Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
FINN
The radio crackles in my ear as the engine tears through the quiet streets, sirens screaming into the night. Inside the cab, no one speaks. We’re all in the zone, mentally preparing for whatever awaits us on the other end of this call.
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve done this. Every time we roll up on a fire, there’s a small, unspoken question hanging in the back of my mind: Is this the one that takes me out?
I shove that thought away, replacing it with something better. Something that grounds me.
Genevieve.
Little Bean.
The black-and-white ultrasound photo she gave me is still hanging on my fridge. I’ve memorized every blurred detail, tracing it with my eyes until I could practically feel the tiny heartbeat pulsing through the image.
My kid.
It still doesn’t feel real. Not entirely. But in the quiet moments of my day, the reality of it sinks in. I’m going to be a dad.
A month ago, that idea wouldn’t have carried the same kind of weight. But now? Now it’s everything.
The engine screeches to a halt, forcing me out of my thoughts. We’re already moving before the truck fully stops, spilling out with muscle memory precision.
Flames devour the house, shooting out of the roof in violent bursts, thick black smoke rolling toward the sky. The heat pulses, searing against my gear, but I barely register it.
“We’ve got an active fire on the first and second floors,” Cappy’s voice comes through the comm unit, assessing the scene fast.
Suddenly, a woman’s scream cuts through the crackle and roar of the fire. “Please! My daughter! She’s still inside. Her bedroom’s on the second floor. First door to the right.”
The words slam into me, quick and sharp.
A child.
Cappy doesn’t hesitate. “Murphy, Finn. You know what to do. Primary search on the second floor. Get in. Get the kid. Get out.”
We nod, pulling down our masks.
“Let’s move,” Murphy says, and we hurry up to the house, knowing full well that every moment counts.
The second we breach the front door, the fire is alive around us, roaring, licking at the walls. My mask and tank allow me to breathe through the smoke filling the space, but the heat is relentless.
Murphy secures a thin yellow rope to the front door, and I follow him into the house and toward the winding staircase.
“The stairs are holding,” Murphy says, testing the first step. “For now.”
“Make it quick,” Cappy warns over the radio.
We take the stairs fast, low to the ground, hugging the wall. The fire snaps and growls above us, chewing through the ceiling, but we press forward.
The second-floor hallway is thick with smoke, but we don’t retreat, moving to the first door on the right.
It’s closed. A good sign.
Murphy pushes it open, and I scan the smoke-filled room. My flashlight cuts through the haze, searching for some sign of life. But I don’t immediately see anything. I’m about to ask Cappy to verify the girl’s room with the mother when I finally see it.
A shape curled in the corner, small and unmoving.
She’s clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest, her tiny body trembling, soot smearing her tear-streaked cheeks. Wide, terrified eyes lock onto mine, and relief slams into me.
“I’ve got visual,” I announce over the radio, eating up the distance and lowering myself in front of her.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I practically shout so she can hear me through my mask. “I’m going to take you to your mom, okay?”
She doesn’t move, frozen in fear.
The fire outside the room roars louder, embers curling inside. Time is running out.
I grab a blanket from the bed and wrap it around her, shielding her from the worst of the smoke. When I scoop her into my arms, she lets out the tiniest whimper and clings to my jacket with trembling fingers.
She’s so damn small.
Something tightens in my chest, hard and unrelenting.
In a few months, I’ll have a child of my own. A life I’ll be responsible for.
Even if Genevieve decides she doesn’t want me.
Even if she thinks she can do this alone.
I’ll still be Little Bean’s dad. And I’ll still do whatever it takes to keep him or her safe.
“Finn, let’s go!” Murphy calls out from the doorway.
I secure the little girl against my chest and move, keeping my steps controlled. The flames in the hallway are closing in, heat lapping at my back as we push toward the stairs.
Murphy goes first, testing each step and clearing a safe path for us.
The structure groans beneath us. Then a sickening crack reverberates in the space and the stair disappears beneath me.
Pain explodes through my leg as I plunge downward, my foot punching straight through the charred wood, sharp stabs of agony ripping up my calf.
I bite back a yell, forcing my arms to stay locked tight around the little girl. She lets out a tiny cry, burying her face into my jacket.
Panic flares. Not for me. For the little girl in my arms.
“Finn!” Murphy lunges, grabbing my shoulder before I pitch forward.
“Take her.” I shove the girl toward him. “Get her out of here.”
He hesitates, obviously not wanting to leave me behind. But getting this child to safety is our priority. He pulls her from my arms, wrapping her close.
“I’ll be back for you.” He disappears down the stairs, and I force myself to breathe through the searing pain in my leg.
My hands claw at the jagged wood, yanking, twisting, trying to free myself, but my boot is trapped in something solid beneath the floor.
I’ve always understood the risks of this job. But for the first time, I feel them in my bones.
What if one day, my kid is the one waiting for someone to come home? What if they grow up without me, like I did after my dad died?
Like Genevieve did after her father abandoned her?
The thought is unbearable, but I try to push it down and focus on remaining calm.
“I’m coming back, Finn,” Murphy says over the comm unit. “Hang tight.”
“Thanks, brother,” I reply, relieved.
The house moans around me, the sound deep and splintering.
Then an ominous groan echoes above me.
I snap my head up, watching as the ceiling above me buckles.
For a fraction of a second, time slows. Smoke churns, the orange glow above shifting.
Then it all comes crashing down.