Page 88 of Burn

“No.”

My eyes sting, and I draw a shaky breath. Calls don’t get to me much anymore. And then some nights, they do, and I never know when they will bother me It comes out of nowhere.

You have to realize, fuck, you gottaknowlife, the things you care about, they can be gone in the blink of an eye.

People die.

They die every day. One day they’re there and the next, they’re not.

I’m well aware that everything in my life can be taken from me. It’s why I’m this way. No attachments and fucking out my frustrations.

I see it with Owen. I live with the guy and still don’t know where he goes at night. Most of the time it’s some random woman’s bed, but remember when he asked if I was fucking away my demons?

He knows because he’s doing it himself.

I see it with Evan. Why do you think he won’t give Jacey a relationship, but he gives it to the ones he doesn’t care about?

It’s an endless cycle of a lifestyle we chose. And sadly, we live for it.

Believe it or not, there are firefighters out there who’ve never battled a fire other than in training exercises. Then there are the guys who battle them every day for thirty or forty years.

My point here? The more you fight fires, the more it changes you and becomes some sort of accelerant to your own lifestyle.

Unfortunately, you begin to crave it, as unhealthy as that is, no matter what the consequence is.

Just before shift change in the morning, Mila shows up at the firehouse with coffee in hand and I want to ask her to marry me. Do you believe me? Didn’t think so. I don’t want to marry her, but I’m thankful for her coming by the station. Not only for the coffee and donuts she brings but the distraction she provides back at my apartment later that morning.

IT’S NEARING FOUR before I emerge from my room, rubbing my eyes. I make my way to the fridge first and grab a beer.

That’s when I see Jacey’s on the couch watching television with the remote in her hand.

“Hey, sleepy head. Your girl went to get takeout, said she’d be back later.” She glances up at me. I’m shirtless and wearing a pair of sweatpants. “Put some fuckin’ clothes on.”

I toss the shirt in my hand at her face. Flopping down on the couch, I crack open my beer. “Where’d she go to get takeout?”

“Chinese I think.”

Grabbing the shirt, I pull it over my shoulders about the time there’s a knock on the door.

Jacey smacks my chest. “You get it. I’m really comfortable.”

“You’re lazy.”

With a heavy sigh, and after I finish my beer, I answer the door. Only there’s nobody there. Stepping out in the hallway, I look down and see a three-foot kid at my feet staring up at me with tears in his eyes.

I glance back at Jacey. “There’s a kid at the door.”

Her eyes don’t move from the TV, uninterested. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Peeking down the hall, I’m thinking I’m going to find his parents looking for him, but there’s nobody out there. Just him.

“I bet he’s Owen’s bastard child. The mother probably dropped him off for him to raise.” And then she laughs, lying down on the couch and taking the spot I was just sitting. “It’s like that Adam Sandler movie.”

I roll my eyes and stare down at the child. He’s maybe two or three, and crying. Careful not to scare him, I kneel to his level. “What’s your name, buddy?”

He says nothing and cries harder and doesn’t answer.

“Okay.” I stand back up and look over at Jacey on the couch. “Don’t ask his name.”

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