Chapter 1 #2
"Do you know what caused it?" Gisselle asked, looking toward the house.
"Can't say for sure yet. These older homes tend to have issues."
"Have you been doing this a long time?"
Her question caught me off guard. "Fourteen years," I answered automatically.
"It shows. The way you carried me out. It was like being rescued by someone who'd never drop me, no matter what was falling around me."
I didn't know how to handle that. It made me veer into territory I didn't want to explore. I cleared my throat and took a step back.
"You know, smoke inhalation can have delayed effects. You should allow the paramedics to examine you more thoroughly," I commented, retreating to the safety of procedure.
"If you insist, Lieutenant."
"I do. Wilson will take good care of you." I nodded stiffly.
The way I wanted to stay and talk to this woman, though meeting under the worst circumstances, she pulled me in a way I hadn't experienced in years, which was exactly why I needed to walk away.
"Take care of yourself, Ms. Daniels. I hope the rest of your welcome to Goodwin Grove is less eventful."
I turned to rejoin my crew, and I knew her eyes were on my back. Training had prepared me for running into burning buildings, facing all types of disasters, but it had not trained me for the disappointment I felt walking away from this woman.
I pushed my feelings aside and focused on the scene instead. The fire had been contained, with the crew working on the remaining hotspots. This was where I belonged: in the middle of the action.
Back at the fire hall, I stood in the center of the equipment bay while my crew moved around me, each person focused on their post-call duties. Smoke clung to us, and my gear felt heavier than it had this morning, as if it had soaked up more than water and smoke from the blaze.
"Listen up. That was good work today. We had a quick response and solid communication. Still too damn close."
I paced a few steps, scanning their faces.
"The ceiling in the hallway gave way two seconds after we cleared it. That wasn't luck. It was timing and training. I want every piece of gear triple-checked before our next call. If it failed during a fire, would you bet your life on it? Would you bet your teammate's life on it?"
"No, sir," they collectively replied.
"Then check it like your life depends on it — because it does. We have safety inspections starting next week. I want us to be prepared. I want us to set the damn standard for every other house in the district."
Dane nodded. "Are we on the rotation for elementary school visits, too?"
"Next month. Evan, you're heading it up this time. Get with me tomorrow about the schedule," I confirmed.
"Yes, sir," Evan responded.
"Anything else from the call we need to address? Anything we could improve?" I looked around the circle.
Connor cleared his throat. "The hydrant on Long Street was running low pressure at first. We should probably note that to the water department."
"Good catch. I'll include it in the report. Alright, let's get this equipment cleaned and sorted. I'll be in my office if you need me."
I turned away as the crew broke into quieter conversations. My office was at the back of the building. It wasn't anything special, just a space with a desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet, only the essentials, a few framed certificates, and a stack of incident reports waiting for my signature.
I closed the door behind me. In there, I could drop the lieutenant for a while and just be Liam. I sank into my chair, bone tired. I was sure my body would remind me of today's call for a few days.
My gaze drifted to the only personal item I had in this office, a photo from five years ago. In the photo, my arms were around the shoulders of Reggie Thomas, my best friend since the academy. His smile was frozen in time three months before the warehouse fire that took him.
I looked away as the ache in my chest intensified.
Some days, I looked at the photo and remembered the good times.
Today wasn't one of those days. The ceiling collapsing earlier was part of the job, but what rattled me was the memory of the burning hallway, Reggie calling for backup, my radio cracking with his voice, then silence.
The moment replayed without warning, yanking me back to that night, no matter how many years had passed.
I grabbed the bridge of my nose to push away the headache forming. The pressure helped, a physical sensation to focus on instead of the memories threatening to surface.
Later at home, I dropped my keys in a wooden bowl at the door, a habit ingrained as much as checking my gear before a call. My house was functional, like everything else in my life. It was a place to sleep, eat, and shit between shifts, not really a home. I'd stopped needing that a long time ago.
I moved through my evening on autopilot, taking a shower hot enough to scald away the lingering smoke on my skin, reheating leftovers, eating without really tasting them, and watching sports highlights on TV.
Normal shit that was supposed to bring me back to normal after a day veering into territory I didn't want to examine too closely.
Still, my mind kept circling back to the fire, to the moment the ceiling had given way behind us, to the woman, Gisselle, and the way she looked at me.
"Fuck this," I muttered, clicking off the TV and heading to the bedroom. Sleep was what I needed. Tomorrow was another day, another shift that would require my full attention, not this distracted bullshit over a woman I'd known for all of fifteen minutes.
In my bedroom, I pulled back the covers, stripped down to my boxers, and slid between the sheets.
My body was heavy with exhaustion, but my mind raced…
the ceiling, the collapse, the split-second decisions that determined who walked out and who didn't. I stared into the darkness, willing sleep to come, trying not to think about her dark, intelligent eyes.
When sleep finally dragged me under, it wasn't the peaceful oblivion I needed.
I was back at the warehouse, five years ago, with smoke so thick I could barely see my hand in front of my face. The radio crackled at my shoulder.
"Crawford, where are you? I got a victim, east side, but the floor's going." Reggie's voice was tight with urgency.
"Coming to you. Hold position," I responded, already moving toward him.
The heat was unbearable, even through my turnout gear. Sweat poured down my face inside my mask, stinging my eyes. The smoke cleared for a split second, and Reggie, supporting a semiconscious man, looked my way.
"Hurry, man. This shit's about to go."
I was almost there, just a few more steps, when the sound came — the terrible groan of metal and wood giving way. Reggie's eyes widened in recognition of what was coming.
"Liam—"
The floor collapsed beneath him in a shower of sparks and debris. I lunged forward, arm outstretched, fingers grasping at air where my best friend had been standing seconds before.
"Reggie!"
The scene shifted, and suddenly, I was in the house on Long Street, carrying Gisselle down the hallway. Reggie was standing there, his face accusatory.
"You didn't save me," he accused as flames engulfed him.
I tried to go back for him, but my feet were rooted to the floor. Gisselle's weight in my arms became impossibly heavy. Then the ceiling gave way…
I jerked awake with a gasp, sheets twisting around my sweat-soaked body. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The smoke was so vivid I thought I was still in the fire.
"Fuck!" My breaths were ragged until reality slowly filtered back in.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and dropped my head into my hands. The digital clock on my nightstand read 2:23 a.m. Too early to get up, yet too late to hope for any decent sleep before my shift. Story of my fucking life.