Chapter 4
Chapter four
Drake
Isagged against the kitchen counter at the station, relieved to be back. The Class K fire was annoying enough to deal with and seemed to be a theme of the week for me.
Except this was a restaurant kitchen with a bit more damage in the aftermath.
And I wasn’t treated to a burger with a hot guy after.
I rifled a hand through my hair, a different sort of exhaustion slamming in. The post-adrenaline crash after a call hit like nothing else, but it was worth the effort every time.
Mahoney, our chief, swaggered in looking fresh as a daisy.
Clearly, he hadn’t just been on a call. He was a heavily bearded guy who appeared gruff but was as soft as they came.
I’d heard of chiefs from hell in other fire companies, but Mahoney made sure everyone was taken care of here, and I wouldn’t even think of going elsewhere.
I might’ve grown up in the city, but over the past few years, Kennett Square had become my home.
“Castillo,” he said, striding past me to pour himself a cup of coffee.
“Isn’t that going to keep you up this late?” I teased.
He arched a brow at me, the twitch of his lips barely hidden by his beard. “My schedule’s fucked anyway. I was hoping to talk to you.”
I straightened up from my lean against the chipped counter. “Am I in trouble?”
Mahoney shook his head and waved a hand. “Nah, not at all. This should be easy. Our usual fundraisers aren’t pulling in as much as we need.”
I placed a hand over my chest. “Oh my word, you mean ancient fish fry and spaghetti dinners aren’t drawing the masses?”
He snorted. “That there’s the problem. Clearly, we’re not reaching the younger crowd, and I’ll admit I’m out of touch. In my day, everyone was happy to bring their families to a fish fry.”
“Bro, most of the guys here aren’t toting around families, and the ones who are would be wrangling their kids the whole time. You need something that’s going to engage folks, that’s going to draw people in.”
Mahoney’s eyes glimmered. “Exactly why I want you to run the next fundraiser.”
I wrinkled my nose. Damnit. That would be a hell of a lot of extra work on my plate.
“We need upgrades to the kitchen, and the only thing that’ll pay for it is a fundraiser.” Mahoney batted his lashes at me.
“You need to stop flirting,” I teased. “I’m a young, single guy.” Mahoney was as straight as they came, had a missus he loved and two college-age kids, but he liked to give me shit. Though, he wasn’t wrong about the status of the kitchen. It had definitely seen better years.
Mahoney barked out a laugh and took a sip of coffee. “Right, so I’ll put your name on the agenda.”
My brain began to whir with ideas, and I hated to admit this was the sort of thing I’d been needing—a new project to sink my teeth into.
The idea of putting together something music-related flared strong—my love for punk was unparalleled—but I wasn’t sure I had the contacts, time, or venue for a fundraiser of that magnitude.
Still, I knew I could do better than a spaghetti dinner.
My sisters had both coordinated everything from impeccable baby showers to full-blown galas, but maybe this was a little space I could carve for myself.
“Yeah, okay,” I grumbled, as if this wasn’t exactly what I’d been looking for.
“Your shift almost up?” Mahoney asked.
“Another hour and then I’m home and crashing out,” I said, tapping my fingers against the counter. “Just going to clean the kitchen in the interim.”
“Good, you’ll see how badly we need this fundraiser.” Mahoney smirked and scratched at his chest. “I have the feeling you’ll be up to the task.” With that, he lumbered out, cup of coffee in hand, heading toward his office. Guaranteed he had shit to catch up on.
I pivoted to the sink and got to work on the dishes. My pulse raced as my brain soaked up all the ideas rushing in at such a breakneck pace. While I got adrenaline from the calls at my job, this was what I’d been missing, this chance to make a mark somewhere.
The only other thing I wanted lay far out of reach.
I’d tried dating when I first started working as a firefighter, but after three boyfriends in a row got sick of my hours and the unpredictability of my job, I stopped trying. Hookups scratched the itch to an extent, but lately I’d been craving more.
Damn shame the last hottie chemistry had flared with was off limits.
August had appeared in a few guilty fantasies, but I kept telling myself thinking about him was harmless. After all, he hadn’t given me his number, and I purposefully hadn’t asked. We’d hung out for a single evening, one I hadn’t wanted to walk away from, and that was it.
“Hey, Castillo, what are you still doing here?” Dooley’s loud voice sliced through the quiet.
I paused mid-scrub of another pan and glanced up.
Dooley wasn’t supposed to arrive for a bit.
Then I checked the clock. Damn, five minutes past my shift’s end.
“Good question.” I shook my head, trying to sink back into reality.
I’d been daydreaming for way too long, distracted by a guy I never should’ve even run into, let alone gone to dinner with.
Dooley slapped me on the back, hard enough to sting, on purpose. His teeth flashed with his grin, those light brown eyes twinkling. “I’d be jetting out so fast there’d be scorch marks.”
“I think I’ll manage at a mosey,” I responded, clapping him on the shoulder as hard and equally on purpose. “Hope your shift isn’t shit.”
“The last few have been exhausting,” he complained, pulling a mug down to grab some coffee.
“Tell me about it,” I muttered. “Maybe a full moon?”
“It’s like folks are drawn to arson a little more every full moon.” Dooley leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee, settling in for his shift. Which meant I needed to hightail it out of here.
“All right, man,” I said, my feet carrying me toward the door. “See you around.”
He lifted his hand in a wave as I hit my locker for my belongings, then headed to my car.
Leaving the fire station after a twenty-four always felt like wading through a nebulous dream territory where I was half asleep, half awake.
Still, when I settled behind the wheel, my mind burst to life with ideas for the fundraiser the chief had placed on my shoulders.
I set off for home, taking the familiar roads with ease.
This was what I’d been craving, a way to prove myself, to stand out.
Not that my folks ever gave me shit about my profession, but for fuck’s sake, every family gathering, Serena and Blair had some new achievement, and I was just doing the same-old, same-old.
I pulled up in front of my house, a colonial with tan shutters and a slate roof.
I’d bought it a few years ago when I decided I’d be a permanent resident of Kennett Square, but even that made me itchy once in a while.
When I entered through the front door, the tug in my chest descended again. The place was too big, too empty.
Too devoid of personality. I was a shit decorator.
I headed for my living room and slumped on the couch, needing to sit a beat before passing out upstairs in my bed. The draw of sleeping here was strong, and I’d succumbed quite a few times, even if it was hell on my back.
My phone buzzed, and I tugged it out of my pocket. Serena.
Hey, are you free next Monday?
I thumbed through my calendar, and the date fell on a non-shift day. Still, I wasn’t sure what Serena wanted. Never smart to show your hand too early—not with my sisters.
Why? What’s going on?
Her text came through immediately.
I’ve got a ticket for a Dropkick Murphys concert that I can’t use. 7pm Monday night.
I typed out a response, my pulse jumping. I’d found out about the concert too late, and I’d missed on getting tickets.
What’s the catch?
She shot back a response.
None. I’ll drop you the number of the guy with the ticket. Might have to meet him at the event to get it, but I figured you might be interested.
Interested in seeing one of my favorite bands? Hell yes.
I’m in.