Chapter 11
ELEVEN
SAVANNAH
I storm down the stairs to the apparatus bays, seeing red.
Dammit, Brodie.
We’d gotten off to such a good start as well.
Actually having a conversation that wasn’t infected by what happened between us before.
He was clearly dealing with something when I found him by the fire truck, his face etched with such heartache.
It added an authenticity to our exchange.
Something softer and a little more tender.
Made me think that maybe working together will be okay.
Until we hit the rec room and it was spin the wheel on reasons to be pissed at him again.
Dumbing down his talent.
Revealing he has some sparkly career boost at the end of this rainbow.
And then, to top it all, nearly dropping my dad into the conversation without a thought for what I do and do not want my crewmates knowing.
In among the chaos of all that’s happened since Brodie reappeared in my life, I totally forgot that I have two essential boundaries here.
Not letting myself fall again, and my secrets.
My secrets that need to remain secrets until I’m ready to share them. On my terms.
“Where’s the fire, deary?”
I nearly smack straight into Linda, her arms loaded with paperwork.
She chuckles at her own inside joke. It’s a question she asks at least twice a day, finding it hilarious every time.
“Sorry.” I go to turn away.
“What happened? They’re not fighting again are they?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Good. I’d hate to miss the action.” Her eyes brighten as Brodie appears next to me.
“Savannah, we need to talk.” His voice is annoyingly confident.
“I know.” I don’t bother looking at him. “We can talk while I get you set up.” Turning on my heels, I leave the stairwell and head to the locker room at the rear of the apparatus bays.
In my wake, I hear Linda whispering something followed by Brodie chuckling. The sound’s way too sexy and only serves to piss me off more. I shove open the locker room door so hard it smacks into the wall behind. And I rally every ounce of strength I have to calm the fuck down.
I usually love being in here. Our gear primed and ready to go. The formality of our bunker coats lined up on hooks. The musky scent of aged smoke caught in the heavy-duty fabrics. The creak of the room’s old wooden paneling. It’s my favorite place in the whole station.
Maybe not today though.
I set about pulling out a coat and pants for Brodie when I hear him step into the room.
“Try these on for size.” I thrust the items into his arms.
“Savannah—”
“We also need to get you—”
“Savannah, stop.”
“How come you never mentioned your promotion before now?”
He frowns. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Really? You didn’t think it was maybe useful to share how you’re only doing this to advance your career?” I zip my arms together across my chest. “You were never walking away, were you? It was all just part of your plan to land a bigger paycheck.”
He’s still frowning, mouth open, brows locked. “No. Honestly. I literally had walked away. From this article and getting the promotion. I only came back because of what the cap shared, and even then, I still would have walked if you’d told me to.”
His answer throws me. Maybe I was expecting a confession. He’s been caught out. The evidence is clear. Like the mask’s been pulled back so the baddie can at last show their true colors. Instead, Brodie’s more sincere than ever.
My frustration eases a touch. “You were going to let this opportunity slide for me?”
“Yes. And I still will. I can’t take back how badly I hurt you, but I’ll do anything I can now if it goes some way to showing you how sorry I am.”
I swallow. “You don’t need to walk away from this, but we do need some ground rules before we go any further.”
“Absolutely. Whatever you need.”
“You can’t talk about my dad here.” I turn to the cubby containing the spare gear and fuss with nothing in particular, silently willing him to not challenge me like he did in Frank’s.
“Why?”
I feel him step behind me.
Heat radiates against my shoulders. “Because no one on the crew knows who Dad is. Not even Springer. I want to keep it that way.”
“You’re kidding me?” He sighs. “So, you’re lying to your dad about still being in grad school, and you’re lying to your crew about who you are? Savannah, this isn’t good.”
“You said whatever I need. This is what I need.” I face him but don’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to focus on the wall clock positioned just past his right ear. The second hand stutters every few beats before moving.
“Okay.”
“You mean that? You’re not going to start lecturing me like you did in Frank’s?”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just need to know it won’t happen again.”
“It won’t. It’s your life. Your choices.”
I still don’t meet his eyes. “Great.”
“That’s your only ground rule?”
“That’s it.”
“You sure?”
I dig deep, my stomach muscles clenching as I drag my gaze from the clock to meet Brodie’s eyes. His are still pinched, a deep line running between them.
He rakes his hand through his hair, and just like every other time, I have the stupid urge to do the same. To entwine my fingers in, tugging at the roots before smoothing it back down. This time, I don’t manage to stop myself.
His sharp inhale alerts me to what I’m doing.
I whip my fingers away. Fuck. “Sorry.”
His frown deepens. “That’s what you always used to do.”
“What?”
“Try to tame my hair.”
“And you always used to tell me it cannot be tamed.”
He shrugs. “It can’t.”
I step away, slumping to the long wooden bench running underneath the gear.
He sits next to me with another sigh. “This is quite the rollercoaster.”
And maybe it’s because I’m so damn exhausted from battling my haywire emotions, or maybe it’s because he’s sitting so close, but I lose my filter. “Why don’t you back yourself?”
“It’s just my hair.”
“Not your fucking hair. You. Who you are, and what you do. Those guys upstairs aren’t some higher beings because of the career choices they’ve made. It’s not some competition where bravery is the only badge to prove how worthy you are in this world.”
“Is that why you’re so mad? Because I called myself a wuss?”
“No. But it pissed me off.”
I catch the smallest of smiles tugging at his mouth and drop my chin, this time focusing on the scuff marks made by decades of boots rushing over the tiled floor.
“That’s actually kinda cute.”
“Fuck off.”
“I mean it.” He bumps his shoulder against mine.
I soften a fraction against him. “Well, I think that you do have talent, and that you’re a great writer. You should be proud.”
“You basing that on stuff you read in college or stuff you read more recently?”
I shrug. “Just a hunch.”
He doesn’t need to know that since he’s reappeared on the scene, I’ve scoured the internet to read everything I could find with his name in the byline.
“Well, I’m not sure about being great, but I do know I chose an alternative path to everyone here. If I didn’t come from a family of firefighters, it would be different, but my choices create a gap that’s hard to smooth over.”
“So you’re downplaying your talent on purpose?”
“Kind of. At least, downplaying my love of writing. It’s a long way from firefighting and that could easily create distance. I need everyone on side so I can write the best story.”
I turn to face him. “Which is precisely why I don’t want the crew knowing who my dad is. I’m one of the team, on the same side as them. Just me. No famous name.” No dead mom. I grit my teeth as I finish the thought in my head.
He blinks at me, his brow once again as crumpled as his shirt.
“I see the logic, but it is a little different, Sav. You’re planning on being here for a while, right?
Seeing out your probation, locking in a full-time position, and moving up the ranks.
These are your crew. You need to be able to trust each other.
Your lives are in each other’s hands.” His knee bounces like he’s agitated.
“I’m the reporter breezing in for two weeks.
I can spin any line I want because once the feature’s written I’m outta here.
I can literally rip them to shreds with my writing and it won’t have any impact on me. ”
A chill chases down my spine. “But you said you wouldn’t do that.”
He balks. “That’s not what I meant.”
I shake my head, so damn tired of all this. “Jesus. I’m such a dick to keep trusting you.”
“Sav, that came out wrong. I wasn’t saying that’s what I’m going to do; I meant that’s what I could do.
It was just a way of showing how our situations are different.
” His eyes search mine. “Honestly. The only way I would write anything bad about this place is if…” He winces, his voice trailing off like his brain has caught up with his mouth.
I stand, shrugging him away. “If what, Brodie?”
“If something bad happens. Something that deserves to be written about.”
“Like what? What could possibly happen that’s bad?” I parrot his description back at him with quotation marks and a sarcastic drawl.
“Look, I’m not expecting to find anything bad, but if I see any of the guys here treat you badly…
” He swallows. “If Brock takes advantage of you, or abuses his position of power over you, I’m not going to sit back and ignore it.
I can’t. And I’d like to say it’s because I’m a reporter, and that it’s my job, but I’d be lying.
I wouldn’t be able to ignore it because it’s you, and you deserve so much more than that. ”
His expression’s pained. Full vulnerable again. The signature look that seems to keep pulling me back in when his words have pushed me away. This time though, it just makes me all the more angry.
“I don’t need your protection, Brodie.”
He stands, taking a step toward me. For a moment, he hesitates, our eyes locked. But then he retreats, his hands disappearing inside the pockets of his jeans.
“You wanted to give me something in here—what was it?”
“Your bunker gear.”
“I don’t need bunker gear. I’m writing an article, not playing dress-up.”
“You can’t join us in the apparatus unless you have basic safety gear. Period.”
“Fine. I won’t come in the apparatus. I’ll follow behind. Watch from a distance.”
“But you’re meant to be shadowing me. If you really want to see how I’m treated, you need to be with me on the inside.
See how things work in the field.” I’m aware my voice sounds strained, but if I’m being honest, I want him to see me in the field.
To see what I’ve managed to become. And I hate that I want that.
His jaw locks. “Maybe we can find a—”
The station alarm blares out, loud like a pneumatic drill right next to us.
He jumps about four feet in the air.
I hit autopilot, moving straight to my designated spot and tugging on my yellow bunker pants, the newest and brightest ones in the room.
As I hook the red suspenders over my shoulders, the place bustles to life.
The kind of controlled energy of a group of people who all have an essential purpose within the same perfectly oiled machine.
There’s no banter. No need to speak at all.
In a way, we’re moving as one with the exception of the lone figure on the periphery looking in.
As I disappear inside my coat, fastening the hooks into the loops and pressing the Velcro closed, I allow myself a brief glance at Brodie. He’s shrunk into the corner. Sure he has, he’s a wuss who isn’t cut out for this. It’s me who’s the strong one here. The one fighting fires.
I re-tie my ponytail and swallow the bitterness. I’m not being wholly fair, but there’s no time to process that now. Grabbing my helmet, I exit the room without saying goodbye.
Snaking past Romeo and Choke, I jump onto Ladder Eight.
I get an instant flashback to finding Brodie in here earlier, his hand pressed against the truck. It was a miracle I didn’t wrap my arms around him there and then.
Hunkering down, I snap on my headset, lock my eyes on the back of the seat in front, and ignore the stinging sensation holding my throat captive.