Page 19 of Branded

“Listen, Isaac, I don’t mean to press every single time a woman is mentioned, but I want more for you than this Casanova thing you’ve got going.”

“How do you even know what I do and don’t do in regard to women? I’m hardly a Casanova, Grams.”

“Then what would you call yourself, because I am not blind, you know? I know you see ladies and see them often. I have my ways of finding these things out. What about that Isabelle girl? You were seeing her a lot.”

“We’re just friends. I’ve told you that.”

She scoffs, “You may want to tell her that.”

“Why? I’ve made it pretty clear I don’t want anything serious with her.”

“She still comes to the community center to volunteer from time to time. She stops by to say hello to me, and, Isaac, I know what it looks like. She’s wrapped up in you good.” She reaches into her purse and looks at the cell phone I bought for her a few months ago, using one finger to poke the screen.

I release a heavy sigh as we turn into the gated senior community she calls home now.

“Great. That’s the last thing I need. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid this stuff for awhile.”

“Take my advice. If you’re not going to take things further than a roll in the hay with her, let her down easy. She’s a nice girl.”

“Does that make me an asshole?” I slide the truck into park and rest my hands on the steering wheel.

“Not having feelings for someone doesn’t make you an asshole, Isaac. You can’t help that.”

“Just like you can’t help who you’re drawn to?”

She reads my face so easily, and it’s like she knows without a doubt I’m referring to Sawyer.

“Exactly that, dear.”

Chapter 5

Isaac

Tossingmydufflebagonto the bench in the locker room of Fire Station 37, I plop down beside it and pull off my sneakers so I can change into my station wear. I can hear my cell phone vibrating against the metal of the locker. I lift it up and see a number I don’t recognize, so I answer immediately, thinking it could be Grams.

“Hello?”

“Isaac, hello, this is Kendra with the Sunset Valley Journal. I’m calling because we want to—”

I hang up immediately. I don’t want to talk about or relive that fucking weekend at all, and neither should they.

Graham pokes his head in.

“Morning.” He steps all the way in and leans against his locker. He’s coming off shift and looks exhausted. “I’ve got coffee going down in the kitchen and Sue’s Diner sent in some food for breakfast. Might want to get your ass down there before Connors eats it all.”

“Thanks.” I take off my plain T-shirt and pull on my blue, station-approved polo. “You look like shit. Long night here?”

“Car accident on the freeway. It was… not great. Multiple vehicles. Alcohol is a bitch, man. We were there awhile.”

He reaches over his back and tugs his shirt free so he can change into different clothes before heading home to his wife.

“Well, get home and get some beauty sleep. You look like you need it.”

Our career is unique, much like other uniformed and emergency services in that we have to work through, endure, and see a lot of fucked-up shit on the daily basis, but then we have to find a way to not let it disrupt our mental health. From fires, to death, to car accidents, and everything in between, we have to see it all.

I was always good at that, the separation, until the LA fires. Those have stuck with me and wedged themselves deep into my chest.

Once I’m changed and ready to roll, I place all my stuff in my locker and slam it shut. I won’t be getting it out until I’m relieved from shift at eight tomorrow morning. Twenty-four hours from now.

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