Chapter One #2
There’s a rhythm and a cadence to fighting fires, especially after you’ve been doing it as long as I have. Even as fast as the fire moves, as quickly as everything can change, there is also a sort of slowness amid all the chaos.
The orders shouted never really change; the heavy footfalls of our boots on pavement are familiar, beyond muscle memory.
The ominous sounds of a building unsettling are always haunting, no matter how big or small the place is, and the thunderous beat of my heart in my chest and the adrenaline coursing through my veins awakens me like a zombie from a long sleep. There is no time to think.
Everything is instinct.
There is nothing in the world that will ever compare to this feeling, this rush.
Nothing.
When the heat engulfs me, I push forward; my gaze searching and scanning through the ochre flames and the thick smoke for any sign of life.
Just because the owner died recently doesn’t mean there might not be someone inside; like rambunctious teenagers or an animal that might’ve gotten trapped somehow.
That’s when I hear the faint sound of a cough, and see the long, slender form in the middle of a rug. I move swiftly with expert precision through the flames, towards the body and without fear or second thought.
“Can you move?” I ask.
The body shifts slowly and turns to face me—and I swear his face is the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen, even with all the sweat and soot sticking to his skin.
He looks young—probably not much older than Sam.
His eyes are a bright shade of bluish-green; framed by thick, dark lashes that stand out even in this smoke-filled, burning room.
But they are red-rimmed and watery, too, likely from the smoke.
He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a heavy, deep cough that shakes his entire body.
I hear Phoenix’s voice shouting at me; a sharp “look out!” and then a loud crack echoes, rattling the entire room, maybe even the entire house.
The heat thickens as sparks fly and the ground shakes beneath me, wood breaking from impact.
I look over my shoulder, noting the large beam that has fallen.
Right from where I came from, of course, which is now a bit of an obstacle in our path.
Which means we have to move. Now. This place is in danger of collapsing soon, if not at any moment, and I’ll be damned if this guy—Mr. Bright Eyes—punches his ticket because of me.
I’ve already got enough death on my conscience, I don’t need anymore. I have to remain as calm as I can if I want to make it out of here with him alive.
“You got a name, or should I just call you Mr. Bright Eyes?” I say, trying to keep my tone light and friendly. I know most people adapt a more firm tone or approach, which is understandable, but something tells me the firm approach won’t help. Call it a hunch.
I note the faintest tug at the corner of his lips, like he wants to smile or laugh, and I know I made the right call.
But that spark dies too quickly as instinct kicks in and I grab him by his shoulders, shifting us both out of the way before another beam comes down in our path, nearly missing us.
I pull him against my chest as he grabs onto me, like a life raft.
His fingers grip my jacket as he holds on tight, fist shaking against me as he tries to get his bearings.
“N-Nate,” he says, in between heavy bouts of coughing. “B-Barr—ett…”
Barrett? I didn’t think Mrs. Barrett had any family left after her husband and daughter passed away a few years ago.
“I’m going to get you out of here, okay, Nate?” I tell him, focusing on the imperative situation instead of town gossip.
Nate nods, a sob escaping him amid another deep coughing fit.
“Oh, fuck…” His voice shakes as he stumbles. He could be injured, or it might be from the adrenaline, or nerves. I’ll let the paramedics make that call. My job is to get Nate to them first, then they can take over from there.
“Put all your weight on me, Nate,” I order while supporting him as he settles on his feet.
He stumbles again as some debris falls beside us.
I tighten my grip on him, and he leans into me with ease; his head resting against my chest, just beneath my shoulder as I hold him close with all the strength I have.
I can’t let go of him, not until we’re out of this house and he’s safe.
Until I know he’s safe…
Because that’s what I do best.
“Keep your eyes on my feet,” I tell him as I propel us forward. “Move with me. You can do it. That’s right—”
Slowly but surely, he moves his feet, letting me guide him.
His hand on my side grips my jacket tightly.
We make it just behind Sterling not a moment too soon.
Part of the floor above us falls behind us, with debris flying and frayed wires sparking as the house shakes.
Dark’s voice orders us out, and I know time is of the essence.
I push forward, dragging Nate with me as we follow the others out of the house and onto the lawn, towards the curb.
I clutch Nate as tightly as I can, not stopping as my heart races from the adrenaline and from years of experience.
This is what keeps me present. The sound of his labored breaths and groans, the smell of smoke, the sound of the sirens, and the heavy beat of my heart as I make it through the flames.
Nate’s legs move like dead weight, and I feel how his entire body shakes against me; the fear vibrating off him like a living thing.
He’s scared, and rightfully so. I know what that feels like to be in his place. It’s not something that can be easily forgotten, even after all these years. But I don’t have time to think about that right now. Right now, I have to focus on Nate, and getting him to the paramedics.
“I got you,” I tell him, my voice strong and firm.
I’m not sure if it’s him I’m reassuring or myself.
Maybe both? Nate coughs again, his fingers gripping my jacket tightly as we make it to the curb, barely ten feet from the ambulances, and the sound of something exploding echoes around us, eliciting gasps and curses from the crowd that’s formed around the perimeter.
A rush of heat plumes the air, and Nate’s body buckles against my own.
He turns around in my arms, looking back at the house, and I follow his line of sight, my heart sinking when I see what he does.
The left side of the house folds in on itself like a deck of cards, disintegrating into ash and ruin right before our eyes.
My blood chills despite the sweat forming beneath my uniform, and for a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe.
It’s like I’m back there, staring at my childhood home collapsing with my father inside.
“No…” he cries, and I swear, despite the fact he couldn’t move before, he all but leaps from my arms like a damn frog towards the house.
I barely have a second to register what’s happening before I react.
I don’t think; I just grab him, then lift him off the ground like a rag doll as he sobs.
He’s lighter than I expect, or maybe it’s just me.
Whatever the case, his body continues to shake along with the echoes of his sobs as he reaches for something that is no longer there.
Home.
Memories.
Nate collapses against me as I pull him back, bringing me back to the here and now. I tighten my grip on him with stern force so he won’t fucking run into the fire I just saved his ass from. Fear and adrenaline—and survival instincts—make people do crazy things sometimes.
I would know.
Nate drops to the ground, sliding from my grasp, and though I know I should hold on, I can’t help but let him go, praying he doesn’t take any chances.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he only settles at my feet while he stares at the withering flames before us being doused with water from the hose.
I glance down at the back of his head, at his dusty brownish-blonde hair that is streaked with soot and debris.
I have the strangest desire to run my fingers through it, to untangle the knots and free it of all evidence of what happened here.
I flex my fingers, balling them into a fist to keep from the sudden impulse.
I don’t usually get like this with rescues.
To be honest, I don’t usually get like this with most people, even my subs, when I have them.
Maybe I’m just off because the anniversary of my dad’s death and the fire that changed my life is around the bend. It always fucks me up, even though it’s been over twenty years.
I take a deep breath, shoving the impulse aside along with the unwanted memories and take a seat beside Nate on the curb, slowly.
The noise of the trucks, colliding with a symphony of sirens and incessant chatter echoes behind us, but all I can focus on at this moment is him.
Mr. Bright Eyes
Nate Barrett.
My shoulder brushes against his lightly and the words fall out of my mouth of their own volition, my voice strangely soft when I speak, despite the smoke-tinged rasp that is always present no matter how much time has passed.
“Everything is going to be okay.”
There’s an unsettling silence between us, and I swear I can feel his ache. Or maybe it’s the ghost of my own demons reminding me why I do this job.
I saved him.
I pulled him from the flames, and I saved him.
But there are plenty of people I didn’t save.
Like my dad.
Nate’s gaze remains on the house, on the dying flames and charred ruins left behind by the blaze.