Chapter Two
Family Ties and Fire Drills
Cole
The house is exactly the same as it’s always been—one story, yellow siding, a porch that needs paint again, and an apartment above the garage I’ve called home since I moved back after college. It’s not fancy, but it’s comfortable. Familiar.
I let myself in and notice the smell of garlic bread and whatever magic my mom works with pasta sauce when she’s in a good mood. I kick off my boots at the door, run a hand through my still-damp hair, and head for the kitchen.
“Hey, Ma,” I call.
“In here,” she replies, her voice warm, clinking dishes together as if she’s been waiting for me.
The kitchen is small and cozy, there’s too many photos on the fridge and a drawer that jams when it’s humid. She’s already got plates out, steam rising from the pot on the stove.
I live in the apartment above the garage now, but Tuesday night dinners? Those are non-negotiable.
She gives me a quick once-over, checking for damage. “Long shift?”
“Same as always,” I say, dropping into my usual chair. “A couple of calls. Some idiot climbed a tree to rescue his drone and couldn’t get down. Basic stuff.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press.
I don’t tell her about the casualty on Highway 7 that we delivered to the morgue instead of the ER after working on him for almost forty minutes. No need to bring her down.
I’ve been back in town for a couple of years now. EMT/firefighter, just like I planned. Living above the garage until I figure out the next step—if there is one. I’m not in a rush. Dating? I haven’t done much of it. Casual’s fine. Easy. Hookups that don’t ask for more than I’m willing to give.
I’ve got Brennan, Mom, and work that matters—it’s all I need.
“Oh, and I kid you not, I actually got a call about someone’s cat today. Really saved the day with that one.”
Mom rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You love it.”
“I like helping people. Doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.”
She sets a bowl down in front of me, still fussing like I’m twelve. “Did you eat today?”
“Yup. Hospital burrito.”
She snorts. “You’re impossible.”
I grin, tearing into the bread. “You love me.”
“Someone has to.”
I chuckle.
“What else is going on?” she asks.
I reach for the salad, already starving. “Alright, how about this—did you hear about that ridiculous date auction the hospital’s doing?”
Her eyebrows lift. “Auction?”
“A bachelor and bachelorette auction at the upcoming gala. All the proceeds will go to the children’s wing, apparently.”
“Are you going to do it?”
I shrug. “Probably. It’s for a good cause.” How can you say no to that?
Plus, apparently, everyone who’s single is getting tossed into the lineup, so it’s not like I have much choice.
She picks up her fork. “You know they’re going to fight over you.”
I bark a laugh. “Who, the nurses? Nah, I’m old news.”
She gives me that look. The one that says I’m full of it. She’s not wrong, but I don’t need her boosting my ego. I do just fine on my own.
“What else happened today?” she asks.
I’m halfway through a bite when she pops into my head.
Andi Callahan.
Sharp tongue. Lavender hair. The kind of perfect ass you notice even when you’re trying not to.
I’ve heard the rumors. That she keeps to herself, that she’s cold, that no one’s ever really gotten past her walls. People say she’s a hard ass. Mean. Untouchable.
But standing across from her in the morgue today?
She didn’t look mean.
She looked dangerous.
Delicate features that don’t match her sharp tongue. Eyes that dare you to say something stupid. And that hair—soft, light, nothing like the rest of her.
“Cole?”
I blink. My mom’s watching me, waiting.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, stabbing at my food. “What were you saying?”
She narrows her eyes, but she lets it go. “You should do the auction. Maybe meet someone.”
I snort. “Yeah, maybe.”
She gives me that look—the one that’s half motherly concern, half amusement. She knows I’m not looking for anything serious. She’s asked before, more than once. I guess that’s her job though.
I haven’t dated anyone in a while. Haven’t wanted to. Hookups are fine. They don’t ask questions. Don’t expect more. It works for me. For now, anyway.
My phone buzzes on the table, dragging me away from my thoughts.
Brennan: Beer at O’Malley’s? 20 mins.
I scrub a hand down my face, standing. “I’ve got the kitchen, Mom. Thanks for dinner.”
“No problem. Are you going out?” she asks.
“Yeah. Grabbing a drink with Bren.”
“Be good.”
“Always.” I wink.
I load the dishwasher quickly and scrub down the counters. Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of our favorite Irish pub downtown.
O’Malley’s is loud, half-full, and smells like beer. I like it. It’s familiar. Predictable.
Brennan’s already at our usual table in the corner, two pints waiting, and his feet kicked up like he’s got nowhere better to be.
“Took you long enough,” he says, tossing a peanut at me as I sit.
“Had to eat real food first. You should try it sometime.”
He grins, already raising his glass. “To surviving another day in the circus.”
We clink, drink, and for a while, it’s just the usual—trash talk about the Philly game we watched last night, who’s the worst driver on the team (definitely still Mike), and whether or not Brennan could win an arm-wrestling contest against Janine from ER.
He couldn’t. We both know it.
A few beers in, Brennan leans back, smirking. “So, you doing the auction thing?”
I shrug. “I guess. Why not?”
“Man, you’re gonna rake in the bids. You’ve got, like, half the nurses waiting to throw cash at you.”
“Right. Because that’s why I do this job. For the glory.”
Brennan laughs. “Nah, seriously. I’m thinking about it too.”
“You? I thought you had that thing with—what’s her name?”
He waves a hand. “It’s casual.”
Figures.
I’m about to let it drop when he glances sideways, all smug. “Wonder if that chick Andi will be in it.”
I don’t say anything.
Brennan keeps going. “Can you imagine? Someone actually bidding on her? Ice Queen Special, now with extra attitude.”
I glance up, slowly. “She’s not that bad.”
Brennan snorts. “Please. She’d probably charge extra just to talk to you.”
I don’t laugh.
“She’s solid at her job,” I say, my tone flat. “Just because she doesn’t fall over herself to be nice doesn’t mean she’s a bitch.”
Brennan raises his eyebrows, caught. “Damn, alright. Didn’t know you were a fan.”
I shake my head, downing the rest of my beer. “Not a fan. Just not an asshole.” Actually, I might be lying. So what if I am a fan?
Brennan watches me for a second, curious, but he lets it drop.
I lean back, letting the noise of the bar fill the space between us, but my mind’s already somewhere else.
Her eyes, sharp and daring. The way she didn’t flinch, didn’t play.
She’s gorgeous, even if all that venom does scare me a little. Not that I’d ever admit it.