Play with Fire (Vancity Fire #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

SAVANNAH

Clutching at the Starbucks stirrer, I offer a silent prayer to anything remotely holy that I haven’t chosen the short one. Clearly no one holy is home.

My crewmates erupt, their cheers bouncing around the fire hall’s rec room.

“Better luck next time, East.”

“You’re so jinxed when it comes to this shit.”

“Jeez, woman, unluckiest probie prize right here.”

I wrestle the remaining stirrer sticks from Springer’s fist. They’re all the same length. Short. “Oh my god. You totally set me up.”

“You got me.” He raises his hands, a grin tugging at his mouth.

I fight the urge to slap his smirk clean away.

I can’t. I mean, he’s Hall Eight’s lieutenant.

Plus he’s a freaking giant. I may have proven myself to be pretty damn tough in my two months since joining the crew of Vancouver’s West End fire hall, but I’m basically a gnat with Springer peering down at me.

“What am I being landed with this time?”

“No idea. You need to ask the captain.”

“You rigged all this to send me to the cap?”

“Yep. Thought it would be fun.”

“For who?”

He shrugs.

I drop an eye roll, but it’s half-hearted. I’m still on probation; I can’t afford to mess up. Not when I’m risking so much to be here. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Course not. Think he just wants to ask you something.” Springer slips seamlessly into his big brother role. The one he’s taken to adopting when I’m in need of a boost. “Could be your chance to show what you’re made of. You’ve got this, East.”

My cheeks warm. “Fine, but you’re not off the hook for the sticks. Next time, pick someone else to be the entertainment.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I smooth my hair into its neat ponytail at the nape of my neck, shoot him my best little sis side-eye, and exit the rec room.

Springer’s right. I have got this. Primed and ready to show the cap what I’m made of.

My self-pep talk continues as I wind my way to the station’s admin wing, down the stairs and past the apparatus bays. As ever, the sight of Ladder Eight, Hall Eight’s gleaming ladder truck, gives me an additional lift and I march into the office with a spring in my step.

I’m greeted with a cheery grin. Not from the captain, obviously. I have a hunch he’s missing the necessary facial muscles.

Fortunately, the station’s admin whiz, Linda, lights up the whole of Vancouver with her positive vibes. “Hello, Savannah!”

Grinding to a halt, I re-tuck my regulation navy tee into my regulation navy pants while sneaking a glance at myself in the mirror behind her desk. I ride the buzz of seeing my uniform. It’s ugly as hell, shapeless, made of gnarly, flame-resistant fabric, and I totally love it.

“Guessing you’re here to see the captain, duck?”

I nod, kicking myself as another flutter of nerves tweaks at me. I put out fires for a living now. Actual big fuck-off dangerous fires. The kind of fires people die in. I can low-key handle anything, especially a conversation with the cap.

“East.”

My name sounds like a growl and the flutter skirts closer to nausea.

Taking a reset breath, I turn to find the Hulk, dressed just like me, only Captain Bob Kendall’s uniform is filled with his muscular frame and adorned with the captain’s insignia. I channel my edginess into a smile big enough to rival Linda’s.

“Come in. Take a seat.” He holds open his door before planting himself in his creaky leather chair. “First, thank you. Crews usually hate getting involved with this kind of thing, but it’s a necessary evil if we want to save the ladder.”

My smile evaporates and my throat dries to a crisp. Save the ladder?

“Central comms has lined up a journalist from the Vancity Herald to write an extensive feature on Fire Hall Eight. The reporter will spend two weeks shadowing the crew to see first-hand what we do.” His jaw twitches.

“I want to narrow the focus to a more personal angle and make the feature about you. The experiences of a female probie firefighter navigating her probationary period. It’ll be great outreach, and I know how much you want to make a difference in the local community.

Encourage fire-safety awareness. Inspire young girls and all that. This is your chance.”

I stare at him. And stare some more. What the hell?

“Any questions?”

Yes, I have questions. A million fucking questions.

Two weeks? Followed around by a journalist? Who works for one of my dad’s newspapers? When my dad doesn’t know I’ve dropped out of grad school?

And the crew here has no clue who my dad is?

My pulse thumps hard, my peripheral vision blurring. I can’t… I just—

“Comms has devised a selection of acceptable discussion topics. Linda has the details.” He stands. “All understood?”

I swallow. He coughs. I’m still sitting and realize I shouldn’t be. The captain must have far more important things on his plate than watching me have a panic attack.

I mentally punch myself in the face. “What did you mean, save the ladder?”

A flicker of unease passes over his features.

“No need to get bogged down in the weeds. It’s been a challenging year for the city’s force and sometimes things filter to community fire halls like ours.

” He hesitates like he’s considering saying more but shakes his head instead.

“I’ve been impressed with you, East. It takes drive to pass the certificate program with flying colors and you’ve settled in well with the ladder crew.

I know you’ll make us all proud.” He gestures to the door.

Moments later I’m once again standing in front of Linda’s desk, head spinning, uncertain how I managed to put one foot in front of the other.

Like she can sense my turmoil, she opens her secret snack drawer and thrusts a macadamia nut cookie into my hands. She always saves me the best snacks. The two women in Eight, united by cookies.

“Well, look at you with your own special mission. How exciting.” Her eyes twinkle.

I bite the cookie but struggle to swallow. My throat’s still dryer than day-old toast.

Linda, on the other hand, is practically glowing.

“I believe this is for you. The guide from central with the talking points. And I’ll put a call out for you when…

” She pauses, digging through the cookie crumbs and paperwork lining her desk.

“Aha, the reporter’s card. He’ll be here at ten tomorrow. ”

I scan the card. Read it a second time. And a third. Holy fuck.

Linda frowns. “You okay, duck?”

“This is a joke, right?”

“Um, no?” She peers over at where the card is currently trembling in my hand.

Maybe I’m imagining things. Still reeling from the cap’s request. I just need to breathe. Breathe and remain calm. Blinking, the letters swirl before coming back into focus. Neat. Embossed black on crisp white. Yeah. No. Absolutely not my imagination playing tricks.

“Why don’t you sit down, dear? I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

I press my nails hard into my palm. “No. I’m fine.

All’s great.” Maybe if I keep saying the exact opposite of what I’m feeling, I’ll manage to convince myself there’s more than one journalist in Vancouver called Brodie Holt.

And that the new secret life I’m carving out isn’t facing total implosion.

“It’s exciting, right? A feature. All about me. Guess it’s just—”

The station’s alarm blasts. Brittle. Exhilarating. And such a welcome distraction I could hug it. I ditch the rest of my cookie, say a hasty goodbye to Linda, and hit autopilot.

Pacing across the hallway to the locker room, I wrestle with my bunker pants and shove the hot mess of the past twenty minutes firmly from my head.

There’s no time to dwell on drawing the short stick if I’m putting out a fire.

Confessing my career change to Dad? I’ll worry about that later, when I’m not busy being a hero.

And as for what’s happening tomorrow at ten?

It’s been three years. So what if the Vancity Herald’s Brodie Holt is my Brodie Holt?

He might be the only man I’ve ever loved, who also happened to feed my heart through a shredder, but that’s irrelevant to new-and-improved City of Vancouver firefighter me.

I’m stronger now. Brave. Level-headed. And completely and utterly over him.