Page 198 of Knotting the Firefighters
The alcohol definitely helps—a pleasant buzz that lowers inhibitions without impairing coordination, a social lubricant that transforms potential embarrassment into confident performance.
Beer competition.
Station Fahrenheit's beer competition that preceded this event.
Ridiculous games involving chugging and coordination, and laughing until sides hurt.
The rookies had apparently informed the entire station crew about Aidric's participation in a line dancing competition—a betrayal that resulted in a massive turnout of firefighters who wouldn't normally attend small-town social events.
Dax, Rook, and Flynn.
Absolute traitors who can't keep secrets.
But also kind of brilliant because the support is incredible.
Then someone discovered I'd registered alongside Calder—a partnership entry that seemed harmless when submitting forms, but now represents a public declaration of pack dynamics to everyone who matters professionally.
No pressure.
Just entire station is watching co-chiefs perform synchronized choreography.
Casual Friday evening activity.
The venue is packed beyond reasonable capacity—a massive barn converted into a dance hall, every available space occupied by bodies either participating or observing. Station Fahrenheit crew occupies a substantial section near the front, their cheering drowning out other spectators whenever we execute a particularly impressive sequence.
Support.
Genuine support from colleagues who've become something approaching family.
Community rather than just coworkers.
But alcohol, combined with a genuine lack of concern about judgment, transforms potential pressure into fuel for better performance. The combination of not caring and wanting to excel creates a sweet spot where everything flows effortlessly.
Living the best life.
Actually living rather than just surviving.
This is what it feels like to be happy.
The chemistry between the three of us is palpable—electric energy that makes every movement feel significant, every touch deliberate, every synchronized step like statement about our connection.
Pack.
We're Pack.
And everyone can see it.
Everyone knows.
Calder's hand finds my waist during the partnered section—grip firm and possessive, guiding me through a spin with control that broadcasts exactly who's leading this dance. His amber eyes catch light, satisfaction evident as I follow his lead perfectly.
Trust.
Complete trust in his competence.
Surrendering control feels safe rather than threatening.
Aidric mirrors the movement on the opposite side—creating a sandwich effect that should feel overwhelming but instead feels protective, supported, exactly where I belong.
