Chapter Fifteen Too Cold to Hold #2
And Trent watched his brother find peace in the one place the world made sense to him, while his own heart felt as if it was the one dragging that freight behind.
Heavy. Relentless. Going nowhere fast.
“You can marry a man,” Jamie said matter-of-factly once the train had disappeared down the line.
Trent let out a soft, dry laugh. “Thanks for the permission, mate.”
Jamie frowned, turning his full attention to him now. “It’s allowed , isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s allowed. As it damn well should be.”
Jamie nodded, as if confirming a calculation. “You could marry Dev. He’s nice to you.”
Trent laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “It’s not really how it works, mate.”
“Why not? He’s your friend. You wouldn’t have to go to those bars anymore.
You wouldn’t bring people home who don’t stay for breakfast. You like him, and he likes boys too.
So that’s a match made in heaven.” Jamie paused, his brow furrowing as he worked through the next part aloud.
“Although…I don’t know if heaven actually makes matches.
Or if it even exists. I don’t think it does.
When you die, you die. Like Mum and Dad. ”
The words landed with the brutal precision only Jamie could manage. Blunt. Clean. Final.
“Do you not want to marry Dev, then?”
“Not really.” Though, once, years ago, they’d made a stupid pact, half-drunk and half-serious, to marry each other if they were still single by forty.
They’d even tried to sleep together once, thinking maybe that was the missing piece.
But it hadn’t worked. Not even close. Neither of them had wanted each other that way and forcing it had only left them laughing awkwardly and agreeing it was better as a joke.
“Why not?” Jamie pressed, genuinely curious, as if this was a puzzle that simply needed the right piece slotting into place.
“I’m… looking for something else.”
Jamie adjusted the zoom on his lens, gaze fixed firmly on the tracks ahead. “Like what? Someone who isn’t your best friend?”
“It’s not about being friends.” He stared down the tracks, watching the horizon blur and sharpen with each slow blink.
“It’s about…” He struggled to put shape to something that wasn’t logical or easy to explain.
And as he was fairly certain his brother was a virgin, he didn’t want to refer to the whole sex thing.
Jamie had workshops at the community home on that sort of thing so Trent didn’t have to be the one to guide him through it.
“Finding someone who makes you feel… safe ,” he said at last, the words falling from his mouth like a confession he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
“Someone who quiets the noise in your head. Who doesn’t want you for a night but knows how to hold you together when you’re falling apart.
Someone who stays. Even when you’re a mess.
” His throat worked around the next words. “ Especially when you’re a mess. ”
Jamie’s camera clicked into focus, precise and steady as the faint vibration of an approaching train stirred the platform.
“Right. And who does that for you?”
Trent stared at the approaching train, his chest aching with the answer he couldn’t say out loud. Instead, he nodded towards the tracks, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hey… isn’t that the Class 37? The one you’ve been waiting for?”
Jamie’s face lit up, fingers tightening on the camera as the distinctive growl of the heritage-liveried locomotive filled the air. And Trent sat back on the bench, letting the roar of it drown out the truth he wasn’t brave enough to speak.
Because who did that?
Reece .
A man who did that for so many others.
* * * *
Reece had almost convinced himself they’d get through the night without a single callout.
The station was quiet. The gear was packed, radios were checked, and the lads had all disappeared to their bunks, half-asleep and hopeful for an uninterrupted shift. Perfect for those who had second jobs once the day started. But after three a.m., the alarm klaxon blared through the corridors.
Reece was already moving when the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Fire alarm activation. Worthbridge Harbour Hotel.”
“Jesus.” He dragged on his boots, fire tunic swinging over his shoulder as he jogged into the appliance bay, the callout tones echoing through the station like a warning bell in his chest.
He didn’t expect there to be an actual fire.
Places like the Harbour Hotel were frequent flyers.
They, along with the golf and spa resort further down the seafront, and the uni halls on the north side of town, kept the watch busy with false alarms. Usually burnt toast, steamy showers triggering dodgy detectors, or someone fiddling with the panel after a few too many drinks.
Still, procedure was procedure. Every call had to be treated as the real thing until proven otherwise.
Complacency cost lives. So even if he figured it was another ghost in the system, he was already running through protocol in his head.
Approach. Evacuate. Isolate. Investigate.
The bay doors lifted with a mechanical groan as he climbed into the appliance, blue lights strobing to life, reflecting off the wet tarmac.
Didn’t matter that it was likely nothing.
The job was never about just in case . It was about being ready when just in case became real.
And with Miller still off, Reece was in command tonight.
He wouldn’t make reckless decisions on his watch
Worthbridge was quiet at this hour. Shopfronts shuttered, pubs long closed, the coastal wind pressing in off the sea.
They turned onto the seafront road, tyres humming over tarmac as the hotel came into view.
A proud, aging Victorian structure overlooking the harbour, all white-painted brick and black railings, its grandeur a little faded by salt air and time.
And out front, as expected, a small crowd of guests had already gathered, bundled in dressing gowns and jackets, scrolling through phones, and some of them taking a few videos of his arrival.
Reece pulled the pump to a halt outside the Worthbridge Harbour Hotel, blue lights flashing off the white-painted facade. He killed the engine, the sudden quiet only broken by the soft whine of cooling metal and the chatter of evacuated guests on the pavement.
The crew moved quickly. Four of them tonight, including Reece as acting Crew Manager.
He’d taken the officer’s seat up front, while Mason and Steph rode in the back, and Coles, still half-sick from the flu, had volunteered to take the BA log and remain by the appliance.
Standard turnout for a commercial AFA: one pump, four firefighters.
Enough to search, assess, and reset, unless it escalated.
“Helmet on, crew.” Reece pushed open the door. “Treat as live until we know otherwise.”
He stepped down onto the kerb, pulling his helmet into place and scanning the gathered crowd. Most were hotel guests still in dressing gowns, a few in pyjamas and trainers, half of them clutching phones or steaming takeaway cups handed out by the reception staff.
“Manager?” Reece called, raising his voice above the murmur of the group.
“Yep! Over here!” A man came bundling through the throng, waving one arm in the air, the other tugging his coat tighter across his chest as he trotted over.
Then he stopped short. Right in front of Reece. Froze.
“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”
Reece blinked behind the visor. “Dev?”
“Uh, yeah, but…” Dev’s mouth was half open as he pointed over the crowd.
But Reece got on with the job. There wasn’t time to chat over breakfast coffee here. “We’ll check the panel, clear the floors, and let you know when it’s safe to re-enter. Guests stay outside until we say otherwise.”
Dev nodded, swallowing whatever awkward thing had been forming on his tongue.
Then Mason and Lewis fell in behind Reece as he crossed into the lobby, the scent of sprayed polish doing a poor job of masking the faint electrical tang clinging to places like this.
Overheated corridors, ageing panels, cheap wiring and too many extension cords.
“Check the panel. If it’s a repeater, get me the floor and zone. If not, we’re going door-to-door.” Reece strode across the polished lobby tiles, boots echoing on marble as Mason peeled off towards reception, already speaking to the night porter.
Reece ran through the mental checklist, flicking through procedure like second nature. Panel, zone, investigation, reset, all clear.
Because personal shit could wait.
This was a callout.
And the job always came first.
But even as he kept his hands busy and his tone professional, his mind drifted to earlier yesterday morning.
To Dev mentioning they’d already met. It had to have been here , right?
Reece had been called to the Harbour Hotel before.
Half a dozen times, probably. Faulty detectors, burnt food, steam from overworked spa saunas setting off corridor alarms. But if Dev had been the manager during any of those, Reece would’ve remembered.
He would’ve remembered Dev.
All sparkles and sass, he would have stuck in Reece’s memory. And besides, Reece had never stayed here. He had his own house. No reason to. So why had Dev seemed so certain?
Something itched at the back of his neck.
And this time, it wasn’t the job.
But he got on with it anyway, and the investigation wrapped, confirming a steam fault in one of the guest bathrooms on the third floor had triggered the alarm. Poor extraction, old sensor, nothing sinister. Reece reset the panel, logged the response on his handheld, and gave the all-clear.
Back outside, the guests shifted restlessly in the cold, breath fogging as they waited behind the cordon. Reece stepped out, helmet under his arm, and crossed to where Dev stood with his tablet.