Page 10 of Burn

Sprain your ankle falling from a two-story fire escape after sneaking out of married man’s apartment? Go out and drink.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, I spin around in my chair, knowing any argument would be fruitless. I turn to face her. “Fine, but only one drink and then we’re going back to your place.”

I say this knowing damn well I’m completely full of shit. I don’t know one person who has ever—once they declare out loud a “one drink maximum” night—actually accomplished that goal. Ever.

At this point, it’s like a sin to say that because you know damn well you’re never going to keep with it.

Before you know it, you’re doing shots and licking salt off a guy named Vin’s arm, and he’s motorboating your tits on the seat of his Ducati hours later.

True story.

Firefighter

People who respond to fire alarms and other emergencies for EMS, fire suppression, rescue, and related duties.

I hate going to Callahan’s on holiday.

Actually, I don’t like going any day, but on a holiday, or the days leading up to it when everyone thinks drinking is the answer to deal with their fucked-up lives, it’s crowded, and I despise crowds of people. They get in your face, say stupid shit, and cause problems.

I also don’t know what it is about me and my brothers, but anytime we’re in a bar, people like to start shit with us. And by shit, I mean fights. Every goddamn time.

Do you know how many bar fights I’ve been in?

Too many.

Do you know how many bar fights I’ve started myself?

Not as many as you might think, but I’ve been known to throw the first punch more times than not because my bullshit tolerance is nonexistent.

Us Ryan boys, we don’t take shit from anyone, and we’ll fight our way through a bloody brawl to prove it.

Jay and Owen, they might as well be Ryan boys too because they’ve gotten in their fair of shit too. Only Owen’s usually the one befriending the guy he just rearranged the face of because he doesn’t like to have enemies. Finn, he’s still learning, but we’re training him well.

Firefighters work in shifts. We work one twenty-four-hour shift, have two days off, then work another twenty-four shift and then have four days off. Some think that’s a lot of time off. Well, sure it is, but we pick up overtime here and there too.

For the most part, we work the same shifts. I’m on A (Red) shift. Jay, Owen, Finn, Evan and me . . . we’re all on the A shift and have been for the last three years. You know what that adds up to?

A lot of fucking time together.

All this leads me to where the three of us are sitting, tucked away in the back of Callahan’s in a booth near the dance floor. It’s definitely not a table you want to approach unless you have a tough shell and willing to be the brunt of the joke a time or two and not get offended.

“All right, boys.” Jay downs the rest of his beer, slaps his palms down on the table and smiles. “It’s time for me to get home to the wife.”

I smile at him while amusement flashes in Owen’s eyes. He’s always the one pitching him shit. He raises his beer to his lips in an attempt to keep his smile at bay. “Hey, it’s Christmas Eve. Maybe she’ll blow you.”

Six months ago, Jay’s wife gave birth to his daughter. Since then there’s been a lack of sex we’ve heard all about.

I’ve heard guys around the house complaining too that once their wife has a baby, sex goes out the window. Actually, Owen says that but Jay’s confirmed the theory.

Jay stands beside the table and reaches for his jacket draped over the back of a chair. “Maybe if I’m home when she gets back from her mom’s, I’ll get some.”

“Doubt it.” I chuckle, shifting in my seat to stare at Jay. “They probably spent the night talking shit about you. Her mom hates you. Why do you think you weren’t invited?”

By the dejection on Jay’s face, I’ve destroyed his hope of getting some. “Damn you, Caleb.”

I hold my palms up. “I’m just being honest. Wouldn’t want you to be let down.”

“Too late,” he barks, leaving Owen and I laughing at the table.

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