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Chapter Twenty-Two
Owen
I need a break from Emmy.
I’ve got old men berating me about “my intentions.” I’ve got Levi asking if I’m going to “tap that.” And worst of all, I’ve got my own memories of that look on her face the day of the clean-up when she was struggling to take a deep breath.
I watched her try to power through it. I watched her look for a place to hide. I watched her come out of it.
I helped her come out of it.
And it felt like saving her all over again.
I need a break.
Thankfully, I’m back on shift, and when I walk in, I find the captain standing near the engine, talking to a man I recognize from my interviews. Chief Fisk.
The two of them stop talking and look at me.
“Owen,” Captain Donoho says. “Come on over.”
I drop my bag and walk over, extending a hand when I reach them.
“Larrabee,” the chief says. “Good to see you again.”
“Back from vacation,” I say.
“And wanted to see you,” he says.
My stomach clenches in a tight, acute form of déjà vu.
This is probably the moment when I lose my job.
Maybe Fisk didn’t read my file before Donoho hired me. Maybe he’s here to tell me I’ve got no business being here after what I did.
“Me?” I ask, not really wanting the conversation to continue.
“Got a call about you last night,” the chief says. “From a friend. He told me you organized a clean-up at the house you pulled that woman out of.”
I nod, a bit apprehensive about where this is going.
“Said you did a fine job of mobilizing volunteers, explaining safety procedures, and getting the job done in a timely fashion. Even said you helped get the victim through a bout of anxiety.”
I hold eye contact even though I really want to look away. Who would’ve told him all that? I didn’t think anyone even saw Emmy’s panic attack. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Sounds like the makings of a good leader,” he says.
My eyes flick to Donoho, who raises a brow.
“Sir?”
The chief hands over a folder. “The application for lieutenant.”
“Oh, sir, I haven’t made up my mind about—”
“Well, let me make it up for you, then,” he says. “We’ll get the accommodations set up so we can, as Donoho says, ‘level the playing field.’” He watches me. “This department, heck, all our departments, could use more guys like you.”
I’m about to protest, to tell him all the reasons I probably shouldn’t get promoted, but something stops me. Emmy’s voice in the back of my mind. My own voice right after it. She told me not to let my pride get in the way. I told her not to be ashamed of her anxiety. Here’s my chance to take my own advice.
