Page 192 of Knotting the Firefighters
No more watching others celebrate family while I exist on the periphery.
The announcement last night had made it official—standing before the entire Station Fahrenheit crew, declaring publicly that we're a bonded pack rather than a convenient arrangement. The celebration that followed had been a spectacular, spontaneous party that somehow involved a borrowed karaoke machine and questionable decisions about song choices.
Official.
Legally, socially, and professionally official.
No more ambiguity, no more pretending this is a temporary experiment.
Chief Tom had pulled me aside during festivities, his expression carrying satisfaction mixed with something I couldn't quite identify.
"When you return from the Thanksgiving holiday, we're doing a station-wide celebration," he'd announced with enthusiasm usually reserved for major promotions. "Complete feast, everyone invited, including Blaze and those kittens you've apparently adopted. Proper Fahrenheit family Thanksgiving."
Family.
He called us family.
Station as extended family beyond just professional colleagues.
"I'll have something important to discuss with you Monday," he'd added with mysterious air that suggested a significant announcement. "Administrative matters that require your attention and input."
Administrative matters.
Probably confirming the co-chief arrangement is ending.
Hopefully, confirming Aidric is ready for a full leadership role.
Which means I succeeded.
Actually succeeded in preparing him to take over.
Everything is falling into place with almost suspicious smoothness—pack integration proceeding without major disasters, investigation advancing toward resolution, professional responsibilities clarifying toward sustainable structure.
Too smooth?
Is this the calm before the storm?
Or am I so accustomed to catastrophe that peace feels suspicious?
The only concerning element is my increasing physical discomfort—heat flashes that make sleeping difficult,temperature dysregulation that leaves me alternating between freezing and overheating, and the particular restlessness that suggests biological processes are preparing for something significant.
Heat.
Approaching heat.
First proper heat in over a year.
The anticipation carries anxiety—vulnerability inherent in heat cycles, loss of control, and biological imperatives overriding conscious decision-making.
But I'm not worried.
Not genuinely worried.
For the first time in my life, approaching heat doesn't trigger terror.
Because I trust them—these four ridiculous Alphas who've somehow become essential to my daily functioning, who've demonstrated care and patience and genuine concern for my wellbeing rather than viewing me as a convenient vessel for their desires.
Trust.
