Chapter 4
Vulcan
My desk is a skyscraper of incident reports and training schedules that looms over everything, including my sanity.
The phone rings, a reminder that chaos isn’t limited to the field.
I snatch it up, my jaw setting as the FDNY Superintendent, Brandon, beats out its favorite tune: budget constraints, red tape, and, my personal favorite, staff shortages.
I counter each point with a steady voice.
“Cutting my budget isn’t in the best interest of my crew’s safety, nor will it have the effect you think,” I say, leaning back in my chair. I focus on the ceiling’s neat rows of recessed lights, a perfect grid mocking the disorder of my day. “It’ll cut lives, though.”
“Your firehouse is going to have to learn to make do, Montgomery,” he says on the other end, his voice slick as ice and about as warm. “Just like everyone else.”
“Making do isn’t gonna save this city,” I reply. “My crew’s still running three short, and with the construction schedule slipping, we might as well be working out of tents. Something needs to give.”
He’s unmoved. Probably sitting in a plush office where urgency is measured in caffeine intake. “Then you’ll have to reprioritize. We’re all under pressure.”
I tap my pen against a stack of overtime requests. “You want me to reprioritize safety?”
“We’ve done what we can on our end,” he says, the words so practiced that I’m sure he’s reading from a script. “I suggest you manage expectations accordingly.”
I’m managing expectations all right, just not in the way he’s hoping. “If the ladder falls on some senator’s car, I bet the funds appear real quick.”
“We’re not unsympathetic, Vulcan,” he says, still cruising in his lane of empty reassurances. “But there are protocols to follow.”
“Tell that to the families who’ll need more than protocol if we don’t get our equipment up to speed,” I shoot back, my voice rising before I take a breath and calm my heart rate.
The line goes silent for a second, and I imagine him flipping through a mental Rolodex of more bullshit answers. “We’ll revisit staffing next quarter and look into reallocating some resources. In the meantime, please exercise patience and continue to lead your team through this transition.”
“Patiently leading a ghost crew with broken gear?” I ask. “What am I, a magician?”
“There’s nothing more we can offer at this time,” he replies, all business and no give. “We’ll be in touch.”
The line goes dead before I can unleash another volley.
I throw the phone down, running a hand through my hair.
For a minute, I sit there, simmering like a pot about to boil over.
They’ve pushed everything back on me, but hell if I’ll let the station crumble because some suit thinks cutting corners is the new American pastime.
I pace the length of my office, five steps across, five back, bumping against the limits of my resolve.
We’ve done a lot with a little before, but this time feels different.
I grab a binder labeled Desperation, which is what I’ve started calling my Hail Mary plans.
The mess of figures and feasibility studies blur together on the pages.
My chair spins as I sit back down. Maybe it’s time to hit up some allies and lean on old connections.
I clear a spot on the desk, dumping stacks onto the floor, and start scribbling out an action plan the board can’t say no to.
I’m plotting my next move when there’s a knock at the door, soft but insistent. I look up to see my lieutenant. His sprained ankle isn’t slowing him down, but it’s clear from the way he’s moving that his ego’s taken a limp, too.
“Mike,” I say, waving him in. “Thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, hobbling in with all the dignity of a three-legged dog. “Did a tornado take a crap in here? You look like shit.”
“Funny, I was about to ask you the same,” I shoot back, nodding to his foot.
He flops into a chair, wincing a little. “Gonna take more than this to knock me out, Cap.”
“If you don’t rest it, you’ll never heal.”
Mike shrugs. “So what’s the damage?” he asks, steering away from himself to more familiar ground.
“Same song, new verse,” I say. “Can’t budget what you can’t see. Told them I’m two guys away from working solo.”
“Cold bastards,” he says, shaking his head. “What now?”
I’m about to answer when he interrupts, gesturing to the desk.
“I plan on cloning myself,” I reply.
His smile’s as crooked as his foot, but I can tell he’s just as pissed about the board’s stonewalling. “Think we could get the local news in on it?”
“Only if you’re the one hobbling to the press room,” I say, flipping through the sea of paper. “I was thinking more along the lines of calling up some old friends, playing the sympathy card?”
Mike raises an eyebrow. “Thought that was the last resort.”
“It is,” I admit. “But I’m not waiting for the next accident to happen.” I glance pointedly down at his ankle.
“Let’s do it,” he says. “My wife loves a project. She can rally the rest of the station partners.”
He’s more serious than his sarcasm lets on. That makes two of us. I feel a little of the morning’s gloom lift, but I still hate the thought of dragging families into it. Mike catches my hesitation.
“Don’t get soft now,” he says.
“I think I should just front it all,” I say, eyeing the overflowing desk.
Mike pushes himself up, biting back a grimace. “No, your money is your money. You shouldn’t have to go digging in your own coffers to take care of something the city’s responsible for,” he says.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaustion crawling up my spine. “It’s not about the money, Mike. It’s about principle. This department is supposed to take care of its own. I have to take care of us.”
“And you’re part of this department,” he reasons, bracing his palms on the desk. “Look, I get it. Everything falls on your shoulders. But sometimes even the toughest of soldiers needs to share the weight.”
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. “Fine. Let’s get the families involved. Just… keep it tasteful.”
“As opposed to what? Bikini car washes?” Mike snorts. “Give Amaya some credit, Vulcan.”
I wave him off, but I’m swallowing down a chuckle. “Get out of here before I change my mind. And ice that ankle. You still have a week of LOA, and I need you back in shape. Especially if I’m the next one to go out.”
“And we know that will never happen. You’re immortal or something,” he finishes, giving me a mock salute as he ambles toward the door. “I’ll get Amaya on it. She’ll have the whole community baking cookies and writing checks come dinnertime.”
“Well, in that case, we’ll be funded in no time,” I joke. Amaya’s baking skills are good but not great. A few Christmases ago she left eggshells in the cake Mike brought to the station party.
I check my watch as the door clicks shut.
Still three hours before I need to head to the commissioner’s office.
Plenty of time to obsess over every possible outcome of that meeting.
The budget cuts have been coming down hard, but I never thought they’d hit essential equipment.
If it boils down to it, I will pull from my savings once more to keep things afloat around here.
I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes to take a moment of peace before my phone buzzes on the desk. I don’t even need to look at the caller ID to know who it is.
“Vulcan Montgomery,” I answer, my voice deliberately neutral.
“Vulcan.” Commissioner Harding’s crisp tone cuts through the line. “I thought we could touch base before our meeting. Also, have you spoken to Brandon?”
In other words, he wants to ambush me with his decisions before I can prepare my arguments.
“Of course, I just got off the phone with him, and before you ask, it’s the same old song and dance.” I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been reviewing your requests,” he says, and I can picture him on the other end of the line, not a speck of soot or sweat ever daring to touch that pristine suit.
“The numbers are concerning, I’ll give you that.
But I’m busy, and yours isn’t the only department under my jurisdiction.
Your father was a close friend of mine… which is why I’m giving you my time today. ”
“I know. I know.” I press my fist to my lips to keep from cussing him out. “The numbers reflect what we need to keep my firefighters safe, sir.”
“And the city’s budget reflects what we can afford.” His voice has that practiced regret that politicians love to flex. “I’ll be blunt, Vulcan. The council is pushing back. Hard.”
My jaw tightens. “People’s lives are at stake.”
“People’s lives are always at stake,” he counters smoothly. “That’s why we need to be strategic about our resource allocation.”
Right, “strategy.” A new, fancy word for no, then.
“I’ll see you at two, Commissioner,” I say instead of what I really want to say. “I’m looking forward to discussing our strategic resource allocation in detail.”
He chuckles, recognizing my sarcasm but choosing to ignore it. “Looking forward to it.”
The line goes dead, and I consider throwing my phone across the room. I pull out the folder of incident reports related to faulty equipment I’ve been compiling. Every near miss. Every time we got lucky.
Luck runs out eventually.
Harry shows up at my office twenty minutes later, holding two cups of coffee.
“You look like you need this more than I do,” he says, placing one cup on my desk. “Commissioner or Chief?”
“Both.” I take a grateful sip, the bitter liquid burning away some of my frustration. “They aren’t budging.”
“While I love to hear all about spreadsheets and old men in suits, I came here about something far more important.”
“And what could that be?”
“Have you called Karina yet?” he asks. His grin is as smug as I expect it to be. “I know with all this stress you could use a great reliever.” He cocks an eyebrow, ensuring I catch every innuendo he throws my way.
It’s been almost two weeks since she gave me her number at Riley’s, and I’ve been too cowardly to do anything with it.
I roll my eyes like Harry’s suggestions are ridiculous, but there’s a sharp twinge of guilt in my chest. The truth I won’t admit out loud is that I’ve pulled up her number at least a dozen times.
I’ve even hovered my thumb over the call button, before bailing like a rookie.
With everything going on here, I’d drop the ball and disappoint her.
And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did.
“I’ve been busy,” I mutter, trying to sound indifferent while shuffling papers around my desk.
“Busy? Aren’t we all.” He drops into the chair across from me. “Come on, it’s July and you still haven’t reached out. How are you going to let this one slip away?”
It’s hard to tell him to shove it when he’s right. Karina and I clicked at the bar. It was like the whole world quieted to just the two of us.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something productive?” I try to change the subject, but Harry just crosses his arms and smirks. “Like, I don’t know, your actual job?”
“This is productive. I’m saving my boss and best friend from a lifetime of loneliness and sexual frustration.”
I shoot him a warning glare, a silent threat that I’m not above putting him on meal shift for a month for being a pain in the ass. “Thin ice, Harry.”
“Fine, fine.” He holds up his hands in surrender, but his grin tells me he’s far from backing down. “But seriously, what’s holding you back? She’s gorgeous, smart, great body…”
… The way she tucked her hair behind her ear whenever she laughed, the spark in her eyes that rivaled any fire I ever marched into. It’s almost embarrassing how much I think about her.
“It’s complicated,” I settle on.
He leans forward like he’s about to tell me the secret to life. “It’s really not. You call her, ask her out, maybe get dinner, have mind-blowing sex—”
“Harry.” I cut him off before he gets even more graphic.
“Right, sorry. Too far.” He sighs dramatically, acting like I’m killing him by not taking his advice. “But if you don’t want her, I hear Richard over at Station 118 has been trying to get… cozy.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I went to the bar the other night and saw them.”
I lean forward in my chair. “And you didn’t think to call me?”
“I tried, and you didn’t answer.” He smiles.
“You should’ve tried harder,” I say, feeling a flare of something unpleasant in my chest. It takes me a moment to recognize it as jealousy.
Harry gapes at me. “Wow. You should see your face right now. You’ve got it bad, Cap.”
“Shut up.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to appear unbothered even though my mind is racing. Richard from Station 118 has that whole mysterious bachelor thing going… successful, confident, and just enough gray at the temples to look distinguished. “Were they… together together?”
“They were just talking,” he admits, and my shoulders relax. “But he was definitely putting the moves on. You know how he gets, all ‘let me tell you about the time I rescued triplets from a burning building while simultaneously disarming a bomb.’”
I snort. “That never happened.”
“The ladies don’t know that.” Harry settles back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Look, I’m not trying to pressure you—”
“Yes, you are.”
“Okay, I am. But only because I haven’t seen you like this since I’ve known you.”
I sigh and rub at my temples. “I’ve got enough complications in my life right now.”
“Okay, and when she’s off the market… I’ll be here to tell you I told you so…?”
“I will call her, just not now. It’s not the right time,” I admit.
“When exactly is the ‘right time’ going to magically appear in your busy schedule?” He sets his coffee down to make air quotes, and I roll my eyes.
Suddenly, the station alarm blares, and I’m effectively saved from the conversation. Harry jumps to his feet but keeps his eyes on me as we head out of the office to retrieve our gear.
“This isn’t over,” he calls over the noise.
“Yes, it is,” I shout back, but we both know he’s right. As I suit up, my mind drifts to Karina again. I need to make this right before she falls into the arms of another man.