Page 28 of Fire & Ice

“Someonerocked your world last night,” Mac comments, waving the joint around. “Shit, it’s been years since I had even one hickey that big, and here you are with a whole fleet of ‘em.” He whistles, leaning away from the wall and into Tripp’s space, trying to get a better look, but Tripp bats him away and tugs his collar back into place.

Rookie move, dumbass,he tells himself, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to move towards the entrance to the bar.

“So I’ll catch you guys inside,” he replies evasively, purposefully ignoring Mac's comment and the hollered complaints about “details” that chase Tripp inside the Hot Plate as he slips through the closing door. Thankfully, Mac's bitching is lost to the din of the bustling bar, and Tripp breathes a sigh of relief as he looks around. Sure, it’s dark and dirty with shitty lighting and a layer of stickiness on the floor that no amount of mopping is ever going to remove, but the Hot Plate is as much a second home to Tripp as his station.

Not just the place, but the people, too. Mood already improving, Tripp waves to several friends right off the bat, catching Reina’s eye from where she’s surveying her territory behind the bar. He raises an arm in greeting, and in return, she offers a warm smile and a hollered demand to come talk to her before he leaves.

The walls of the Hot Plate are covered with police, fire, and EMS paraphernalia: patches, flags, photos of big, local incidents, and framed gear belonging to fallen firefighters. In the middle of the rear wall is a giant tribute to Bill, Reina’s late husband and both the former City Fire Chief and the one who opened the Hot Plate with her, way back when. He died in a firegoing on ten years ago now, back when Tripp was brand-new to the job. Tripp wasn’t working the day that it all went down, but like every firefighter in this town, he can recite the story like he was, and like it happened yesterday.

Scanning the room is a formality, since Tripp finds his brother seated in their usual spot, the booth set right below Bill’s montage. Beau is relaxing on the bench beneath his framed bunker jacket, leaving the seat across from him—the one under Bill’s picture and the hook that holds his helmet—open for Tripp.

Same as it ever was.The familiarity is welcome tonight.

Tipping his head in greeting, Tripp shucks his jacket and slides onto the worn vinyl covering the bench seat easily, sighing with the kind of happiness that only comes from being in one of his favorite places, with one of his favorite people. There’s a cold beer dripping condensation onto the table in front of him, matching the one sat opposite in front of Beau, and if Tripp knows his brother the way he thinks he does, dinner will be along shortly.

Best guess: rabbit food for health-freak Doctor Beau, red meat for him, if he’s lucky. Beau hasn’t been in his presence enough this week to bitch about his diet, so there’s a good chance he’s just going to let Tripp have what he wants without picking a fight.

Left upside down on the table, Tripp’s phone buzzes, but he ignores it.

“Hey,” Beau says, a big smile gracing his face that reminds Tripp ofhomeandfamilyand everything that’s freaking good with the world. Not that he’d ever admit that shit out loud, even under penalty of death. “So, what’s up with you?”

“Same old,” Tripp says with a sigh, and although there are a million things he wants to blurt out, to beg Beau's advice on, to just unload from his shoulders, not one of them makes it past his lips. Two minutes in and already halfway through his beer, Tripp sees Ro (Reina’s daughter and another firefighter at Eleven), passing by with a tray, catching her eye to signal for a refill. On the table, his phone vibrates again.

“You…gonna get that?”

“Nah,” Tripp replies, shaking his head before reaching across the table and smacking Beau's arm with the back of his hand. “What about you, how’s wedding planning?”

“Dude,” Beau says, with a meaningful look and a long sip of his own beer. “I’ve never been happier to get a text from you. My eyes are crossing from looking at flowers and favors andfabricsamples all day. Doyouknow the difference between crimson and claret? ‘Cause I do, now.”

“Uh, no, Bozo, my manhood is intact, thanks for asking.” Tripp fiddles with the glass in his hand, smirking but softening when he sees the dopey expression on Beau's face as he stares down into his glass. “All worth it, huh?”

Lovesick.That is, without question, the only way to describe how Beau looks when he raises his eyes to meet Tripp’s. He scoffs a little, maybe even blushes, and Tripp’s heart swells with genuine happiness and pride for who he’s become.

“Yeah,” Beau replies dreamily. “I get that it’s dumb, but you know, after the way we grew up, always out on the road and without Mom…I dunno, Tripp. This was something I always dreamed about, but never thought I’d get to have.” His eyes flick somewhat anxiously between his beer and Tripp’s face. “Silly?”

“Nah,” Tripp reiterates, because he gets it, more than he can ever let on. Except, in his case, there’s no happily ever afteron the horizon. No obnoxious wedding planning, no flowers or favors or colors Tripp secretlydoesknowwaymore about than he’ll admit (claret is superior). All that’s ahead in Tripp’s future is a bunch of really good sex for as long as it lasts and a few stolen moments he’ll—pathetically—carry with him and think about constantly for the rest of his life, once Lee has moved on.

With impeccable timing—since Beau is starting to look like he’swaytoo intuitive about what Tripp is thinking—Ro appears next to their table, tray full of an assortment of food and drinks balanced on her shoulder. As she sets the whole thing down on a collapsible stand, Tripp’s phone vibrates yet again.

“Dude, pick that up,” Beau tells him, shooting Tripp a skeptical side-eye. “What, you avoiding someone? Accidentally give your number out to the dregs of last call and now suffering buyer’s remorse?”

“Psh,” Ro interjects as she sets their beers down on the table before sliding a chicken-topped salad in front of Beau and a truly monstrous, onion-laden burger in front of Tripp.

God bless Bozo,Tripp thinks, rubbing his hands together with poorly-concealed glee.

“Tripp hasn’t been here in days,” Ro continues, complaining. “Whoever’s texting him ain’t someone he picked up at the bar.” She pauses and reconsiders. “Unless you’re cheating on us, is that it? You got something going with that flashy new place down the street? The one with the little umbrella drinks and the neon lights in the windows?”

To be fair, Trippdoeslike those fruity umbrella drinks, they friggin’ come withpineappleand a cherry, but he’s sure as hell not admitting that to Reina or Ro. And anyway, if he is having an affair, it’s the bar’s fault. It totally seduced him,all flirty and sexy with its Air Supply soundtrack and its clean floors.

Trampy bar, Tripp thinks, accusatory. “You’re high,” he scoffs back. “What, a man can’t take a few nights to himself? Grab a bubble bath, get in touch with his feelings?”

“Whatever, Tripp,” Ro says with a shrug before turning to Beau. “I’m pretty sure he only puts up this act when he’s been hooking up with dudes and thinks we’re gonna judge him.”

“I don’t care what you douchebags think of me,” Tripp fires back around a half-chewed mouthful of burger that makes both Beau and Ro cringe.

“Right.” Ro rolls her eyes and tucks her serving tray underneath her arm. “The real mystery here is how you attractanyonewith manners like that. We’re all heathens here, but you are truly disgusting, Tripp Truett.”

In response, Tripp just grins toothily, food in his teeth and all. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says with a wink as she ruffles his hair roughly and saunters away. For a minute or two, he continues munching happily on his burger, still ignoring the buzzing of his phone. It’s only when Tripp realizes that Beau is sitting stock still, staring him down from across the table, that Tripp pauses and sets what’s left of his nearly-demolished meal back down on the plate.

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