Chapter 6
SIX
brODIE
I load up the weights on the chest press and settle into position, gritting my teeth as I begin pumping back and forth.
Brad steps off the treadmill, adjusting the brace on his knee as he eyes me.
He’s been looking at me with suspicion since we began working out forty-five minutes ago, but as he’s my nice firefighting brother, all glass half full even with an ACL tear that’s flipped his life, he hasn’t pushed me to talk. Yet.
I’ve probably got five minutes, tops, before he’s coaxing everything out of me, so I bury my head and go all in on my de-stressor of choice—lifting therapy.
Messing around with a pencil may be my day job, but I come from a family where muscle talks.
According to Dad, I learned to lift before I could walk, probably another reason why he looks at me like I ruined something.
As if I’m squandering the life-saving apparatus God gave me.
I’ve tried arguing that my brain is also a pretty impressive apparatus, but when up against it, I’ll happily lean into Dad’s decades-old mindset of how real men should behave.
Especially when I’m balls-to-the-wall desperate like right now, all thanks to Savannah.
Only thirty minutes in her company yesterday and she’s flooded my senses so deeply I’m not sure how I’ll ever breathe again without her in my life. Which is unfortunate considering my brain-dead offer to walk away if she asked me to.
Because, of course, she did.
Welcome to my no-win nightmare, all of my own making.
After Savannah left Frank’s and I somehow overcame the feral urge to chase after her, I forced myself to return to the office to speak with Simone.
To attempt to wrangle a way out of all this.
A different audition article for the promotion.
Literally anything other than writing about the crew of Ladder Eight.
Ended up waiting until after seven, and when Simone eventually graced me with her open door, she couldn’t have been clearer.
Or in a worse mood. If I want the shiny upgrade to features reporter, Hall Eight is my only route.
If I turn this opportunity down, there won’t be another article on my plate. It’ll be goodbye career dreams.
Yeah. No surprise I’m working out like a maniac. There’s hard place, me, and then rock.
Brad perches on the bench opposite, swigging some fancy isotonic water.
“What?” I practically growl.
“Nothing. Just watching. Thinking.”
“Well, stop. I didn’t ask you to watch. Or think.” My muscles begin to ache. I push on.
He chuckles. “No. Clearly you didn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing at all, man. Nothing at all.”
I keep moving my arms back and forth, my pace fast. Too fast. The ache in my muscles turns to a burn, igniting a fire that makes my veins feel like they’ll explode. If only I knew a firefighter capable of extinguishing the flames. I grunt out another sigh and push harder, but it’s too much.
I falter, losing my rhythm, my arms jolting with a snap as I come to a sudden stop. “Fuck it.” I let go, the weights landing with a painful clang.
Gasping for air, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, head hanging low.
Brad nudges an iced water between my toes.
I snatch it up and take a long drink. It’s so cold it sets my teeth on edge. Or maybe that’s another manifestation of my feelings for Savannah and how totally fucked I currently am.
“You should probably be aware, I spoke to Brock earlier.” Brad folds his arms, the bench creaking under him.
I swallow another mouthful of water but it feels like I’ve ingested a pile of rocks.
Of course Brock got to him already. It’s probably the biggest sticking point between me and Brad.
His never-ending mission impossible for the three of us to be a team who talks rather than fights, meaning he spends half his life passing messages back and forth like a walking group chat.
I take a breath, determined to convey an air of total indifference. “What pearls of jackass wisdom did our asshole of a brother have to share?”
“Is it true?”
“What?”
“Don’t, bro. You know it’s better to talk than bottle it up.”
“Uh…” Swallowing, I meet his concerned eyes.
He’s my nice brother for a reason. That big heart and ability to coax out answers means he’s also the only person who knows anything about Savannah. And therefore, even though I’d rather chest press my way to hell, he’s realistically my only option for sharing the plot twist I’m currently living.
I clear my throat. It does nothing to clear my head. “Yeah, it’s all true. Savannah is back.”
His eyes bug like I’ve sprouted three testicles from my forehead. “Woah, what? Brock said you’re writing a piece about his ladder. Thought that’s why you’re benching like a maniac.”
I blink. “He didn’t mention anything else?”
“No. But clearly you’re about to.” He throws a towel at me as he stands. “Come on. Think we need something stronger than water for this conversation.”
Thirty minutes later, my water has been replaced with a Molson in the rowdy sports bar opposite the gym, tonight’s Cascades game playing on the multiple flat screens.
But after a cold shower and enough time to get lost in my head again, I’m way too distracted to care about hockey. And now kicking myself for agreeing to talk. I look for something to steer the conversation away from me. “How’s the knee?”
Brad grins. He knows exactly what I’m doing. “Getting stronger. Have a check-up next week, but I’m feeling good for a summer return.”
“Don’t know how you do it.”
“What?”
“Stay so positive. It’s basically been a year.” I sip my beer.
Alongside firefighting, Brad’s also captain of the Tide, the city’s National Lacrosse League team. One injury and he’s lost both his loves.
“Sure. But if things are meant to work out, they will. I just need to train hard and face it head-on.” He doesn’t break eye contact. “And, you know… talking also really helps.”
Great. Talking. Got it.
Letting out a teenager-worthy sigh, I knock back half my beer and then rest my arms on the table.
My muscles tremble from the onslaught I just dished out with the chest press.
Or maybe the trembling is thanks to having to talk about Savannah.
I take a tight breath, and another, the neighboring table’s cheeseburgers making my stomach grumble.
“So what did Brock actually say? Just that I’m writing a feature on Ladder Eight? ”
“Yep.” He gets the irony, a wry chuckle rolling through him. “After all Dad’s bullying to force you into a fire hall and there you are walking in willingly. And into Brock’s castle too. Fuck.” He also gets the difficulties between me and Brock. “How was he?”
“You really need to ask?”
“I’m sorry, bro. Want me to talk to him? Or maybe help you talk to him?”
And we’re back to Brad’s mission. Problem-solver. The glue to keep us together despite me insisting that there’s no glue in the world strong enough to work on me and Brock.
I deliver a death stare to rival the one Savannah glowered at me in Frank’s.
A flash of resignation crosses his face. “I know. It’s your battle.” He tamps it down with another smile. “Anyway… what about Savannah? Don’t tell me she’s co-writing the article?”
I flinch at the impact of him saying her name. Like it’s another step to making this whole situation all the more real. “Worse than that.”
“Worse? What do you mean?”
I brace myself. “She is the article.”
His face crumples into a frown. “Come again?”
“Just that. I’m meant to be writing a feature about a firefighter working in Eight. And it turns out the firefighter in question is Savannah.”
His frown deepens. “Still not making sense. Thought Sav was studying writing like you.”
“She was.” I throw out another sigh. “I hit the place on Tuesday, braced for the hell of seeing Brock in his motherland. Turns out it was way worse. They’d already picked a firefighter for me to shadow—Savannah.
She dropped out of grad school last year, completed basic training, and is now the newest probie with Ladder Eight’s crew. Two months on the job.”
I probably should have made sure Brad wasn’t drinking when I got to the end of my explanation because I’m now drenched in second-hand beer.
“Gross, dude.” I pull the sleeve of my hoodie over my hand and use it to dab myself dry.
He’s still gaping at me. “You’re going to need to run all that past me again, only slower because it ain’t making a lot of sense. I thought Savannah was set for her own real-life Godfather story. Wasn’t that why you had to end it with her?”
“Yeah, well, guess she had a change of plans.”
“Sorry, we are talking about Savannah Savannah, right? The girl I met at Oktoberfest? Pint-sized, gorgeous blue eyes, and blonde hair that looked like sunshine?”
“You’ve remembered a lot of details.”
“You carried her picture around in your wallet for a whole year after you broke up. Gave me plenty of time to memorize what she looked like.”
I glare at him, my skin itching. “How do you know about that?”
“Was just looking out for you. No one has ever done a number on you the way she did.” He shrugs like that explains everything. “You’re saying she’s taken a total career U-turn and become a firefighter? An actual working firefighter?”
I nod.
“And she’s ended up in the same fire hall as Brock?”
I nod again.
“How come Brock never told me he was working with her? He tells me everything.”
“Guess he never snooped in my wallet like you because he had no idea who she was. Didn’t even know Savannah and I had already met until we had our little reunion outside Eight. She told him we were old friends.”
“Friends? Ouch.” Brad winces. “Why didn’t you tell me she wanted to join the force?”
“Because I had no fucking clue.” I scrub my hand through my hair. “Honestly, all you’re going through now is exactly what happened to me. Only I had to live out my confusion in front of her. And Brock.”