Chapter 24 #2
Brock just shrugs, mouthing the word sorry at me. Honestly, I preferred him when he was an ass—at least I knew what to expect.
“Brodie! Why didn’t you say anything? You got back with your college girlfriend?” Mom does a little happy wiggle in her seat, already putting two and two together faster than the FBI. “I knew she was the one that got away. This calls for—”
“Savannah’s not my girlfriend. She’s a probie firefighter with the crew of Ladder Eight and the feature I’m writing is about her experiences as a young woman joining a small community fire hall.”
“Well, well, well.” Dad stretches back in his chair, commanding the room as he folds his arms across his chest. “Let me get this straight. You’re not man enough to step up to the fire department, but some girl who made you cry like a baby is?
No wonder she dumped your sorry ass. Maggie, sweetheart, you need to lower your expectations.
A girl who joins the force is going to need a man far greater than Brodie.
Someone like Brock, for example. You made a move, son? ”
Somewhere wholly internalized, where I store my most secret thoughts, I’ve questioned if I have a limit with Dad.
An invisible line which, when crossed, will make me erupt like a volcano.
Not something conscious I can prepare for.
Something that will sneak in out of nowhere, knock my feet out from under me, and change everything.
The thing is, it’s been a decade of him endlessly bullying me.
Belittling me. Digging me out for anything and everything I do.
Yet that line has never been crossed. His words have done so much damage, chipping away at my psyche, I haven’t believed it’s actually possible to step up.
Until right now.
My heart pumps ferociously. “Are you serious? Since when did you ever have anything positive to say about women joining the fire department?”
I glance across the table at Gram. Worried I might be about to be the cause of precisely what Mom warned, but instead of an impending heart attack, I see something else on Gram’s face.
She’s leaning forward in her seat, eyes bright with warmth.
And then she gives me a little wink like she’s encouraging me to keep going.
I sit taller. “Tell you what, why don’t we all take a moment to remember some choice quotes from the vault of Blake Holt?
Let’s see… Firefighting is about a brotherhood and women are a distraction.
Oh, and too weak. Incapable of rational decisions.
Too emotional under pressure. Only there to fulfill diversity quotas.
Or serve in the kitchen. Or, best of all, as eye candy for the real heroes.
” Yep, the volcano’s in full blast mode now.
I’m aware of Brad opposite, staring at his plate, but the proud smile he’s fighting is clear. And although Brock’s fidgeting, he makes no move to stop me.
Guess I’m on a roll. “For the record, Dad, Savannah is the opposite of all those things. She’s strong.
Fearless. A devoted team player. Two months on the job and she’s already a greater firefighter than you’ve ever been because the job called to her from somewhere deep.
She lives and breathes it as a vocation, not with some macho arrogance.
And the whole living and breathing part is why it’s not the job for me.
Something else called me. Something as valid and as valuable.
I’m a writer. A damn good writer. I couldn’t be prouder of that.
And I’m using it to make a difference. To save a community fire hall from closure.
” I realize the moment I finish my speech that I’m standing, gripping the edge of the table like my life depends on it.
A silence lands, thick and oppressive, and then Mom’s hand rests on mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. I go to sit, awkward, reeling from my outburst, but Dad makes another of his signature noises. This time, the whistle. It’s a deeply patronizing sound. Hugely triggering.
And to make it worse, it morphs into another dig.
“I can see she’s got you wrapped tight around her finger like the weak little runt you are, Brodie.
Just proves my point. You’re soft. Always have been and always will be.
Hiding behind a desk while your girlfriend is busy saving lives and, most likely, spreading her legs for the crew. You’re an embarrassment and—”
I feel Brock snap next to me. His sharp inhale indicating he’s ready to rip out Dad’s throat for talking about Savannah like that.
But although I’m grateful for Brock having Savannah’s back, and however much I’d love to see him serve Dad’s balls on a plate, this is my battle.
No one else needs to be caught in the crossfire tonight.
Placing my hand on Brock’s shoulder, I hold him in his seat. “Leave it. He just wants a rise out of me.” I look at Dad, contempt rolling through me. “I’m done here.”
Turning to Mom, I will her to see how deeply sorry I am for my outburst. But like Gram, her response surprises me. She nods, eyes brimming with love, and then hits Dad with the hardest glare I’ve ever seen.
Yeah. Maybe she’s the one about to serve him his balls on a plate.
Gently pushing back my chair, I skirt over to Gram, kissing the top of her head with a squeeze of her sparrow-like shoulders. Then, remarkably calmly, I walk from the room without giving my father another glance.
It’s not late. Close to eight.
I keep my head down and focus on navigating the handful of residential blocks to the nearest SkyTrain station, remaining calm, externally at least. But with each step, the reality of what’s just happened sharpens and gains shape.
A train for Downtown arrives in minutes and I board at the front, hunkering in a window seat. Rattled yet somehow still numb.
My phone’s in my hand and dialing Savannah as soon as the doors have closed.
It goes straight to voicemail. Of course it does. She’s on shift. All night. Which means it’s just me and my head for the next twelve hours.
I don’t leave a message, switching my own phone off instead. Without Savannah to talk to, it’s easier to hide. At least for the night. I’ll face up to things in the morning. Process with a clearer head. After a hug.
My hands shake at my sides. My knees tremble under my jeans.
There’s only one option that can help me right now.
Whisky.