Chapter 30
THIRTY
After nearly thirty years of friendship, Nate knew Alex's cooking rotation schedule almost as well as his own meetings.
"You look like hell," Alex said by way of greeting, not looking up from where he was layering pasta. "Let me guess—Melody?"
Nate slumped onto one of the well-worn kitchen chairs. "The movie deal's going sideways."
"When isn't something going sideways with you two?" Alex slid the massive lasagna into the industrial oven, set a timer, then started cleaning up with the efficiency of someone used to being interrupted by emergencies. The heat didn’t seem to bother him.
Dressed in a Firehouse 25 shirt and worn jeans, not a bead of sweat glistened on his furrowed forehead. His golden-brown eyes flickered up and back. “Alright. Give me the condensed version. Some of us actually have to save lives today."
"Paramount wants to butcher her book, the board's breathing down my neck, and my father's probably plotting my disinheritance as we speak."
"So, just another Tuesday?" One side of Alex's mouth ticked up as he tossed Nate a Gatorade from the fridge—his not-so-subtle way of saying Nate looked like he needed electrolytes. "What are you really doing here, Nate? Besides critiquing my cooking skills?"
"I need perspective." Nate cracked open the drink, watching Alex move through equipment checks with practiced ease. "You deal with actual life-or-death situations. This should be simple, right?"
Alex snorted, checking oxygen tanks. "You want firefighter wisdom? Okay. Here's what I know—when everything's going to hell, you trust your gut and protect what matters. The rest is just smoke."
"That's surprisingly profound."
"I have my moments. Between running into burning buildings and watching you set fire to your personal life." Alex marked something on his checklist. "So what does your gut say about Melody?"
Nate took another swig of Gatorade, buying time. "That I'm in love with her."
The alarm suddenly blared through the station. Alex was moving before Nate could blink, but he paused at the doorway. "Stay. This shouldn't take long—probably just Mrs. Ford’s cat up a tree again."
Nate watched through the window as the engines roared to life, sirens wailing. It was strange seeing his usually sardonic best friend in full firefighter mode, all business as he swung onto the truck.
True to his word, they were back within thirty minutes. Alex returned still in his turnout gear, smelling faintly of smoke.
"You're still here. Good." He started stripping off his gear. "Because I've got something to say about this whole situation."
"Do I have a choice?"
"Nope." Alex hung up his jacket with practiced precision. "Look, I've been doing this job for fifteen years. You know what I've learned? Life's too short for bullshit. Every day, I see people who waited too long, who didn't say what needed saying, who played it safe until it was too late."
He started checking his equipment again—a habit Nate had noticed kicked in when Alex was working through something. "You and Melody? That's not smoke, buddy. That's a full-blown inferno. And you can either let it burn everything down, or you can learn to work with the flame."
"Your metaphors need work."
"My metaphors are perfect. You're just being obtuse." Alex paused in his inventory. "You know what else this job teaches you? Sometimes the safe path isn't the right one. Sometimes you have to run straight into the fire to save what matters."
Nate watched Alex methodically repack his medical kit. It was oddly soothing, this ritual of preparation and care. “Gotta tell ya: You’re not as dumb as you like to play there, Harper.”
“Picked up a couple of things off the streets, somewhere between pulling cats from trees and watching you pine over this woman for months." Alex closed the kit with a decisive snap. "You want my professional opinion?"
"As a firefighter?"
"As your best friend who literally runs into burning buildings for a living.
" Alex fixed Nate with that steady gaze he usually reserved for younger cadets at the firehouse. "Stop playing it safe. Stop worrying about besting your father. Or the board. All of it. Don’t fight because you have something to prove. Fight because your own integrity matters. And fight for whom it matters.”
The station alarm blared again. Alex was moving before the sound faded, but he paused just long enough to deliver his parting shot.
"Oh, and Nate? If you don't fix this thing with Melody, I'm legally obligated to tell her about the time you got drunk and tried to serenade that statue in Pioneer Square."
Nate watched Alex sprint toward his truck, calling after him, "That was fifteen years ago!"
"Statute of limitations never expires on blackmail material!" Alex shouted back before swinging onto the engine.
As the sirens faded into the distance, Nate sat in the quiet of the kitchen, surrounded by the organized chaos of the firehouse. The lasagna timer dinged, and he pulled it out automatically—thirty years of friendship meant knowing the basics of firehouse etiquette.
Alex's words echoed in Nate's head as he set the pasta to cool. Alex was right, damn him. Nate had spent so long trying to play it safe, trying to be the perfect son and heir, that he had forgotten what it meant to fight for something real.
Screw that.
Nate pulled out his phone, starting a new email to the board. It was time to run into the fire and trust that what mattered would survive the flames.
The engines returned just as Nate was hitting send. Alex took one look at his face and grinned.
"Finally grew a pair, did you?"
"Something like that." Nate helped Alex dish up the lasagna. "I just sent the board my resignation."
Alex nearly dropped the serving spoon. "Holy shit. You actually did it?"
"Unless they agree to my terms—full creative control for authors, starting with Melody. No compromises."
“Wow, bro. Your father's going to have an aneurysm."
"Probably." Nate accepted a plate of lasagna. "But you're right. Some things are worth burning it all down for."
"Now you're getting it." Alex started serving up plates for the rest of the crew. "Just remember—if this all goes south, I'm not letting you move into the firehouse."
“Liar. We both know you'd adopt me like one of Mrs. Ford’s cats."
"Speaking of which..." Alex glanced at his phone as it buzzed. "Duty calls. Again. Try not to have any more emotional epiphanies while I'm gone. And if the sauce starts to burn—"
"Pull the pan and kill the heat. I know the drill."
Alex paused at the doorway, already half into his gear. "Hey, Nate?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm proud of you, man. It's about time you stopped playing it safe."
Then he was gone again, racing toward someone else's emergency. Nate sat in the familiar chaos of Alex's second home, surrounded by the tools of his trade—the axes and hoses, the well-worn gear, the constant readiness for action.
Maybe it was time Nate took a page from his best friend's book. Stop waiting for the perfect moment, stop trying to prevent every possible disaster.
Nate might have screwed up royally with Melody, but he wasn't giving up. He was going to fight for her vision, for the integrity of her work. And maybe he would win back her trust in the process.
Because if his best friend was any example at all, then it was clear. Sometimes you have to run straight into the flames and trust that what matters will survive.