Page 171 of Knotting the Firefighters
Using my emotional vulnerability as a tactical advantage.
Respect the strategy even as I curse her for it.
My legs pump with renewed energy despite earlier fatigue, competitive instinct overriding physical limitations. The trail blurs past—trees and rocks and natural obstacles that require constant attention to navigate safely at speed.
Hazel's laughter carries back to me, warm and genuine, clearly enjoying my struggling pursuit.
She's fast.
Significantly faster than anticipated.
Police training apparently includes cardio torture.
My own laughter bubbles up despite breathlessness, despite burning lungs, despite complete inability to close the distance between us.
This is good.
This moment—chasing friend down mountain trail, laughing despite physical suffering, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in months—this is good.
This is what life should feel like.
Not just surviving, but actually living.
"I wasn't ready!" I call again, protest transforming into a laugh as I continue fighting to catch up.
This kind of peaceful empowerment…I can get used to.
TRAINING SESSIONS AND TACTICAL VICTORIES
~WENDOLYN~
"Is this really necessary?"
Calder's question emerges between labored breaths, his chest heaving with exertion as I continue sitting on him with triumphant satisfaction. His face is flushed—a combination of physical effort and wounded pride at having his ass thoroughly whipped during what was supposed to be instructional self-defense training.
Teach me self-defense, he said.
Make sure my skills are still sharp, he said.
Conveniently forgetting that I maintained peak physical condition throughout my entire career.
The training mat beneath us is slick with sweat—his primarily, since I've barely broken into light perspiration during our thirty-minute session. The early morning light filters through Station Fahrenheit's gym windows, casting a golden glow over the equipment and creating an atmosphere that should be motivational but currently just emphasizes how thoroughly I've dominated this sparring match.
5:30 AM.
He insisted on 5:30 AM for this humiliation.
Could have been sleeping.
But no, had to prove a point about my continued competence.
The conversation had emerged last night during our celebration, one full month as an official pack, commemorated with dinner that somehow evolved into an impromptu party when the entire station crew decided to participate.
One month.
Thirty days since accidental bonding transformed a temporary arrangement into something increasingly permanent.
Thirty days of learning to coexist, to cooperate, to actually function as a pack rather than a collection of individuals with incompatible personalities.
