Chapter 3
THREE
SAVANNAH
I’m antsy and there’s no prizes for guessing why.
Two minutes googling confirmed the nightmare is real.
The Herald’s Brodie Holt is a hundred percent my Brodie Holt.
Hence I’m avoiding his imminent fire hall arrival by throwing myself into another game.
This one verging on aggressive, with a rugby ball rather than a pile of doctored stirrer sticks from Starbucks.
With less than a minute to play, Springer calls a time out. The crew treats PT like everything else in Hall Eight—as seriously as life or death. I jog across the park to join the huddle.
“Trip, hold out on the left. Mullet, keep the distraction going through center, watching for Choke on your right.” Springer’s razor-focused. “I’ll power through and pass to East. East, you’re taking it home to end the match. Copy?”
“Yes, boss.” I bite out the words and take my position.
I have about ten seconds to prepare myself for impact. These guys don’t play easy and I love that that’s the case. I may only be five foot three and wear an extra-small uniform that is still too big, but I’ve been welcomed onto the team as an equal.
The whistle blows and I propel myself into action, chasing Springer, primed and ready as the ball sails to me. Luckily, what I lack in size I more than make up for with speed.
I catch it one-handed and launch like a rocket, ducking to the left, then weaving to the right, narrowly missing the outstretched hands of Choke and then Romeo as our makeshift try line comes into sight.
Three more steps and I hurl myself at it.
Literally. Full body commitment, fingers outstretched with the ball like I’m diving into a swimming pool.
Except I’m facing off with the muddy earth in a navy tee and shorts.
I land with a thud, my face splattering in a puddle, and my boobs painfully squished.
But it’s all totally worth it because I get the try. And the team gets the win.
“Fucking, yes. Go, East!” Springer gathers me off the ground and everyone piles in.
I take a brief moment to check nothing’s broken and then join the celebrations, bouncing from high five to fist bump until something catches my eye.
Or someone to be more accurate.
Lurking at the far end of the park.
My stomach bottoms out and my elation at the score line sinks into the flattened grass under my sneakers.
Guess Linda told Brodie where to find us.
The pack separates, oblivious to my anxiety, gathering their things and rolling through easy banter as they begin walking the two blocks to the fire hall.
I try to do the same, smiling and nodding, but no surprise, my head’s elsewhere.
Collecting my hoodie, I shrink under it and retie my ponytail, reciting over and over that it will all be okay.
Because it will be. It has to be. Maybe I can speak to the cap.
Come up with an excuse. Ask him to pick someone else to work with Brodie.
Or even better, send the Herald to write about another ladder.
Preferably on the other side of Canada so my new secret life isn’t blown wide open by my ex.
“All okay, East?” Springer steps next to me as I start pacing.
The cold air hits the back of my throat. “Yeah. Have to get back. That thing the captain wanted me for yesterday.”
“Ah, your special mission.”
My glare could fell every tree in the park.
He frowns. “It’s only some newspaper interview, right?”
“Yeah. Just not a fan of newspapers. Or journalists.”
“In general?”
“Forget it.”
Brodie’s proximity is making me lose my head. Springer doesn’t need to know my past relationship fails. Or my family connection with journalists. Or even the slightest hint of the family empire I’ve shunned by joining the fire department.
I’ve worked just as hard as the rest of the crew to be here.
Proving I’m capable and driven. They find out the truth and I’ll be reduced to the silly girl nursing a broken heart.
Or the spoiled daughter of Vancouver’s most notorious media magnate.
Or, worst of all, a wounded little kid without a mom.
I grit my teeth and keep walking. “Just don’t like the idea of being followed around by someone. Can’t imagine the crew is happy either, some dude hanging out who isn’t one of us.”
“They’re good. Relieved it won’t be them making TikToks.”
“I’m not making TikToks.”
“Whatever you say.” He chuckles. “Anyway, reckon we’re all in for a laugh. Heard from Linda about…”
I tune Springer out, chancing a look over my shoulder as we reach the fire hall.
Big mistake.
Brodie must have raced to catch up because holy shit. He’s right here.
I falter. Lost. Unable to focus on whatever Springer’s sniggering about. My mouth slack and refusing to close. Drowning under the shock reflected back in Brodie’s beautiful amber eyes.
In an instant it’s three years ago. The week of his graduation. Rain ruining the summer and him destroying my whole world. Apparently, we don’t have a future together, after all.
I blink once, twice. Killing the memory and reminding myself that three years is a long time. I’ve graduated too, now. And moved on with my life. Entirely.
Brodie clears his throat, his face drained of color.
Guess he’s also stuck in a world of what the fuck’s going on? Can’t say I blame him. Finding me here, in a fire hall, in Vancouver’s West End.
I scramble for something to fill the silence, but at the exact same moment, Springer grabs Brodie into a headlock and ruffles his hair.
“Was just sharing the news that you’re the fancy journalist, jackass.”
Brodie fights to shake himself free. “Fuck off, asswipe.”
What the…? My head whips between the two of them. From Springer to Brodie and—
“East. Meet my baby brother.” Springer’s arm tightens around Brodie’s shoulder.
I step back, struggling to compute. “You’re… What…? I don’t…”
Nothing’s making sense. I’ve worked side by side with Springer for weeks.
He’s been like my big brother. How is it that all this time I haven’t known he’s related to Brodie?
My Brodie. Who walked away and yet is now standing right here, invading my new life and looking as shaken by all this as I feel.
Brodie frowns at me. “Savannah, what’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“I…” Another dollop of reality lands heavy on my shoulders.
It’s out of left field, but the real issue here isn’t finding out Springer is somehow Brodie’s older brother. What matters more is that Brodie knows who I am and, specifically, who my dad is. My legs tremble as I silently offer my body to Satan in an effort to stop Brodie from breaking my cover.
Brodie’s attention remains solely on me as he frees himself from Springer’s grip, elbowing him in the ribs.
“Ow. Fuck’s sake.” Springer rubs at his side as he peers at the two of us. “What’s happening here?”
Brodie squares up to him, standing a fraction taller than Springer’s six foot something.
A gasp escapes me before I manage to clamp my mouth shut.
Wow. Seriously. How did I not see this coming? Matching sharp jawlines. Dark hair and lashes to envy. Broad shoulders framed by the red of the fire truck parked on the concourse behind. Brodie fits right into this world.
I dig deep to smack my hormones down.
Brodie’s breath catches like he knows exactly what I’m thinking before returning his attention to Springer and adjusting his face into a scowl. “Well, asshole, turns out Savannah and I already know each other.”
“We were just friends. In college. Haven’t seen each other in, what, three years?” I throw out a laugh. It’s at least two octaves too high.
“You two already know each other?”
My laugh hits peak unhinged. “Yeah. This is nuts. All these weeks and I had no clue you were Brodie’s brother.”
Springer’s forehead crumples; he’s clearly experiencing his own what-the-fuck moment. “Interesting.”
Brodie searches my face. Looking all kinds of lost.
Yep. In the exact same place, buddy.
“Well, baby bro, East here drew the short stick meaning you’re writing your little article all about her.
And lucky for me, I get a front row seat to witness you dick around with your pencil.
Sure it’s gonna be mighty impressive.” Springer slaps Brodie’s back.
Hard. “Guess I’ll leave you two friends to catch up.
” His accompanying smirk hangs in the air as he disappears into the fire hall.
I slump against the wall like I’ve been winded.
Brodie rounds on me, limbs flailing. “Savannah, what the hell are you doing here?”
All I can muster is a shrug.
“But why…? How…?” His words stutter out, broken. “I’m so confused right now.”
“Uh… well, I kind of changed careers since we last saw each other.”
“You didn’t finish your undergrad?”
“No, I finished at UBC.” My hands find their way into a bind in front of me, my fingers twisting together.
“Got into Stanford for my master’s. Dropped out last year to follow my dreams instead.
” I somehow manage to make my voice easy breezy despite the sheer weight of emotion bearing down on my chest.
Brodie meanwhile is a picture of pure confusion. “Since when was this your dream?”
I manage a blink. The answer to that question is way too complicated. And way too triggering when this whole encounter is triggering enough.
“But you never even mentioned the fire department when we were together.”
I focus on breathing. In and then out. “Maybe we just didn’t do a lot of talking.”
His expression flickers like he’s remembering all the things we did do and then he tugs at his hair. His glorious, messy hair.
I increase the grip on my fingers. “I’m also pretty confused here. Thought I met your brother at Oktoberfest, and he definitely wasn’t Springer.”
Brodie shakes his head. “No. You met my other brother, Brad. This is Brock.”
“Oh my god.” Light dawns. “You did say you have two brothers.”
“Yep.”
“And you hate Brock.”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t know Springer had a name other than Springer.”
Brodie rolls his eyes. “Guess macho bro culture’s still in full force in the fire department. Don’t you all talk beyond your nicknames?”
“I haven’t been here long. And no. We don’t. At least, I don’t.”
He nods, slowly. Processing. “That got something to do with him calling you East?”
I wince. I’m not going there. Not today. “I read a compass the wrong way during basic training. Been stuck with East ever since.”
If Brodie doubts my on-the-fly story, he doesn’t let on.
Scanning my face, his eyes widen a fraction as they land on my mouth. “You look—”
“Don’t.”
“Sorry. It’s just…” He swallows and looks away. “I tried calling. After I… you know. It kept going to voicemail.”
“I blocked your number.” Even I’m impressed with how indifferent I manage to make that sound when a hundred fireworks just exploded under my ribs. He tried calling?
“Savannah…” His jaw clenches. “I’ve never—”
My control snaps. “Never what, Brodie? Forgotten me? Forgiven yourself for hurting me? Move on. I have.” Holy shit. “I need to shower.” I push away from the fire hall wall, but for some reason my feet won’t move.
“Oh, sure. Is there somewhere I can wait?”
“Wait? What for?”
“So we can talk after?”
“There’s nothing else to talk about.”
“I don’t mean talk about you and me. The article. Brock said you’re the subject?”
The equivalent of a bucket of iced water tips over me. “We’re not doing the article.”
“What?”
“Get the Herald to send someone else.”
“Why?”
“This is messy.” I lift my chin. “Way too messy.”
“I don’t have to write about you. Maybe someone else could volunteer.”
“I didn’t volunteer. It was a special request from Cap.”
“A special request? Interesting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
Still my feet won’t move.
Brodie sighs. “Savannah, truth is, I need to do this feature. And you’ve been asked to be the subject. I get it isn’t ideal but can’t we at least talk it through? See if we can find some common ground.”
“I don’t have time today. I’m working.”
“What about later? What time do you get off shift?”
“I’m busy.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Still busy.”
“The next day? Thirty minutes, that’s all I’m asking.” He raises one brow. His signature look. “Please, Savannah. Just thirty minutes.”
Warmth floods my chest and my pulse thrums. I look away, doing everything in my power to squash the sensation. Brodie Holt is not giving me butterflies. Nope. Absolutely no fucking way.
He ducks to meet my gaze, full puppy-dog endearing. “How about this? We talk, thirty minutes only, and if you still don’t want to work together, I’ll walk away.”
I swallow. “You’ll walk away?”
“Yes.”
“No arguments?”
“No arguments.”
“Only thirty minutes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you want.”
I slowly exhale. Fuck it. We talk. He walks. This nightmare is over. “You know Frank’s?”
“On Comox?”
“Tomorrow. Three o’clock.”
“Thought you were busy.”
“I can spare half an hour before I’m back on shift.”
His face brightens with the hint of a smile. His beautiful smile. “Perfect.”
Enough.
I give a sharp shake of my head, turn on my heels, and dash into the fire hall.
The door slams shut and I work to stem the adrenaline coursing through me.
It’s a big ask. With my past charging in, my secrets threatening to spill, and the discovery that Springer is Brodie’s big brother, it’s all too overwhelming.
Especially with Brodie being his oh-so-messy and cute self.
It’s time to recalibrate.
Brodie’s not cute. He’s an asshole. An asshole who made me believe he loved me.
I’ll meet him tomorrow, but only to cut this whole thing dead.
I’m not working with him. Period.