Page 98 of Not For Keeps
She nods, lips trembling, her breath coming out in shallow hiccups. “I’m scared.”
“I know, baby. Me too. But I’m right here.”
I turn to grab my phone and keys, heart hammering, hands shaking. I knock over the storage bin. Markers roll across the floor. My phone slips beneath the metal supply shelf. Shit.
I drop to my knees, groping blindly in the shadows, my fingers scraping cold tile, the edges of forgottenpencils, a dust bunny, nothing. My lungs scream as I suck in another breath that tastes like burning plastic and fear.
Behind me, something shifts in the walls. A sudden thud. Then a howl through the ventilation system, a roar that sounds almost a live, like the building itself is exhaling fire.
The heat is coming. Fast.
Chapter Thirty
MATEO
Sundays at the station are usually slow. There’s something special about them—the quiet, the routine, the stillness that settles in like a warm blanket. No drills. No sirens. Just coffee, bullshitting, and the occasional grocery run.
Today’s one of those days.
Seb and Andres are arguing at the kitchen table…again. Something about how Andres put way too much hot sauce in the breakfast scramble.
“You dumped half the bottle in there,” Seb says, jabbing his fork in accusation. “That’s sabotage. No one needs that much damn hot sauce. Especially not in their eggs!”
“It’s called flavor,” Andres fires back. “Sorry your taste buds are basic.”
Cap has retreated to his office with a mug and noise-cancelling earbuds, pretending not to hear the chaos. He absolutely can. He just knows better than to get in the middle of it.
I lean back in my chair, stretching. My spine pops. “If itstays this quiet, I might finally finish that book Analyse lent me.”
Seb immediately stops chewing and glares at me. “You did not just say that out loud.”
“What?” I grin.
“Youneversay that. That’s like asking for all hell to break loose.”
“Seriously,” Andres adds, pointing at me. “You just cursed us, bro. That’s Firefighter 101. You never say it’s quiet.”
“I saidifit stays quiet,” I counter, but even I can feel the shift in the air. It’s like the universe just held its breath.
And then it hits.
The station alarm blasts through the walls, and dispatch crackles overhead:
“Structure fire reported. Lake City Elementary School. Flames visible from the east wing.”
We’re up in an instant.
“The elementary school?” Andres asks, face tightening.
“On a Sunday?” I say, already moving.
Gear on. Boots pounding the floor. Adrenaline slamming through my system. Cap’s already at the rig when we hit the bay.
“Confirmed,” he says, climbing in. “Smoke’s visible from blocks away. This isn’t a false alarm.”
“Hopefully,” Nathan replies, grim.
We’re on the road in seconds, sirens slicing through still air. Snow clings to the sidewalks. The sky is dull gray. Everything outside feels undisturbed, like the city hasn’t caught up to what we already know…something’s burning. Bad.
