”
We type up the exchange, every phrase, every slippery half-truth, and send it up the chain to the chief and marshal. I note Max is not a clean source, underline it twice.
I pull Dan, Roger, and Nate, along with the other EMTs I’m on duty with, around the whiteboard. I like plans spoken out loud—anchors me, steadies them.
“Listen up. Here’s the next twenty-four.”
Pens stop. Eyes lift.
“We’re off duty tomorrow morning at eight.
We meet the marshal at the cottage. Roger and Dan with me.
Evan and Gordon, can you look at the fires we suspect were done by the same person?
Make sure I didn’t miss anything, then you can join us to slow walk around the cottage for ignition patterns.
Nobody touches anything until the investigator clears the scene.
We need fresh eyes on panel logs and detector history.
Ask county about remote access, who had login rights, and any work orders in the last six months. ”
Roger raises a hand. “Skip the ridge? It’s secondary.”
“No,” I say firmly. “We cover the ridge. One acre can tell us what three can’t. We miss nothing.”
He exhales, then nods. “Fine.” That’s the disagreement resolved. Buy-in earned.
“Station camera only,” I continue. “Time-stamp every shot. If you’re not sure, shoot twice. Dan, stage cones at the lane. Roger, coordinate with the police for a soft perimeter. No drones. If media shows, keep answers short and point them to the chief.”
Evan clears his throat. “Do you want me to bring our radios and spare chargers?”
“Yes. And extra tape. Two rolls.”
Dan smirks. “Want the moon while we’re at it?”
“Only if it fits in the truck,” I answer, and they laugh.
It’s small, but it cuts the weight in the room.
I add one last box to the board. Work clean. Then step outside for a minute of air. The street is quiet. A bike hums past. My phone buzzes—a text from Beckett.
Beckett: If you’re at the walk-through, ground rules. No questions to her unless she asks. No gestures that look like comfort. You’re there as crew.
Me: Agreed.
Three dots.
Beckett: Thank you.
I stand there, phone in my hand, feeling something shift again. Tarryn’s brothers still don’t trust me, but they’re giving me a place at the table. That’s more than I had this morning.
I pocket the phone, look back at the bay, and know my course.
I’ll be there for the walk-through and hold the line, give Tarryn the space she needs and cover when she doesn’t ask for it.
I’ll do the job I should have done years ago.
And if someone tries to strike another match, I’ll be there when their hand shakes.