Chapter 14
Tristen
The firehouse in Barren Ridge is an old building.
Cinderblock sides wrap around it, the once brightly painted station name, number four, is now faded from the abuse of direct sunlight.
Bay doors big enough to pass a ladder truck are the color of rust. Windows set high up in the concrete are covered in a layer of God knows what and barely lets out the light illuminating from within.
There are even a few scars on the old place that I’d bet my paycheck were from gun shots that never got filled in.
It’s nothing like my firehouse with the bigger city budget, and barely enough of a workforce to maintain it.
But as I stare at the building’s character from the outside, with Emmett passed out across my lap, I feel a pull.
One shift on duty here, reporting out of this building, and yet this is where I chose to come.
“Emmett?” I finally whisper after an hour of complete silence and risk a glance down at him.
My hand is on his shoulder that moves with his steady breaths, and the side of his face is smashing into my hip. Though it’s uncomfortable, it’s not unwelcome.
After a breakdown like that, I’ll take this.
There’s an ache in my chest I can’t explain and a twisting of my gut that I know food won’t fix. Both started the moment I realized Emmett was just staring out the window and worsened when I saw the first tear streak down his face.
This is the first time he’s let me touch him.
But I know we can’t stay like this forever.
“Bub, wake up.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds like a shot in the night, and he bolts half upright, his hand planting right in my crotch. “Shit.”
It’s instinct that has me snagging his wrist and yanking it away from the explosion of pain, making him fall right back into my lap with a yelp.
I immediately let go.
He scurries back as far as he can, which isn’t much considering I’m in the middle of the bucket seat, and slams his back into the handle on the door with a wince.
“What the fuck?” he hisses, his hands held in front of him, his brow furrowed low. “Where the hell are we?”
Forcing a breath, I cup my junk with one hand and point with the other. “Firehouse.”
It comes out clipped and Emmett whips his head back in my direction, only to drop his sight to where I’m holding myself.
“I-I’m sorry,” he murmurs and shrinks back even more, pulling the neck of the hoodie up over his flaming face.
“It’s fine,” I rush out before he can disappear completely. “It was just an accident.”
He nods, though it’s from behind the curtain of the material.
Clearing my throat, I adjust my half-hard cock and slide back to my side of the cab.
“Alright, let’s go.”
I’m out of the truck and slamming the door before Emmett’s head pops back out of his hoodie and I have to admit that the flush still clinging to his face is … something.
His hair is a mess, spiked in different ways and raised with static. The left side of his face has a red impression from his brow to his nose. His hands are buried inside the sleeves, even as he lets himself out of the truck and comes around, with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.
His eyes are wide, the side of one collecting either sleep crust or dried tears and it’s … well …
Adorable.
“Here, bub, let me …” I trail off, reaching up on instinct to cup his chin and tilt his face.
His bottom lid twitches when my thumb gets close to the rheum and I try not to focus on how soft his skin feels against my palm.
Or that he’s letting me touch him without getting hostile.
And that he’s looking right into my soul without a single blink. Watching me so intently with those sweetly colored eyes that my chest goes tight.
Yeah, no. We’re not gonna think about that.
The tip to my lips is slight and shaky as I swipe away the last lit bit of crust from his skin. Step back. Clear my throat.
“T-thanks,” he whispers and looks down.
It takes a beat for me to turn away from his downturned head. A moment to take the first step away. Another clearing of my throat to speak.
“There might be loud noises. The tone.” Emmett falls in step beside me and there’s something about it that feels … comfortable. His silent acknowledgement enough for me to keep moving forward. “It doesn’t last long. I still jump every time.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek at the admission and keep facing the building.
We just need to get in and out. That’s all.
“I noticed.”
“What?”
When his eyes meet mine, there’s a flash of something that I glance away from.
My chest goes tight again.
“They’re just loud,” I mutter.
The click of the side-door latch release announces us once we’re inside, Emmett sticking close through the dark corridor.
It’s close quarters, the hallway originally built when the average person was much smaller than me, making me walk at an angle to get through.
Even Emmett’s shimmying sideways like the idea of touching the wall appalls him.
I snicker when we reach the light, though it quickly dies off.
“Back already Ten?”
“Damn, I thought we got rid of you.”
The chorus of insulting questions have me rolling my eyes at the tableful of firefighters, and I head straight for the stove to hover over the pot of red sauce simmering.
“Holy shit, this smells good,” I nearly groan.
The spoon is in my hand when it gets slapped.
“It’s not ready yet, kid. Didn’t your momma teach you some damn manners?” Mumford hisses and hip checks me out of the way. He’s a big guy, too, so I sidestep easier than I’ll ever admit.
“Clearly not,” I hear Emmett mutter from somewhere behind me and I spin my scowl on him.
“You’d rather face this pack of wolves all alone?” He follows when I thumb over my shoulder to the four sitting and flares his eyes. Barely shakes his head like maybe if he makes no sudden moves, they won’t see him.
I chuckle. “Didn’t think so.”
In all honesty, I barely know them. Except for Mumford. They seem like good people, the lot of them, and so far that’s worked out just fine for me.
Listening to my gut has saved me plenty of times, so I guess I’ll just keep paying attention to it.
“If you’re staying for dinner, kid, you’re gonna have to wash plates.”
I may roll my eyes at the back of Mumford’s head.
But then I do exactly as I’m told.