Chapter 46
Nick
Quickly, one of my favorite pastimes during downtime at work becomes sending Tristan the dirtiest, most suggestive texts I can think of, and seeing if his neutral expression falters.
He has an impressive poker face.
And I’ve got quite the dirty mind! It’s fun, thinking of things that increasingly push the envelope without getting too raunchy.
And I like making absolutely terrible jokes.
NICK: Looks like you’re going to need a bigger hose than that.
Tristan’s expression barely flickers—just a twitch of the corner of his mouth—as he rewinds one of the fire hoses, a favor for engine firefighters.
NICK: Something better for you to sit on: my face.
Tristan struggles to keep a straight face as he sits down for a cup of coffee in the lounge, staring at his phone.
NICK: What I really want to do now is take that uniform off and fuck you right in that ambulance.
Tristan chokes and blushes while he helps Mila make dinner for the crew. He shoots me a look, and I wink at him.
One night, I’m working on composing a particularly lewd text when Brett, one of the engine firefighters, comes and finds me in the kitchen area.
“Hey, Gutierrez,” he says. “There’s someone here to see you.”
I look up from my phone. “Here?”
Brett shifts his weight. “Yeah.”
“Did they say who they are?”
“No.”
“Huh.”
Tristan, in the lounge, shoots me a look. He’s watching and listening closely. I give him a subtle shrug—I don’t know who’s here for me, either.
“Thanks, Brett,” I say, and take the stairs down to the first level of the station.
Behind me, I catch a glimpse of Tristan approaching the balcony of the second floor, watching me.
For some reason, his presence there gives me some reassurance. Brett has me nervous about whatever this could be.
A middle-aged man in business attire, with an impressively receding hairline and a briefcase, is loitering in the apparatus bay. He stands up straight when he sees me.
“Nicolas Gutierrez-Pena?” he asks.
I frown because something about this feels off. “That’s me.”
He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a manila envelope. He hands it over. “You’re being served.”
I blink.
“You need to take the envelope,” the man says. My god! So helpful!
He holds the envelope out again, wiggling it a bit. Really. So helpful.
But what if I don’t want to take the envelope?
All the worries I’ve tried to ignore over the past few weeks—the worries about Raquel, about her mysterious reappearance, about her desire to get custody of Abbie—come crashing back.
Is she suing me for custody?
The man raises his eyebrows and extends the envelope. “Mr. Gutierrez?”
At the balcony, Tristan and the others are watching.
Wordlessly, I take the envelope.
The man turns on his heel and marches out of the apparatus bay. In a moment, it was like he was never there. If it wasn’t for the envelope in my hands, I could pretend this never happened. That it was just a quick, bad dream.
But the envelope is in my hands.
“What was that?” Captain Hyun asks, coming out of her office, her hands in her pockets and her brow furrowed.
Tristan hurries down the stairs.
“I think Raquel is suing me for custody of Abbie,” I whisper, and the words make it real.
Captain Hyun’s eyes widen. “What?”
The envelope is labeled with my full legal name. Nothing else. I pry open the metal clasp with shaking fingers. Tristan reaches my side.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
I don’t know what to say.
My fingers touch creamy, official-looking paper. A heading says SUPERIOR COURT OF CALIFORNIA, COUNTY OF SAN FRANCISCO.
PETITIONER: Raquel Moreno
RESPONDENT: Nicolas Gutierrez-Pena
Words and phrases jump out at me as I try to read the documents.
Family law summons…
Petition for custody…
In the best interest of the child…
Unstable home environment…
Dangerous occupation…
Thirty days…
“Jesus Christ,” Tristan murmurs, reading it along with me.
“She sent someone here to do this?” Captain Hyun says disapprovingly. “The nerve.”
And then others approach. Vinnie and Charlie, looking curious. Mila, looking concerned. Brett, looking vaguely guilty. I know they all have questions. I know they’ll probably want to help.
Right now, I need a moment.
Right now, I feel…
How do I feel?
Angry, yes. But also… scared. No, terrified.
Abbie is the greatest gift of my life.
I adore her. I would do anything for her.
I would walk through fire without my gear to save my daughter, to be with her, and her mother doesn’t see that—or at least doesn’t care.
The picture she’s painted of me in this document, using cold, official language, is of a semi-absent father, a father who neglects his parental duties in favor of his work, a father who willingly endangers himself to the detriment of his child.
That is how Raquel sees me.
That is how Raquel wants the court to see me.
And I’m fucking pissed.