Chapter 2
COOPER
The kid screamed like we were monsters instead of firemen.
“Hold still, dude.” I leaned over him with a bottle of adhesive solvent in one gloved hand and a cotton swab in the other. “We need to get that off your face.”
The little genius had gotten the wall of a gingerbread house stuck square to his cheekbone. God help me, this is why I worry about having kids.
Instead of using the traditional white icing, the boy had decided his dad’s super glue was the perfect way to keep his gingerbread house together. He’d leaned in too close and ended up with a hard cookie shell on one side of his face.
We had managed to break off pieces of the wall but there was still a good size chunk attached to his cheek.
His dad happened to build hobby cars. The good ones.
Not the little cheapy Wal-Mart kind. So of course, the fucking super glue was along the lines of what NASA would use to keep rockets in one piece.
Behind me, “Jingle Bell Rock” blared from the living room speakers.
Apparently this family thought Thanksgiving leftovers meant Christmas was already in full swing.
A naked tree was set up in the corner waiting to be decorated.
Lights framed the windows. Stockings were already hung over the fireplace.
It looked like Santa’s workshop had exploded in here, and it was only December first.
I hate December.
“Man, this is incredible,” Matt said from somewhere behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder and watched him take a bite of a cookie the mother offered. It looked more appetizing than the gingerbread, but it was still unprofessional.
He’s eating fucking cookies while I’m dealing with the one eight-year-old who hates firemen? Not cool.
The kid howled again as I dabbed at the glue. His mom hovered anxiously, wringing her hands, while Dad filmed on his phone like this was going to be a great story for TikTok.
The kid wailed and tried to jerk his head away. “Ow! Can’t you just pull it off?”
“Not safely,” I said, refraining from telling him it would take half his cheek with it. The kid was already terrified enough. “If I can just dissolve the glue, it’ll slide off no problem. Now please stay as still as you can. The less you wiggle, the quicker we can get you fixed up.”
“Don’t yell at him,” his mom said sharply.
I didn’t even look up. Little kids, I could be patient with, but I had way less leeway for their parents. If they had been watching him in the first place, he never would have been in this situation. “I’m not yelling, ma’am. This is my soothing tone.”
Matt sipped on his eggnog. “Yeah, he’s basically Mister Rogers.”
The kid sniffled, lower lip trembling. “It burns.”
“Brayden says it burns,” his mother said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Glue like this isn’t meant for human skin. It’s really best to keep it out of children’s reach. Get that on video, sir.”
The man flinched behind his phone.
“Cooper,” Matt warned, though he was grinning ear to ear. “Ease up. Accidents happen.”
I gritted my teeth and kept working. The solvent finally started to eat through the glue, loosening the death grip of gingerbread against skin. Slowly, carefully, I pried one corner free.
“There we go,” I murmured, focusing. “Almost…”
With a soft pop, the rest of the cookie wall came loose. I pulled it back like I was removing a bandage. The poor kid still looked scared. Silver lining, I doubted he would mess around with super glue again.
The kid let out one final dramatic wail and slapped his hands to his bare cheek. He eased up a bit upon realizing his face was still intact.
“See?” I said, tossing the gingerbread into a trash bag. “Not even a scratch. You’re all good.”
The kid’s mom clapped her hands together in relief, which made some of the hassle worth it. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much. We didn’t know what to do. We panicked.”
“I would suggest putting the glue away. You’ll want to put something like Vaseline on that area. Don’t use any scented lotions for a day or two.”
“Am I bleeding?” the boy asked his mother.
“No. The nice fireman did a good job.”
And that was nothing short of a miracle. “Next time stick to frosting,” I said.
“Should we take him to the hospital?” The mother fretted over her boy and used a wet cloth to dab at the red skin.
I shrugged. “If you feel it’s necessary, but he should be fine now.”
“Is that glue toxic?” The question was directed at her husband. He looked at me like I was supposed to know.
I sighed. “Did you eat it?” I asked the kid.
The boy shook his head.
“Then nothing to worry about.”
“We don’t need to take him to the hospital,” the father said. “He’s fine.”
Exactly.
The mom pressed a candy cane into my hand like it was some kind of tip. “Here, please, take this. A little thank-you.”
I held it. “Uh, thanks.”
Matt downed the last of his eggnog. “Do you have any more of those gingerbread men?”
Within seconds he was loaded up with enough cookies to choke a reindeer. I muttered a thanks, pocketed the candy cane, and followed him out.
The lawn was already drowning in inflatable Santas and LED deer. Clearly, the family had a real thing for Christmas. It was nauseating. I knew people like that. And I was avoiding them like the plague this year.
As we loaded our gear back into the truck, I could hear little voices. Sure enough, a small parade of neighborhood kids was jogging toward us, drawn like moths to the bright red flame of our fire engine.
“Let’s hope they’re better behaved than Brayden,” I muttered, but Matt was already grinning like he’d won the lottery.
“Hey there!” he called out, waving at the approaching horde. “You guys want to check out the truck?”
I wasn’t in the mood to host a field trip, but the kids were already swarming around us. A little girl with pigtails stared wide-eyed at me, Matt, and Tony, who was hopping down from the passenger’s seat. Two boys tried to peer into the cab.
“Can we sit in it?” one of them asked.
“Please?” added another.
Matt looked at me with those puppy dog eyes. “Come on, Coop. It’s five minutes.”
I sighed and checked my watch. We weren’t exactly drowning in calls today, and dispatch had been quiet for the last hour. “Fine. Five minutes. Just be careful with the equipment, kids. We have rules for a reason.”
The kids erupted in cheers like I had just announced free ice cream for life. Matt was already pulling open compartments, showing off the equipment and giving the kids the typical firehouse visit talk.
“This is our oxygen tank,” he explained to a gap-toothed boy who couldn’t have been older than six. “And this is the hose we use to spray fires and keep people safe.”
“Have you ever saved anyone?” pigtails girl asked, bouncing on her toes.
“Oh yeah,” Matt said, puffing out his chest. “Just last week we pulled Mrs. Quinn’s cat out of a tree.”
“We’ve had bigger saves than that,” I said dryly. “The cat probably would have come down on its own, after all.”
“But we were heroes to Mrs. Quinn,” Matt shot back with a grin.
One of the older kids, maybe ten or eleven, was studying me with serious eyes. “What do you do?”
My brows knitted in confusion. I made a point of looking down at my uniform. I was wearing the standard navy blue T-shirt and work pants, along with my boots. The T-shirt should have been the giveaway. It clearly said Calton Hill Fire Department.
“I’m a fireman,” I said, trying to be kind.
“No, like what do you do?”
“Oh, I’m nozzleman mostly,” I replied.
“And what’s that?” he asked, not trying to be annoying but edging close to the line anyway. It wasn’t his fault the holidays had me feeling grouchy, though.
I took a breath and smiled. “I’m the guy that holds the nozzle—the end of the hose.”
Tony stepped up and patted my shoulder. “See these muscles? That’s why he’s the nozzleman.”
The kid frowned. “Why?”
“It’s not easy to drag those hoses,” Tony explained. “And controlling the hose when you’ve got a hundred and fifty gallons per minute pumping through a hose? It’s no joke.”
The kid’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a lot?”
“A hundred and fifty gallons per minute doesn’t sound like much until you’re trying to wrestle with it,” Tony continued, demonstrating with his hands.
“That water comes out at about a hundred PSI—pounds per square inch. Cooper here has to aim it exactly where it needs to go while the pressure tries to knock him on his butt.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the colorful explanation, Tony.”
“It’s like trying to hold on to an angry snake that weighs two hundred pounds and really, really wants to get away from you,” Tony added, grinning at the kids that had gathered.
“Plus, you’re wearing about forty pounds of gear, there’s smoke everywhere, it’s hotter than heck, and you can barely see two feet in front of you. ”
The kid nodded slowly, like he was filing this information away for later. “Do you like it?”
The question caught me off guard. Do I like it? It wasn’t something I thought about much anymore. “Yes. It’s my job. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”
“But you look mad,” the little pigtail girl said.
Matt snorted. “He loves it. He just pretends to be grumpy.”
“I don’t pretend anything,” I muttered, but the kids had already lost interest in my personality flaws.
“What is PSI?” another kid asked.
“Do you know what a Great Dane is?” I asked the kid.
He frowned. “The dog?”
“Yep. Imagine trying to walk five of them at one time. They’re all pulling on the leash and trying to get away.”
The kid nodded.
Tony laughed. “Good analogy, but don’t let him fool you. It’s more like two dogs.”
I rolled my eyes. “How would you know? You’re always the guy behind me.”
Matt stepped in. “Who wants fire department stickers?”
I watched Matt hand them out, making each kid feel special, asking their names, joking around. This was his element. He lived for this stuff.
A small hand tugged on my sleeve. “Are you a hero?”
“No. I’m just a fireman,” I told the little girl. “But that’s kind of you to ask.”
When it was all said and done, I climbed into the jump seat. Tony slid into the front passenger seat. He was our lieutenant. Recently promoted which meant he was elevated to the officer’s seat.
Matt, our engineer, slid into the driver’s seat. He was still humming a Christmas carol.
We pulled away, and the second we were out of sight, I picked up the candy cane, snapped it clean in half, and tossed both pieces out the window.
Matt gasped like I had kicked an elf. “What the hell, man? That was a gift.”
“It was a piece of sugar shaped like a cane. Calm down.”
“It was a symbol of their gratitude!” He was grinning, but he still sounded half-serious. “Dude, you’re such a grinch.”
“Bah humbug,” I said flatly.
He shook his head, laughing. “I know last Christmas sucked, but you can’t keep doing this. You can’t let her ruin the holidays forever.”
My jaw clenched. “Don’t.”
“No, seriously, Coop. Getting left at the altar was brutal, I get it. Nobody’s saying it wasn’t. But that bitch doesn’t get to keep poisoning your life.”
I stared out the window, watching the blur of holiday lights pass. “Bah humbug,” I repeated.
He sighed. “One of these days, I’m gonna make you wear an ugly Christmas sweater, and you’re gonna love it.”
“One of these days, I’m going to strangle you with an ugly Christmas sweater.”
He chuckled but turned his attention back to navigating the truck down the suburban streets. I let the cold air from the cracked window sting my face, anything to drown out the faint echo of Christmas music still ringing in my ears.
Then the radio crackled.
“Engine Three, copy,” came a familiar female voice. It was my sister, Katrina, working dispatch tonight. “We’ve got a fire alarm activation at Maple Grove Elementary.”
Matt perked up immediately, straightening behind the wheel. “Copy that, dispatch, Engine Three en route.”
I grabbed the mic. “Elementary school? You sure that’s not just a prank?”
“Alarm panel’s showing multiple detectors,” Katrina replied. “Not a drill. Get moving.”
Matt flicked on the sirens and put his foot down on the gas.
Cars pulled out of our way, inching down the shoulder, and Tony and I started pulling on our turnout gear.
I kept an eye on the horizon for smoke as a tightness formed in my gut.
All three of us shifted into focus mode, our minds all thinking the same thing.
Kids.
“Faster, Matt,” I said.