He’d eaten about half his burger when the two-tone alert went off in a series of high-low tones that meant one thing: structure fire. The lights in the mess hall blinked and the digital screen above the door lit up, the text matching the dispatcher’s mechanical voice. “Engine eleven. Truck six. Structure fire. 1428 Meridian Place, Northwest. Time out: two minutes fifteen seconds.”
That was damn close.
People were off their asses as soon as the tones went off. Guys called hasty good-byes to Sean as they choked down the last of their burgers and dogs. Except for him and a pair of EMTs whose rig hadn’t been called, the room had cleared out in about thirty seconds.
Well, fuck.
Downstairs the trucks started up, their engines rumbling on an echo in the garage. And then the rumble deepened as they pulled out onto 14th Street, their sirens wailing to part the inevitable traffic in front of the fire house.
“I guess we’re on clean-up,” one of the EMTs said to the other.
“I’ll help,” Sean said, because if he didn’t have something to do with his hands right goddamn now, he was going to lose his shit. It’d been good to come see the guys. It made him feel like he was a part of something again. It’d grounded him and reminded him of who he was—or who he was trying to be. And it’d gotten him out of his own feels about what was or wasn’t happening with Dani.
But watching his buddies leave while he sat there twiddling his fuckin’ thumbs?
No. That was unsat in the extreme. He should be out there watching their backs. Instead, he was limited to being a damn scanner jockey—a non-responder whose curiosity made him need to know what was going on. If any of them got hurt, it would be in his place, or because he hadn’t given them another set of hands to fight the beast.
Fuck.
When Sean finished clearing the tables, the EMTs told him they’d load the dishwasher, so he cleared out. The fire was close enough that he could smell it, and it lit a spark in his belly that made him almost restless with the need to fight.
Sean walked the two blocks down 14th to the cross street where the incident was unfolding and could just make out his guys on the heavily smoking roof of one of the row houses. He glanced at the looky-loos gathering to watch the fire and couldn’t stand being one of them.
So he hoofed it back towards his house. It was less than a fifteen-minute walk, which meant no way would it be enough to release the pressure suddenly building up inside his head.
Planting his ass on the couch in his basement, he honestly didn’t know what would be capable of doing that for him right now. And maybe sitting on this couch wasn’t the best idea when he was already so wound up since it made him think of Dani and the fuckin’ fantastic time he’d spent with her on it. The physical side of their relationship—or whatever it was they had—was damn near perfect. But the not really knowing what the two of them were or what they were doing added to his restlessness and agitation…because maybe he wanted it to be something. Which, fuck. Sean didn’t know what to do with that kind of desire since he’d never had it before and because Daniela England was too fuckin’ good for him by far.
“I’m not better than you. I hated that you said that, and I hated that I made you feel that way…”
He’d appreciated her saying that. Really, he had. But if he had any good qualities it was being able to be real and face facts. And he had a lifetime of facts that told him who he was. Sean scrubbed his hands over his face and debated what the hell to do with himself.
And then his phone dinged an incoming email message that answered that question—and that, surprisingly, helped calm down a little of the bullshit churning in his head.
Chapter Eleven
The third of July was just five days away—six if you counted the rest of today. But since it was almost six o’clock, doing so made no real sense.
Bracing her gloved hands on her knees, Dani exhaled heavily and watched as her sweat dripped down on the mats. Between a busy shift and now training at WFC, she was kinda exhausted out of her mind.
That’s not why your head’s a mess and you know it.
Okay, fine. It was those five days being all that separated her from the anniversary. She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed to be weighing on her more than usual this year, as if it was something to be dreaded or like her body and mind’s restlessness were some sort of a premonition.