When the Smoke Clears

Chapter One Will

Chapter One

Will

This could have been tragic. Thank god it’s empty, because there’s no way I’d send a single firefighter into the crackling inferno, windows popping, glass flying, and smoke so thick I can taste it in the hot July night air. The roof is seconds away from collapsing.

“Unfortunately,” I grumble, adjusting my helmet as my engine crew keeps their lines on the fire. The owner of this flame-engulfed house tried to get me arrested eleven years ago.

He chuckles. “Why do you say it like that? Do you have a problem with Dr. Reichart? She’s a prodigy, ya know.”

“Yeah, she’s . . . something,” I say because she has ruined all prodigies for me.

After the fire is out and the overhaul is nearly complete, the prodigy flies out of her black Subaru on the opposite side of the street and sprints toward the house. “Marie!” She drops to her knees just past the sidewalk, hand over her mouth, tears springing from her eyes.

The squad captain nudges me. “You should do something.”

I sigh, tossing my jacket onto the front seat of the fire engine before adjusting my two-way radio over my turnout pants straps, boots scuffing along the sidewalk as I make my way to her. “Everleigh, I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anyone I can—”

“You didn’t save Marie!” She leaps to her feet. Despite being half my size, she digs her claws into my shirt, attempting to shake me. Long amber hair falls out of her ponytail while she bleeds tears onto her fitted white T-shirt.

“We did a primary and secondary search. There was no one in the house.”

“Marie Curie was in there! My canary.”

“A bird?”

She stills, but her grip remains firm, eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, William. Marie Curie was a beautiful yellow canary. And you let her die as if the death of my virginity wasn’t enough for you.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I survey the area for onlookers. “I’m”—I grunt and peel her talons out of my shirt—“sorry we didn’t save your bird. The smoke probably took her before we arrived.”

“Please stop trying to placate me. It’s an insult to my intelligence.”

I was one hour, one hour, away from the end of my shift. It shouldn’t be me standing here insulting her intelligence with my placating.

“What started it?” She sniffles and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“I don’t know. They’ll investigate and let you know when they make a determination.”

“Where will I go?” She stares at the charred remains.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Well”—I reach for her shoulder before rethinking the gesture and dropping my hand back to my side—“I need to return to the station.” Before she tears her gaze from the wreckage, I retreat a step, and then another, and—

“My things,” she mumbles, blotting more tears. “All my things are gone.” Her words die, barely a whisper.

I tell myself to walk away. If this were anyone else, I’d give my condolences and return to the station.

It’s been more than a decade since she tricked me into taking her virginity.

She’s a doctor who makes a shit ton more money than I do.

Her house burned down, but I’m sure it’s all insured. Really, what can I do?

Am I a monster? No, so I do what any decent human would do. I volunteer my ex-roommates. “You should call Jamie. I’m sure she and Fitz would love to help you out.”

“Really?” Everleigh shifts her attention to me with a glimmer of hope in her teary eyes.

“Sure. Do you have her number?”

“I think so. Jamie was one of my favorite nurses. Did you know that?”

“Yeah, she’s great.” I puff out my Good Samaritan chest and grin. “Call her. They have two extra bedrooms. Jamie will loan you some clothes and any other”—I wave my hand in the air—“female things you need.”

“Do you think Fitz will mind?” Her nose wrinkles.

“Nah. He’s very welcoming. And it’s fire season, so he’s not home as much.”

I don’t make direct eye contact. She’s probably a human lie detector.

Calvin Fitzgerald (Fitz) is not welcoming, but I’ll let Jamie and him work that out.

However, he is a busy Missoula Smoke Jumper, so it’s only half a lie.

After I turn and take several steps, Everleigh says my name, and I sigh before pivoting toward her again.

“I can’t thank you now,” she says, “because I’m upset about Marie Curie, but I’ll come around and find it in me to properly thank you. I know I’m overreacting, but this is”—she sniffles, staring at the rubble—“a lot.”

“Don’t sweat it. I just did my job.” Again I turn and make it two steps closer to the rig and my crew waiting for me before she clears her throat.

“I hope it wasn’t arson. A troubled patient.

I know statistically it’s an error on my part.

I don’t smoke, so it wasn’t a cigarette.

It’s unlikely that I left the stove or oven on because I usually order take-out food, and when I do cook, I use the microwave or my toaster oven.

Do you think it was an overloaded power strip?

Dryer vent? I put a load of towels into the dryer before I left for dinner. ”

“Coming, Lieutenant?” one of my guys calls.

“Everleigh, I have to—”

“Sometimes I leave my hair dryer plugged in. Do you think that could have been it?” She squints, studying the ruins of her house.

“The investigators will figure it out. I need to—” I jab a thumb over my shoulder.

“What about my robot vacuum? Have you seen those cause fires?” She slowly shakes her head again, blotting a few tears.

“My whole life was in there. I need to rebuild a sense of safety and control. There will be feelings of loss and grief. Maybe even guilt. Yes, it’s all just stuff, except”—she swallows hard—“Marie Curie. And the stuff isn’t important, but it was a connection to my identity.

” She clears her throat, nodding several times while trying to regain her composure.

“It’s okay to grieve material things. It doesn’t make me materialistic. ”

Do I need to be here while Dr. Everleigh Reichart, psychiatrist, self-treats her way through this trauma?

“Everleigh, oh my goodness. Dear, I’m so sorry.” A woman with curly gray hair and a red cardigan opens her arms while rushing across the street to embrace the good doctor.

My work here is done. Thank god.

And now, I await the call.