Chapter 8
Eight
Remi
The call comes in as we’re finishing lunch. A structure fire at the Nielsen’s place—an address the crew knows without the dispatcher even needing to say it. It’s not the first time we’ve been out there, and it certainly won’t be the last.
I appreciate the timing since I spent the better part of the morning preparing the roast beef for the French dips, and I would’ve been annoyed if we had to leave before getting a chance to enjoy the fruits of my labor.
Cooking for the team is something I thoroughly enjoy.
Being single and living alone, it can sometimes feel pointless to go all out and cook nice meals, and there’s only so many times I can eat leftovers before I’m repulsed by them.
Which is why being the crew’s “chef” is the perfect alternative.
I’ve been doing it for the last few years, and before me, it was Ford, but he never really enjoyed it the way I do.
As a team, we make it a point to try to eat at least one meal together each shift. Family style. It’s been that way since I was hired, and it’s a tradition I hope lives on forever.
But now that our bellies are full and dishes are piled in the sink, we’re on the way to the Nielsen’s.
Our response time is quick, something we pride ourselves on.
Putting out fires is my career, my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I love helping the community. Although, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel different now that I’m Lukas’s guardian.
Like there’s more at stake. More to lose.
It makes going out on calls a little more nerve-wracking.
The fire is in their barn, and it’s got one of their horses trapped. Smoke is visible from the road as we take a right onto the property. It’s lazy and gray, not angry and black, which is a good sign. That tells me it’s at least manageable.
As I jump out of the engine, I spot Deborah Nielsen pacing in front of the barn, waving her arms like she might put out the fire from that motion alone.
From what we already know, and can now see, the fire is contained to the back right corner, likely caused by an electrical short—way more common in these old barns than you’d think.
“Pumpernickel is inside!” Deborah shouts as she runs up to us, panic in her voice and her eyes wide. “You need to do something! Get her out! She’s scared!”
Firefighter Bernard guides Deborah over to the side, where she assures her we’ll do everything in our power to bring the horse to safety. She’s one of the best on our crew at calming people.
Ford nudges me with his elbow. “You’re on horse duty, Buchanan. Animals love you.”
I snort. “That’s not a real qualification, Captain.”
“It absolutely is today.”
Our team advances the line, keeping it light and controlled.
The barn creaks but isn’t threatening to collapse.
Another good sign. As we enter, hay smolders, sparks popping like small, reckless fireworks.
Pumpernickel snorts as I approach her, then neighs, but it sounds more like a scream.
She’s wide-eyed and frozen in place like a statue.
I reach up, keeping my movements steady and my voice low. “Hey, pretty girl. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you out, but you gotta trust me, okay?”
Another frantic neigh.
“I know. This isn’t how either of us planned for our afternoon to go, is it?”
Garcia steps up behind me slowly and whispers in my ear, “If she kicks you, I’m tellin’ everybody you challenged her to a starin’ contest.”
I chuckle. “No, you will not. I have an animal whisperer reputation to uphold.”
We work together easily and diligently—me keeping Pumpernickel as calm as possible, and Garcia guiding her out of the stall—while water hisses behind us as the fire dies down. The stubborn horse finally moves, snorting indignantly as we lead her into safe, fresh air.
After passing Pumpernickel off to her very thankful owner, I lean against the engine and tip my helmet back, watching steam rise off the wet boards.
As far as fires are concerned, this was an easy one.
Some minor structural damages, but nobody was hurt.
That’s what I call a good day. And again, with Lukas in mind, I’m relieved it wasn’t worse.
Back at the station, Ford and I work in tandem to clean up the kitchen, moving around one another like we’ve done probably a thousand times.
Sure, the rest of the crew takes turns cleaning the kitchen, but more often than not, Ford and I handle it together as a way to catch up for a little bit before we get back to the chaos that so often comes with this job.
“How’s it going with Lukas?” Ford asks, tossing me a look over his shoulder as he wipes down the counter.
I told him about the guardian stuff shortly after talking to my mom and sister about it.
He was supportive, just like I knew he would be.
The whole crew has. We’re all like family, sticking by one another no matter what.
“So far, so good,” I offer. “It’s only been a week, but we’re finding our groove.”
“Nice. And he seems to be adjusting well?”
“Yeah, I’d say so. On the nights I’ve been home for dinner, we’ve eaten together and talked about our days. He’s opening up a little bit more each time, which is nice.”
A comfortable silence falls over us while we finish our tasks. Once I’m done, I rest my hip against the edge of the counter and pull out my phone, wanting to check in on Lukas.
Me: Hey, how’s he doing? Make sure he does his homework before he goes to bed.
My sister, Sadie, is at the house with him.
She runs her own digital marketing company and usually finishes work by noon, so she’s been picking Lukas up from school and staying with him until after dinner on the days I’ve had to work.
My schedule is nice because when I get off tomorrow morning, I’ll have two days off, so I really only have to rely on Sadie a couple of times a week.
It’s not a long-term solution, but for now, it works.
Sadie: You sound like a dad already. LOL. Lukas is good, but he still doesn’t talk much. He did his homework as soon as we got back to the house, so all good there.
He’s kind of a shy kid when he first meets people—except for me, maybe because of how we met—and I don’t know if that’s just how he naturally is or if it stems from his father’s death and his subsequent major life change.
I’d like to find him a good therapist to talk to, but I haven’t had a chance to bring it up to him and see how he feels about that.
I think it could be good for him. I probably would’ve benefitted from seeing one after my dad died, but back then, therapy was still a little taboo, especially in the South.
Maybe I’ll find a way to broach the topic tomorrow when he gets home from school.
“I met with the chief this morning,” Ford says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Oh yeah?”
“He’s officially retiring at the end of the year.”
“And that’s when you’ll take over for him?” I ask, my stomach twisting, knowing where this is headed.
It’s been over a month since I met with Chief Daniels, when he told me to give him a real reason for why I want the captain position.
I still haven’t come up with an answer worth giving him, and even though I know I’ve got time, I’ve still done my best to avoid him ever since.
But I can’t run from this forever. Decisions have to be made.
“Looks that way,” Ford murmurs. “He brought you up, about if you should be in the runnin’ for captain.”
My stomach drops, but I splash a charming grin on my face to hide it. “I already told him I wanted it.”
Ford pauses. “But do you?”
I whip my head around, meeting his gaze, my brow furrowed. “Of course, I do.” For some reason, the words taste like chalk on my tongue.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” he offers gently. “There’s nothing wrong with stayin’ where you’re at, you know.”
Rearing back like he physically struck me, I say, “Do you not think I’d be a good fit?”
Ford’s gaze softens as he clicks his tongue to his teeth. “Of course I think you’d be a good fit. I just want to be sure that you really want it, and you’re not doing it simply because you think it’s what’s next.”
First, Chief Daniels, and now him.
What’s the big fucking deal if I do think it’s what’s next? Why’s that so wrong? That doesn’t mean I don’t want the promotion. Isn’t that how goals work? You go after what you think is next?
“I do want it,” I say, trying to sound as believable as I can. “Already told Chief that. Didn’t think I needed to make you believe it too.”
“Hey, don’t get upset with me. I’m just tryin’ to look out for you.
It’s a big responsibility, and it’d be okay if it wasn’t one you wanted to take.
Frankly, there’s nobody more capable, and nobody I’d rather take my place than you.
But I’d be remiss to not make sure you know that you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. That’s all.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat, hating how offended I feel when I know he’s only trying to help me.
Because he’s right, it is a big responsibility.
A hell of a lot more than I have right now.
I think any great mentor and supervisor would do the same thing.
So then, why does it feel like such a slap in the face?
I want the promotion, the responsibility.
Yes, it’s the next logical step, but it’s one I want. Simple as that.
Except I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more: Captain…or myself.