40. Chapter 33
Dashiell
Three weeks after the Diamante fire
The days after the edging blur together, warm and pleasant, but also a little alarming for reasons that have nothing to do with what we did, and everything to do with how they’ve made me feel. How they’ve made me want more.
We haven’t fucked yet, though I’ve practically begged him to take me. We haven’t even tasted each other yet. All we’ve done is masturbate, usually him edging me, or him watching while I get myself off with his dildo—though now, I’m allowed to make myself cum when I play with his toys.
He’s stopped leaving early in the mornings. There’s still business to attend to, and sometimes he disappears for hours at a time to do things I probably don’t want to know about. But he’s always in the kitchen when I wake up, and always has coffee ready for me.
Yet…
This is just physical.
At least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.
Excellent “physical,” of course. Some of the best “physical” I’ve had my entire adult life. That specific kind of “physical” that would make any reasonable person wonder if maybe they’ve been doing this sexy thing wrong the last few years.
And the fact that Lorenzo seems to understand me?
Irrelevant!
The fact that he knows my body, but seems also to know my mind? Completely inconsequential.
Sure, he doesn’t mind the subtle brattiness. Sure, he thinks my jokes are actually funny. Sure, he knows how to navigate sex with me in a way that lets me be my full self. Sure, things with him are actually fun.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
We don’t have to mean anything.
And, yeah, I don’t want this to end, but it’s not because I like him or anything.
It’s just because, well, it’s convenient.
Comfortable—even when it objectively isn’t (ever tried shoving a dildo modeled on a dick as big as Lorenzo’s up your ass?
Not exactly comfortable!)—and who wants to ditch something that’s convenient and comfortable?
I certainly don’t.
The bay doors are open at Station 27, letting in the cool October air, and Charlie is on a ladder hanging Halloween decorations. “Is this straight?” he asks, shouting down at Vinnie and me.
“We’re the last people to ask if something is straight!” Vinnie shouts back, grinning at his own joke.
I roll my eyes at him. “Good one, Dad.”
“That was not a dad joke,” Vinnie protests. “If you want to hear a dad joke, talk to the Captain.”
“I heard that!” Nick calls from back in the apparatus bay, where he’s arranging plastic pumpkins with his eleven-year-old daughter Abbie and his husband Tristan.
“Okay, fine,” Charlie groans. “Is it even? Is it level?” He shakes the garland of witch hat cutouts peevishly, and Vinnie and I nod.
“Straight as a backwards baseball cap and baggy basketball shorts,” Vinnie says.
“I don’t think that outfit is very straight at all,” I point out.
“I don’t know, I feel like I wear that outfit pretty often,” Charlie says, coming down the ladder. “Sounds pretty straight to me.”
Vinnie snorts. “Yeah, okay.”
Charlie cocks his head. “Huh?”
But before Vinnie can answer, the emergency alarm goes off. Vinnie claps Charlie on the shoulder. “Time to save some lives, bub!”
The address for the fire is a triplex in Excelsior, an older wood-framed building. It’s been chopped up into apartments, with a sleepy-looking law office on the first floor. Thin gray smoke shows from a second-floor window by the time we roll up.
“Occupants?” Nick calls, taking control of the scene as soon as we’re out of the truck.
A woman on the sidewalk, still wearing a terrycloth robe over her sweatpants, points to the building. “Second floor, middle unit. That’s where it started, but I don’t know if anyone is in there right now. Lots of the building is vacant.”
“Treat it like it’s not empty,” Nick tells us. “Joey and Owen, get a line off the engine and hit the second-floor window. Beck, back ’em up. Vinnie and Dash, you’re with me. Charlie, get an angle on the roof in case we need ventilation. Haden and Azul, check if anyone needs treatment.”
Inside, the building is dark and quiet. The stairwell is narrow, built for 1920s-size bodies, not turnout gear. As we climb, the smoke gets thicker. No roaring fires, but a stubborn, patient haze.
“SFFD!” Nick calls, sweeping his light. “Anyone in here?!”
There’s no one in the first unit we visit, and no fire, so we move to the next.
The fire started in the middle unit. No one answers when we knock, so Vinnie breaks the door open.
We find ourselves in a small apartment, barely bigger than your average dorm room.
There’s a bedroom (empty), a kitchen (dirty and empty), and a tiny living room with a space heater that’s been reduced to a smoldering clump of metal: the source of our fire.
I hit it with the line, a quick knockdown. The flames die out fast, hissing steam and smoke.
“Clear!” I shout. “We’re contained.”
Easy enough, I think.
But then something snags my attention.
Oh, please, no, I think.
Crouching by the lump of hot metal formerly known as a space heater, I examine the old hardwood floors around it. The burn pattern has a second scorch mark about twenty-eight inches from the source of the fire. I can’t be sure it’s a second origin point, but it’s suspicious enough that it could be.
“Hey, Cap! Come take a look at this.”
Nick crouches beside me, removing his helmet and wiping his forehead. “What’re you thinking, Dash?”
“Remember what Chaudhary—what Mila said about the arsonist? Do you think this could be another of his fires?” I point to the potential second origin point. “This burn pattern looks a bit off.”
Nick scrutinizes it. “Can’t be sure. But you’ve got an eye for these things. We can call it in.”
“Mila asked me to flag anything suspicious for her. She’s the one taking point on this. I can text her. It’s not an official ‘calling it in,’ but it’s something.”
“You text her, I’ll handle the official stuff,” Nick says.
While we get started on the official overhaul, I pull my phone out of my turnout gear and type a message to Mila Chaudhary.
Me: Hey, saw something in Excelsior you might want to take a look at. Triplex. Space heater fire on second floor. Second point of origin possible. There’s a law office on the first floor that looks pretty abandoned, and other vacant units in the building. Wanted to let you know.