Out of the Fire (Half Moon Lake Heroes: Red Line #2)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

SETH

Why was this dude so damn happy all the time? I narrowed my eyes at Zack's back, hoping he could feel my gaze burning into him. Did he have to sing all the fucking time?

I'd been with the Half Moon Lake Fire Department since April, and the guys as a whole were a pretty decent crew. They’d slowly grown on me, but now it was August and some days I still wanted to throttle Zack and the rays of sunshine that shot out of his ass.

I couldn't understand how someone could possibly be that... I didn’t even have a word for it.

He reminded me of that troll with pink hair from that movie my niece used to watch on repeat.

Shit . I needed to remember to call my brother and wish my niece Dani a happy birthday. She’d be heartbroken if I didn’t. Moving out of Charlotte was the right decision, and while the drive back home was less than two hours, I was still struggling not seeing them as often as I used to.

I turned back to the current game of rummy we were all playing. Jay Mitchell, the youngest guy on the crew, laid down a set of threes. Attempting to tune out Zack’s incessant singing, I assessed the cards in my hand before pulling a six and adding it to my run already on the table.

“You really hate the singing, don't you?” Jay cocked a brow and a slight smirk pulled at his lips.

“I don't understand how it doesn't bother any of you.”

Jay shrugged. “I think at this point we're just used to it.”

I still didn’t get it. But Jay had a two-year-old kid and recently found out he had another one on the way, so maybe he was overly conditioned to unnecessary noise.

Adam chuckled next to me as he laid down a run of four. “We've learned and accepted that Zack is going to be who he is.”

Still contemplating how that translated to tuning Zach out, I ran my fingers over the short beard that lined my jaw.

It needed a trim. I’d been surprised to find that this station was more lenient with the no-beard policy than most firehouses were.

Even the one I’d been at in Charlotte enforced it.

It was one of the things I hated. A beard suited me, but I understood the policy.

Here though, as long as I could pass a fit test with my mask, I could keep the beard.

It required maintenance and trimming, but it was a solid trade-off.

The same rule applied to long hair. As long as I could tie it back or secure it under my helmet, I was good to go.

The chair across from me scraped along the floor as our driver, Logan Murray, pulled it out and sat down. “What are we talking about?”

“Zack,” Jay offered. “And his singing.”

Logan scoffed. “Don't forget the dancing.”

Everyone snickered in unison. Except me. I didn't find it funny. Only annoying.

Don't get me wrong, the dude was a solid firefighter. I had no issue with him. When he wasn't singing or dancing or hopping around like the fucking Energizer bunny.

Adam stiffened in his spot next to me, and I followed his gaze to Lyla—our newest EMT—who’d just exited from the bunk room and was headed down the stairs.

She'd been at the station over a month, and even though Adam repeatedly denied liking her, it hadn't stopped the guys from giving him shit about it.

I didn't really know the dude that well and even I could tell he was into her.

“You gonna ask her out yet?” Logan cocked a brow.

Adam narrowed his eyes. “No. Like I've told you before, we're just friends.”

“I heard she's dating someone.” Jay leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head.

“Yep.” Adam looked back down, staring intently at his cards.

That one word had so much more behind it, but I had to give the guy credit. He was doing a decent job masking his reaction to Jay’s comment.

The lights on the PA system lit up and we all threw down our cards and pushed our chairs back knowing a call was coming in. The shrill sound of the alarm blasted through the station as we made our way down to the bay.

I mentally reviewed who was where as we went through our routine of stepping into our boots and pulling on our turnout gear.

Adam was paired with Lyla today as EMTs, so it was just Logan, Jay, Zack, and me in the rig.

Being part of such a small crew was also something I had to get used to.

In Charlotte, our shifts consisted of at least eight, sometimes ten people per team.

That was a double-edged sword. The larger house and consistent calls kept my mind and body busy, but at the end of a twelve—sometimes twenty-four—hour shift, I was socially exhausted.

Owen, our lieutenant—who was also being groomed to take over as chief once ours retired—headed out first in one of the utility trucks.

“That's the old Miller farm,” Logan announced as he climbed up into the driver's seat and started the engine on the quint.

“Crap. Hasn't that been abandoned for the last few years?” Jay asked.

“Yup.” Logan pulled the rig out of the bay and switched on the sirens.

I'd actually never seen a quint truck in action before moving here. In Charlotte we had a pumper and a separate aerial ladder truck. But the combination one they had here made sense for a smaller, more rural station.

Adam and Lyla followed behind in the bus.

We were all silent, listening to dispatch and Owen communicate, hoping it wasn't our arsonist starting up again.

Even I was getting tired of his shit, and I'd only been dealing with it since I’d moved to Half Moon Lake in April.

These guys had been dealing with it since January.

We’d all breathed a sigh of relief when it stopped after Logan's garage was set on fire. But now tension hung in the air as we made our way to another fire that might have been set intentionally.

Once on scene, Owen dished out commands, sending Jay and me in for the primary search and leaving Logan and Zack to start getting water on the fire.

The farmhouse was a small two-story home and the fire had moved quickly, making visibility difficult.After quickly searching the ground level, Jay radioed back.

“First floor clear, heading up to second.”

We finished our search, finding no one, and made our way back downstairs. By then, two more trucks from neighboring towns had pulled up to assist.

I didn't want to voice what was going through my head, but I knew I had to.

Owen needed to know what we were dealing with.

We still needed to complete the overhaul process, making sure there was no burning inside the walls of the farmhouse that could rekindle and create additional issues.

But I'd been doing this for almost eight years now—since becoming a firefighter at twenty-one—working in a busy station, and I'd dealt with my fair share of intentionally set fires.

During the primary search of the farmhouse, the first thing I noticed was some of the burning was happening along the floor rather than the ceiling.

In my experience, that pattern was typically seen when an accelerant was used.

And an accelerant in an abandoned home was rarely, if ever, accidental or natural.

Although I was sure I wasn't, I prayed I was wrong.