Chapter Seven
OPERATION MELT THE ICE QUEEN
Cole
We’re chilling in the engine bay, enjoying a brief reprieve from the day’s action when Brennan rolls in for his shift.
When he spots me, he grins like he’s been waiting all day for this moment.
“You recover yet?” he asks, kicking his boots up on the bench across from me.
I don’t look up from my phone. “From what?”
He smirks. “From getting your ass handed to you by that chick Andi at O’Malley’s.”
Trey straightens, wiping his hands on a rag. “Who?”
Brennan leans in, eyes wide, mock-whispering like it’s a secret. “Andi Callahan. Cute girl who works in the cooler at Memorial. Purple hair. Five feet of pure rage.”
“Oh,” Trey says, nodding. “Her. Yeah, she’s smokin’ hot.”
“Yeah.” Brennan laughs. “And she hates our man here.”
Trey looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Is that right?”
“She doesn’t hate me,” I say, slipping my phone into my pocket. “She just hasn’t experienced my charms yet.”
“She’s experienced enough to want none of it,” Brennan fires back.
I shrug, leaning back. “Give me time.”
Brennan cackles, turning to Trey. “You should’ve seen it. The look she gave him? Man, I thought she was gonna throw a drink in his face.”
“She didn’t, though.”
Trey shakes his head. “You give off golden retriever; she gives off rottweiler. Why do you gotta go for the scary ones?”
“Nah,” I say, but my grin’s already there. “She’s not scary; she’s just... misunderstood.”
Brennan snorts. “She works with dead bodies all day. She’s a little scary.”
None of us like that part of the job. I can’t imagine making it my career. That part is curious. But hey, I like the mystery—like peeling back the layers of an onion.
“She’s like a wounded bird,” Trey adds.
“Well, not to me. She seems cool—a little guarded, obviously, but I bet she’s great once you get to know her.”
“Like that’ll ever happen,” Brennan scoffs.
“Not worried,” I counter. “I like a challenge.”
“Or,” Brennan drawls, “you could go for her friend instead. The one who said she’d ride your ride.”
I roll my eyes. “Shay? Please. I prefer a little less fire hazard in my life.”
“She seemed into you.”
“She’s into anyone breathing.”
Trey laughs, tossing the rag aside. “So what’s the play, lover boy?”
“Simple,” I say, stretching my arms over my head. “I’ll get her to go out with me.”
Brennan perks up. “You really think she’ll say yes?”
“I know she will.”
“Wanna bet?”
I pause, grinning. We basically bet on everything around here. “What’s at stake?”
“If you lose, you’re on the Wall. Full photo, glitter border, we pick the pose.”
Trey’s already laughing. “Oh, hell yes.”
The Wall.
Every station’s got one. Ours just happens to be legendary.
A whole section of the back hallway, plastered with photos of every idiotic move, every failed bet, and every prank gone wrong in the last ten years.
Some are harmless—guys caught napping with their mouths open, a Sharpie penis drawn on their cheek, food disasters, rookie mistakes.
One guy caught napping with a stuffed animal? Up there for life.
Trey’s up there twice. Once in a tutu, thanks to a lost fantasy football league. Once in a photo where he’s holding a sign that says “I’m not allowed to make chili anymore” after the great firehouse chili incident of 2022.
Brennan’s got a spot too. Shirtless, covered in glitter, holding a birthday cake he dropped before it ever left the counter.
It’s not just the photo; it’s the story that comes with it. Every time someone walks past, they ask. Every time someone new joins, they hear about it.
And glitter? That means they’re really gonna make it hurt.
“And if I win?” I ask.
Trey leans back, cocky. “If you win, Brennan has to wear something ridiculous on a call... I’m thinking a banana suit? And I’ll throw in a week’s worth of chores at the station—no cooking, no cleaning.”
Not a bad deal.
I stand, already feeling the adrenaline kick in. “Deal.”
“Poor bastard doesn’t know what he’s in for,” Trey mutters.
But I do.
And I’m not backing down.
Trey returns from the office with a marker and a piece of cardboard. “Alright, gentlemen,” he says, slapping the cardboard onto the table like it’s sacred. “Let’s make history.”
Brennan leans over, eyes wide. “We need levels. Like a real challenge.”
I sigh and lean back in my chair, arms crossed. “You’re both idiots.”
“Correct,” Trey says, grinning. “Stage one: She smiles. Genuine smile. No pity, no sarcasm.”
“Generous,” Brennan says, laughing. “Fine. Stage two: She talks to him for more than five minutes without telling him to get lost.”
“Smiles at me?” I ask. “That’s it? Easy.”
“Oh, he’s cocky now,” Trey says, scribbling it down. “Stage three: She gives him her number. Real number. No fake digits. And not for anything work-related.”
Brennan chuckles, agreeing. “Next level—what’s stage four?”
Trey leans in, deadly serious. “She agrees to go out with him. Coffee, drinks, I don’t care. He asks. She says yes.”
“Stage five,” Brennan says, rubbing his hands together. “She shows up.”
I laugh. “You think she’d bail?”
“Man, she hates you,” Brennan says. “We’re just being realistic.”
Trey taps the marker. “Stage six: She initiates something. A text. A call. She makes the move.”
“Oh, that’s bold,” Brennan says. “I like it.”
“Stage seven,” Trey adds. “First kiss.”
The room erupts. A couple of guys walking in pause, eyeing the board.
“What’s this?” Walker asks, heading for the coffee.
“Cole’s gonna crash and burn trying to win over the girl who works in the cooler at Memorial,” Brennan says, waving him over.
“Purple hair?” Walker asks. We nod. “She’s hot. Put me down for five bucks he doesn’t make it past level two.”
“Deal.”
Trey adds names to the side of the board, a list of bets forming faster than I thought possible.
“Stage eight,” Brennan says, eyes sparkling. “She admits she likes him. Full on. Says it.”
I just shake my head, watching them like they’ve all lost their minds. “You’re idiots.”
“True,” Trey says, tossing me the marker. “But are you in?”
I grin slowly. “Oh, I’m in.”
And there’s no way I’m losing.
The laughter fades a little as the guys head off, already plotting what kind of glitter they’re gonna use when I lose. I shake my head, pull out my phone, and lean back against the lockers.
Two missed calls from Mom.
I scroll, thumb hovering over her name.
She always calls during her planning period just to check in. Nothing urgent, nothing heavy. She doesn’t want to be the mom who hovers, but she still is.
I hit call.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hey. Sorry I missed you earlier. Things were nuts.”
“It’s okay, I figured. How’s your shift?”
“Good. Long.”
“You eating?”
I smile. “Mom.”
“Someone’s gotta ask.”
I lean against the lockers, closing my eyes for a second. “I’m good. I promise.”
She hums, like she half-believes me. “Alright. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m heading into class now. Call me later?”
“Yeah. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
She hangs up, and for a second, the noise around me fades out.
She’s tough—stronger than she gives herself credit for. But sometimes I worry. She’s been on her own for so long, always putting me first and making sure I was okay.
And now? It’s just her.
I wonder if she ever gets tired of the quiet. If the house feels too big, too empty. She never says it, but sometimes, when I stop by and catch her just sitting there, staring at the TV like she’s not watching... I know.
I wish there were more I could do for her.
But she’s proud. Stubborn.
A lot like Andi, actually.
I shake the thought off, pushing my phone back into my pocket.
I’ve got enough on my plate without turning into one of those guys who starts psychoanalyzing every woman he meets.
Still.
I’d give anything to see my mom laugh like she used to.