Page 122 of The Lineman

Another beat of silence.

I braced myself for frustration, disappointment—maybe even anger, but when Mike spoke again, his voice was quiet.

“How bad?”

I closed my eyes briefly. Too bad. Too fucking bad.

“Whole grids are down,” I said instead. “Lines ripped up, poles snapped in half. They keep talking about burying cables to prevent all this, but you know how government works. It’s . . .” I exhaled. “It’s gonna be a long day or two, maybe week.”

Mike was silent for a moment. Then—

“Be safe, okay?”

That was it.

No guilt, no complaint, no “but we had plans” protest.

Just “be safe.”

Something in my chest cracked wide open.

I let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I will.”

“Good,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, even through the worry. “You’d better.”

I swallowed. “I’ll call you when I can.”

“I know.”

And just like that, I wasn’t so damn tired anymore.

The drive to the station was quiet, my mind already shifting into work mode. I’d done this too many times before to feel nervous—but there was always a tension in my gut before a storm job.

Storm work wasn’t like normal line work. Normal line work was routine. It was controlled.

Storm work?

That was unpredictable.

Dangerous.

You never knew what you’d walk into until you were in it. And it didn’t help that rain refused to relent. Gray skies blanketed the city, thick and angry, as if Mother Nature wished to spread her gloom across the land.

By the time I pulled into the yard, the crew was already gearing up. Floodlights cast long shadows over the trucks, illuminating the swarm of linemen hauling equipment, loading up spools of wire, strapping down the heavy-duty gear we’d need for emergency repairs.

Rodriguez spotted me first. He jogged over, already dressed in his safety vest, helmet tucked under one arm. “About fucking time you got here.”

“Yes, mother.”

He snorted and held up a fist for a bump.

Rodriguez’s eyes shifted. “Half the city’s in the dark. We’re looking at seventy-two hours straight.”

I exhaled. It could be worse.

It could always be worse.

“Better get moving then,” I said.

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