Page 5 of Burning Obsession

I try. God, I really try.

He shakes my shoulders. “I need you to wake up.” I nod, then open my eyes.

Everything is fuzzy. His face is hidden behind his breathing mask. I can't see his eyes. Then my gaze drifts lower.

To the name on his jacket.

Lawson.

Chapter 1

Jake

The last thirty minutes of a fourteen-hour shift is always the longest. It seems to go on forever, especially when it’s been a busy night and then the last hour has been quiet.

Quiet.

It’s something no firefighter ever says out loud. There’s something ominous about the word. The second it’s spoken for anyone to hear, all hell breaks loose and calmness immediately erupts into chaos.

So, I never say it. That word never crosses my lips. It’s nothing more than something long forgotten from my spoken language.

So the time drags on. Not because I'm doing anything important. Because I'm waiting. Watching the clock tick down until my shift is over, and I’m off for the next four days.

Bliss. All I plan to do is sleep. Is that wrong? God, I hope not.

I’m fucking exhausted.

I lean against the open back doors of the medic truck with one boot planted on the bumper, inventory sheet forgotten beside me. Every compartment is packed exactly how it should be. Airway bag? Restocked. Trauma kits? Full. IV supplies? Replaced. Everything is exactly where the next crew expects to find it.

I always make sure of that. Even on nights that are busy, and my shift has ended. I stay and make sure it’s done.

I'm a good guy like that. Every firehouse should have a Jake Lawson.

Nobody should start their shift cleaning up after someone else. Especially not when it comes to this job.

Something twists low in my gut as I look over the organized shelves one last time. I don't know why, but I have a feeling tonight's crew is going to stay busy.

Call it a gut feeling.

Call it experience.

Call it firefighter intuition.

Whichever way you look at it, I'm glad they're walking into a truck that's ready.

I lower down, sitting on the edge of the bumper beside Potts.

The probie has been with us for a few weeks. Young. Eager. Smart enough to ask questions instead of pretending he knows everything. And still full of nerves.

But hell, didn’t we all have them when we first started?

I’ve taken him under my wing. Teaching him because I have another gut feeling that he’ll make a good medic one day.

If he survives the mental part. The grudging day in and day out of being a firefighter. The great saves and the heart-wrenching losses. Because sadly, not everyone survives. It’s the cold reality of life and the harsh truth of being a hero. As much as we want to save everyone, we can’t. Sometimes we have to make tough decisions and know where to place our energies in a rescue situation.

My eyes stay locked on him as he stares out across the bay floor, elbows on his knees, helmet sitting beside him. It’s like he’s in his own world, oblivious to my presence beside him. He’s struggling right now.

I know. I’ve been there before. Had that same destroyed look on my face. Most likely having the same debate in my head that he’s probably having now. Can I do this?