Page 53 of Firecracker

“I’ll consider it. Maybe you could help her?”

“I don’t think I know enough.”

“You’re a smart lass.”

“Thanks. Well, I better check my tables.” She walked away, warmth spreading through her middle. Two compliments in one night! Maybe this job wasn’t so bad.

Chapter Eleven

Tyler arrived for his shift Sunday morning, early as always. After the morning briefing, he readied his bunker gear, then worked with the rest of the crew on maintenance things, stocking medications, checking the equipment on the trucks—air masks, EMS kits—to ensure it was all operational before the shift got going.

He was on rotation with dipshit Evan Crenshaw. He’d never liked the dude, who was one of those assholes who talked like he knew everything but really didn’t. Tyler’s low opinion of the guy had been reinforced on one of their first calls together when Tyler had first started at Engine 25 as a firefighter candidate. Crenshaw had a year of experience on him.

They’d been called to a home in Ravenswood where a thirty-five-year-old man had had a seizure. They’d gotten his legs and waist strapped to the gurney when the dude had punched Crenshaw in the mouth. To Tyler’s horror, Crenshaw had punched him back, calling him a “fucking retard.”

He still felt a knot in his gut every time he thought of that. He’d stopped Crenshaw from hitting the guy again, and later, after they’d left the man at the hospital, back at the station when they were alone, he’d laid into him about it, despite the other man’s seniority.

“I was subduing him!” Crenshaw had said. “What the fuck, man, he punched me!”

“He was having a seizure! I should report you for that.”

“Try it.”

And why hadn’t he? Crenshaw’s dad was the Chief of Battalion 5, and possibly next in line to be a deputy fire chief.

The CFD was an insular organization, with many family members working there, sons and even daughters often following in their parents’ footsteps. Tyler hadn’t had any family or other connections; he’d worked his ass off to get where he was. And it pissed him off that Crenshaw got away with bullshit like that because of who his old man was.

Even worse? They’d both taken the last lieutenant examination. They’d both passed, although Tyler knew he’d gotten a better score on the exam. But Crenshaw would likely get there first because of seniority, despite the fact that Tyler knew he was way fucking better at his job than Crenshaw was.

This morning, Tyler and Crenshaw checked all the tools and equipment while Tyler’s buddy, engineer Tremon Jones, checked the truck/engine and Lieutenant Cliff Murkowsky checked the MDC—mobile data computer, the onboard laptop that linked to dispatch.

He made himself act professional around Crenshaw, but man, the asshole made it a challenge sometimes. Like now…Crenshaw was hanging around paramedic Ronda Norris as she washed windows, one of the regular chores that had to be done. He wasn’t helping, he was just being a jerk, pointing out the window she’d just finished wasn’t clean. Crenshaw pressed his hand to it as if showing her, of course leaving a fucking smear on the glass.

Ronda glared at him. “Jesus, Crenshaw, what the fuck?” She tossed her cleaning rag at him. “Here. You fucking clean it.”

“Hey, hey.” Crenshaw caught the cloth. “What’s the matter? You on your period? You’re supposed to let us know when that is so we can be prepared.”

Ronda gritted her teeth. “Fuck you.”

“Shut up, Crenshaw.” Tyler walked up behind them. “Either help her or find something else to do.”

“Who put you in charge?” Crenshaw glared at him.

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a douche.”

Crenshaw stalked off.

“Thank, Ty,” Ronda said quietly. “But I can handle him myself, you know.”

“I know.” Taken aback, he set a hand on his chest. “I do know that. I was just trying to help.”

She smiled wryly, shaking her head. “You always are.”

Shit, wasn’t that a good thing?

He headed to the kitchen, debating whether to cook pancakes for everyone, or make a run to Sabroso, a nearby Mexican restaurant that made fantastic breakfast burritos.

He was the one who mostly did the cooking on his shifts. He remembered one of his instructors telling them that whoever did the cooking was the most popular crew member. He didn’t set out to be the most popular, but he liked food and liked finding ways to put it together, so he’d just kind of slipped into it. Which also meant he did the supermarket runs to pick up shit to cook.

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