Page 39 of Hearts Storm

I snatch my overnight bag off the bed, slinging it over my shoulder as I do a quick mental inventory. Extra clothes, toiletries, phone charger, a protein bar because I’m too nervous to eat anything substantial right now.

The only thing missing is a time machine so I can go back and slap some sense into myself.

The morning air is crisp, the scent of pine in the air as the sun, just starting to peek over the mountains, paints the sky in shades of pink and gold. If I wasn’t too busy having a full-blown anxiety attack, I’d take an extra moment to stop and appreciate it. But every step I take toward my truck feels more like I’m walking the plank.

Logan knows I’m starting today. But does Brex? The thought gnaws at me as I toss my bag onto the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel.

The only correspondence I’ve had about this job has been through emails and a couple of phone calls with the former captain, a gruff but kind man named Curtis who retired last month.

Until the ‘Welcome To LSFR’ email showed up.

I’d stared at the name in my inbox for a solid ten minutes before I could bring myself to open it.

But the email was... clinical. Professional. Almost painfully so. Just a standard welcome message with the shift schedule, a list of what to bring, and a reminder to arrive fifteen minutes early for orientation. Nothing personal. No indication he even knows who I am.

Which, let’s be honest, is worse than if he’d brought it up. At least then I’d know where I stand. What the hell to expect before I walk into the fire.

The rumble of the engine fills the cab as I back out of the driveway. The drive to the station feels like an eternity. My hands are sweating so badly I have to keep wiping them one at a time on my jeans.

When I finally pull into the parking lot, I kill the engine and sit, listening to the tick, tick, tick as it cools.

The fire station—a large red brick building with gleaming glass bay doors and an American flag snapping in the breeze out front—looms over me.

“Get it together, Rey,” I mutter, twisting my hands nervously in my lap.

Blowing out a breath, I look at myself in the rearview mirror. “You’ve earned this. You worked your ass off for this. Don’t let the mistakes of your past dictate your future.”

Pep talk complete, I grab my bag and head inside.

eighteen

When the automatic doors slide open with a soft whoosh, a multitude of familiar scents hit my nose. Cleanser, diesel, and a faint hint of smoke.

My boots squeak against the polished concrete floor as I step further inside, my gaze immediately drawn to the two massive red fire engines parked side by side in the bay.

They’re gorgeous. All gleaming chrome and polished red paint. The ladder truck sits off to the left, its massive aerial ladder folded neatly against its side. I can’t help but run my fingers along the fender of the closest engine as I pass, the cool metal sending a thrill up my spine.

This is it. It’s finally happening.

“Hey, there! You must be the new EMT. Reena, right?”

I turn to find a guy jogging toward me from the back. He’s maybe in his mid-thirties, with sandy blond hair cropped short, and a friendly smile. Black LSFR shirt matching my own, he’s got that lean kind of athletic build that comes from years of hauling gear and patients around.

“Ray-na,” I correct, extending my hand. “Winters.”

“Shit. Sorry. I’m terrible with names. Dave Calloway.” His grip is firm and warm. “Welcome to the LFSR madhouse. Captain Cade requested I give you the grand tour before your orientation.” He glances at his watch. “Which, by the way, starts in about twenty minutes, so we should probably get moving.”

Barely managing to hide the flinch at the mention of Logan’s name, the smile I give him feels more like a grimace. “Lead the way.”

Dave gestures toward the back of the bay where a white ambulance is parked next to the engines. “This here’s our ride. Ambulance One. Fully stocked, state-of-the-art equipment. We’ve got two of ’em, but this one’s assigned to your shift.”

I run my hand along the side panel, taking in the reflective striping and the Lakeside Fire Search and Rescue logo emblazoned along the side. The back doors are open, and I can see a stretcher secured to the floor, cabinets lining both walls, and a jump seat where I’ll be sitting during calls.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, supplies are all stocked and organized by type,” he explains, stepping up and into the back, opening one of the cabinets. “Trauma kits, airway management, IV supplies, medications—everything’s labeled and inventoried weekly. Captain Cade’s a stickler for organization, so don’t be surprised if he does random checks.”

“Got it,” I say, mentally cataloging everything I’m seeing.

Hopping down, he leads me through a door at the back of the bay. “The EMT office is through here. We’ve got a small setup for paperwork, computers, and a place to chill between calls.”