Page 13 of Avery's Hero

The siren wails. I start sweating.

Between the cries of the siren, the air quiets enough for me to hear Brock bellowing my name. “Ellis! Get your ass down here!”

Skipping half of the stairs, I fly toward the action. As I round the corner in the lower hallway, I slam right into Brock.

It knocks the air out of me.

The man’s a giant wall of muscle. I bounce off like I’m a rubber ball, sputtering my apology. “Oh crap. So sorry.”

Heshakes his head, but can’t hide his grin. “Come on. But you’re not getting out of my truck. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir!”

The team has the bay doors up and are piling into the trucks. The chief and I are the first out of the driveway in his department pickup with two fire trucks on our tail. Brock’s in full-on firefighter mode—Face hard as granite, eyes like lasers on the road.

He drives like he was made to be behind the wheel.

I hang onto the oh-shit handle as we hurtle through town with the sirens wailing. My skin is covered in gooseflesh. It’s always that way when I’m going to a fire.

The street address of the fire is a small duplex with street parking. No smoke is visible.

Brock slams the county issued truck in park and leaps out. His eyes are more alive than I’ve ever seen them. His adrenaline is pumping, swirling around him in a shimmering cloud. He leans through the door and points his index finger at me. “I’m dead serious. Not a single toe outside this truck, Ellis!”

“Understood.” We stare at each other for a beat. I hesitate, but can’t hold myself back from saying, “Chief, be careful.”

He nods sharply, and shoves the door closed so hard it rocks the truck. In less than a minute, he’s in his turnout gear, storming toward the fire trucks where his men are hard at work.

A few seconds later, his voice comes through the comms radio on the truck dash. The men chatter back and forth. Brock’s voice rings loud and clear as he commands his team. “Unit Sixteen, Unit Twelve, you are going in.”

“Copy,” they each reply.

I turn up the volume nob. Chew on my nail. By the time this is done, my fingers will be nubs.

I’m practically pressed against the windshield by the time two firefighters enter the house.

Even though I’m banished to the truck, my adrenaline is pumping in gigantic bursts. It’s impossible not to fidget in my seat.

God, this is hard. Back to biting my thumbnail. My eyes are so dry, I realize I haven’t blinked since we arrived.

For the second time, I find my hand on the door handle.

I won’t go. I won’t go.

I promised Brock. Lives are on the line. The last thing he needs is for me to distract him.

I find a pack of gum in a little nook on the dash. “Oh, thank you!” Maybe I will have fingers left. Shoving the stick in my mouth. I go to town on the peppermint-flavored square. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

I’m sweating. Chomping. My heart is flying. And I can’t tell whether it’s because I’m so turned on by watching Brock or I’m so in distress about being stuck in the truck.

Watching is way harder than I thought it would be. I’ve always sucked at sitting still.

The only upside is that it does give me time to watch the tall, thoroughly-in-charge chief. He’s incredible in action…

A sight to behold—larger than life in his helmet and turnout gear.

Things inside of me stir to life. Unwelcome feelings. Hot rushes of blood pulse through me, mixing with the adrenaline.

Plucking at my shirt, I try to relieve the burning heat.

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