“You coming out on this one, old man?” I teased, keeping pace with him.
Dooley rushed into the PPE room around the same time we did, but his pale face offered all the signal I needed.
“How bad?” I asked, heading to my locker. I started to strip down at once, the motions automatic as I ditched my clothes in the locker and tugged on my uniform and the turnout gear.
“Big fire over at Turnpoint Apartments,” he said.
“Oh shit,” I murmured. Apartment fires spread fast, and the individual destruction they caused was heartbreaking.
“I’ll get a few more on the scene,” Chief said, somehow already dressed in his turnout gear. “Dooley, you drive.”
“Yes, sir,” he said with a salute as he tugged on his own gear. We’d want every precaution for a fire like this.
My heart slammed hard as adrenaline coursed through my veins. Turnpoint Apartments was right on the edge of town, but it was a crowded complex, full of people who’d be in danger right now. We had to get to them.
“Let’s head out,” Dooley said, leading the way to the truck we’d be taking.
When I stepped into the garage with the truck, Chief strode in from the other side.
“Hannigan and Jacobs are already heading in. Let’s take the Hazmat truck,” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”
My skin prickled with awareness. Chief’s feelings were rarely wrong, and we’d learned to trust them over the years. “Noted.”
Dooley pivoted to the other truck in the station, one equipped with materials to handle Class B and C fires. Fuck, those were always more of a challenge. The turnout gear was heavy but a familiar comfort, and I stepped into the back of the truck and found my spot, Chief taking the other side.
“We going now?” Dooley called back.
“Head off,” Chief called. “Jacobs and Hannigan will be behind us.”
With that, the bay doors opened, the engine rumbled, and the sirens began to ring.
We rushed out of the station and onto the street with a fluidity of motion I was used to, cars veering out of the way as we careened past streetlights and through the main stretch of town. Turnpoint Apartments was only minutes away from the firehouse, but when a fire was spreading through a huge place like that, every second counted.
And every second stretched longer and longer as we raced from one street to another en route.
Fuck, I wanted to let August know.
The fact he lingered on my mind even now solidified my feelings for him. Normally, on bigger calls, my thoughts flashed to my folks, my sisters, but they were circling around the one man who’d managed to work his way into my heart.
Who was all bright smiles, goofy jokes, and golden retriever energy I hadn’t been able to stay away from.
The chief was quiet too, clearly wrapped up in his mind. He’d told me his thoughts always went to his wife and kids during these calls. I’d always been jealous of everything he’d built, how he’d managed to find himself something lasting even with the unpredictability and danger of the job.
For the first time, I had that hope too.
I just needed to tell August.
“Approaching,” Dooley called out as we made a hard turn. I clutched the bar a little tighter. Who knew what we’d walk into? It could be a small apartment fire, but these weren’t old, sturdy buildings—with some of the newer complexes, the shoddy materials lit up far too easily. My stomach roiled, unease spreading through me.
“Fuck,” Dooley swore, and that confirmed it.
I met the chief’s gaze, and the seriousness there etched into me. Readiness coursed through my system, one bred into me from countless fire calls, easy to difficult.
The truck came to a halt, and Chief and I jumped out from the side.
The blaze in front of us was bad.
Flames licked up the right side of the building, and Chief started to walk forward, doing his assessment of the area. Dooley and I rushed to grab the double jacket hoses, as well as the foam hose, and we got them prepared.
