Chapter Four
SMOKE SIGNALS
Cole
The firehouse is already buzzing by the time I get there.
The coffee’s brewing, someone’s in the kitchen cooking up bacon, and the guys are in the middle of arguing over which action movie to put on later when things quiet down. Typical.
This place? It’s home.
It’s loud. It smells like burnt toast, sweat, and old leather, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I have forty-eight hours on shift, and unless someone dies—which, for humanity’s sake, I hope doesn’t happen—I won’t be seeing Andi Callahan.
But I kinda want to.
I shake off the thought and head straight for the kitchen, where Trey and Walker are already gearing up for breakfast like it’s a competition.
“Took you long enough,” Walker says, flipping something in a pan. “We thought maybe you got smart and called in.”
“Tempting,” I reply, grabbing a mug, “but then I’d miss your sparkling personality.”
Trey grins and tosses me a strip of bacon. “You’re stuck with us now. Welcome to hell.”
Hell’s not so bad, though.
We work together, eat together, and sweat through workouts in the garage gym until someone nearly pukes. These guys? They’re family. Loud, annoying, but they’ve got your back when it counts.
I lean against the counter, sipping my coffee, but my brain won’t stay still.
I keep thinking about last night.
About Andi. The way she looked—in those jeans that made my thoughts wander to places they shouldn’t, those eyes sharp as ever, and that smart mouth that wouldn’t quit.
She didn’t smile much. But when she did?
Yeah.
“You good?” Trey asks, watching me like he knows something’s up.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.”
He shrugs, unconvinced, and gets back to stirring eggs like he’s about to win a prize.
I’ll settle into the rhythm soon. We’ve got a long shift ahead, calls to respond to, drills to run. It’s always busy. It’s always something.
I love it.
Well, most of it. I can’t say I love the narrow bunks and the snoring that hits decibel levels no human should survive.
But even that? It’s not so bad once you get used to it.
The radio crackles just as we finish cleaning up from breakfast.
“Engine 4, Medic 2, respond to a fall—elderly male, possible broken hip. 221 Briar Lane.”
Trey’s already moving, tossing me the keys. “You’re up, Romeo.”
I roll my eyes but grab my gear.
The rig is still warm from the last run, the usual smell of antiseptic and stale coffee clinging to the seats. Trey climbs in beside me, flipping on the lights as we pull out.
“Briar Lane,” he mutters. “Didn’t we just have a call there?”
“Last week. Kid with a peanut allergy.”
“Right.” He grins. “Bet this guy’ll be more fun.”
When we arrive, the scene’s calm—neighbors milling around, pointing us toward the backyard where the patient’s propped against a tree, wincing but breathing.
“Morning,” I say, crouching beside him. “Heard you’re trying out for the gymnastics team.”
The old man huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling. “Damned ladder broke. My wife’s gonna kill me.”
“We’ll keep you alive long enough to argue with her, I promise.”
Trey’s already checking vitals while I assess the leg—swollen, definitely broken, but nothing life-threatening. The guy’s tough, cracking jokes while we splint him, even as the pain bites.
“You guys do this every day?” he asks, teeth gritted.
“More or less. You’re making it easy.”
“Good. I hate being a bother.”
“You’re not,” I say, steadying myself as I lift him onto the stretcher with Trey’s help. “But you’re not getting out of a hospital visit.”
He groans but doesn’t fight us.
The ride’s smooth, the usual chatter between Trey and the hospital radio. The old man keeps trying to tip us for “good service” with a crumpled twenty from his wallet.
“Save it for the nurses,” I tell him. “They’ve got a harder job.”
We wheel him in, straight through the sliding doors of the ER, where the familiar buzz hits—monitors beeping, voices layered over each other, the hum of organized chaos.
A nurse I know, Marissa, steps up with a tablet in hand, already eyeing our patient.
“What do we have?”
“Robert Davies,” I say as we lock the stretcher in place. “He was trying out for a senior citizen’s gymnastics team…”
Marissa eyes the elderly man, then swings her gaze back to me.
“Kidding. He took a dive off a ladder in his backyard and landed wrong. Suspected hip fracture, vitals are stable. He’s been giving us hell about coming in.”
Robert groans. “Don’t let them cut me open.”
Marissa smiles and pats his shoulder. “No promises, Robert. Let’s get you checked out first.”
“He tried to tip us,” Trey adds, grinning. “Wanted to give Cole a twenty.”
Marissa laughs. “You taking bribes now?”
“Only from the cute ones,” I say, flashing her a grin.
She rolls her eyes, scribbling notes. “Alright, we’ll take it from here. You two get lost.”
I give Robert a nod. “Take care, man. Let the pros work their magic.”
“Thanks, boys,” he says, already being wheeled down the hall.
Trey claps me on the back. “Back to the rig?”
“In a sec.”
He smirks, not even bothering to ask. “Tell her I said hi.”
I wave him off, heading toward the stairs.
The guys like to joke with me that I could have any single female here. There’s always a hot nurse joke at the ready, and usually, I’m a good sport about it. But today, I’m in a hurry.
I don’t head to the basement.
Not yet.
I head to the cafeteria and pick up a breakfast burrito—just like the one I stole from Andi yesterday.
I grab it, pay cash, and head down the hall.
Is this weird? Maybe. I could just leave, go back to the rig, get on with my day, but my feet don’t get the message. Instead, I’m heading downstairs, taking the back stairwell, where the air shifts—cooler, heavier, quieter.
It’s calmer down here. No rush. No noise. I guess I can see the draw, if you like that kind of thing. The place kinda weirds me out, to be honest.
I spot her before she sees me.
Clipboard in hand, focused, her lavender hair efficiently tucked behind one ear as she leans over a desk. Her scrubs are dark and fitted, and she looks so damn serious it almost stops me.
I should leave.
But I don’t.
She still hasn’t seen me.
Which is ridiculous because I’m standing here, holding a damn breakfast burrito like it’s a peace offering—or a bribe. My palms are actually sweating.
I’m not nervous. I don’t do nervous.
Except maybe now.
She shifts, turning slightly, and I clear my throat before I can chicken out.
Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing the second she sees me.
“You stalking me now?” she says, dry as ever.
“Nope,” I say, stepping closer. “Just figured I owed you something.”
I hold out the burrito. She eyes it like it might explode.
“You brought me food?”
“You seemed pissed about the last one. Thought I’d make it up to you.”
Her gaze flicks from the burrito to my face, suspicious. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”
I smile, shrugging. “Only a little.”
She huffs, grabs it from my hand, and I swear her fingers linger just a second too long.
“I’m starving,” she mutters, like she’s annoyed about it.
I lean against the edge of the desk, watching her tear the wrapper open. She takes a bite, eyes closing for half a second, and it’s almost enough to make me forget how hard she’s shut me down.
Almost.
“Slow day?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
She chews, nodding. “For once. It won’t last.”
“Lucky me.”
She shoots me a look, but there’s no heat behind it—just tiredness, and maybe something else.
I’ve been shot down before, but not like this. Not by someone who makes me want to try again anyway.
I shove my hands in my pockets, suddenly restless.
“You’re not as mean when you’re eating,” I say.
“You’re not as annoying when you’re leaving.”
I laugh and step back.
“Later, Callahan.”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t tell me to get lost, either.