2. Marcus

2

MARCUS

T he heat of the blaze still clings to my skin, a stubborn reminder of the hell I've just walked out of. Sweat trickles down my spine, cooling in the night air as I drag myself toward the front door of my home. My muscles ache. Every step is a marathon finish, but it's the thought of seeing Lily that puts one foot in front of the other.

I unlock the door, the familiar creak at odds with the chaos of sirens and crackling flames I've left behind. But instead of the quiet sanctuary I hope for, I'm met with the high-pitched wails of my toddler. My heart sinks and soars at the same time—she's here, she's safe, she's… screaming her head off.

Lily's cries pierce through the haze of exhaustion, snapping me back to reality. I toss my fire captain helmet onto the rack—a little too forcefully, maybe—and my boots follow with a thud that echoes through the empty hallway.

"Marcus!" The sharp tone of our nanny, Mrs. Becker, cuts through the air as I step into the living room. She stands there, arms crossed, her face a roadmap of annoyance. Lily is in her arms, red-faced and struggling against the nanny's hold.

I reach out instinctively, my hands already forming the shape of her tiny body. "Hey, what's going on here? Why is she still up?"

Mrs. Becker thrusts Lily into my arms with more gusto than necessary. "Because your daughter refuses to sleep, that's why. And do you know why she won't sleep? Because you spoil her rotten, Marcus McIntyre."

Catching Lily, I pull her close, her little body shuddering with sobs against my chest. "It's okay, princess," I murmur, feeling her tension begin to ease with the familiar rhythm of my heartbeat.

"You missed a scheduled call with Vanessa," Mrs. Becker continues, as if reading from a script of grievances. "She left a rather… colorful voicemail." She nods toward the blinking light on the answering machine, her lips pursed in disapproval.

I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face. Vanessa's timing couldn't be worse. "I was putting out a fire, Mrs. Becker. Literally."

"Well…" She huffs, adjusting her glasses with a dramatic flair. "Maybe you should manage your time better. It's not fair to Lily or me."

The criticism stings, a sharp jab to my already bruised ego. I'm doing the best I can here. I start to pace, Lily's head resting against my shoulder, her cries softening into whimpers.

"I understand it's been a rough night," I say, my voice more steady than I feel. "But I can't schedule emergencies. They happen when they happen."

Mrs. Becker snorts, disbelief etched across her face. "Well, emergencies or not, your daughter needs a routine. You men think you can just come and go, and everything will just fall into place. It doesn't work like that with children."

She's not wrong, but her words still ignite a flare of anger in me. I'm walking a tightrope every day, trying to balance being a single dad and a fire captain. I don't need judgment piled on top of exhaustion.

The answering machine beeps, and Vanessa's voice fills the room, shrill and accusing. "Marcus, you missed our call again. What could possibly be more important than your daughter? You're setting a fantastic example of irresponsibility. Lily will know who cared and who was too busy playing hero."

The message ends with a click, but her words hang in the air like smoke. I grit my teeth, the urge to throw something growing. Instead, I focus on the weight of Lily in my arms, her presence a grounding force.

"I'm not playing hero," I murmur, more to myself than to Mrs. Becker. "I'm doing my job."

Mrs. Becker sighs, her expression softening a bit as she watches me with Lily. "I know you think you're doing your best, Marcus. But maybe your best isn't good enough right now."

That hurts. More than it should. Maybe because it's true. I glance down at Lily, her big blue eyes wet with tears but calm now, watching me with a trust that feels underserved. "I'm trying, Lily," I whisper. "Daddy's really trying."

The room is silent, save for the soft cooing of my daughter. Mrs. Becker clears her throat, her earlier harshness replaced by a reluctant empathy. "I'll put on some tea," she mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

As the sound of the kettle fills the space between us, I sit down with Lily, holding her close. The fight has drained out of me, replaced by a weary resolve.

Maybe Mrs. Becker is right. Maybe I need to do better. But how? I'm only one man, and I'm already stretched so thin, I'm transparent. For Lily, though, I'll find a way. I have to.

The sound of the kettle whistles in the background, a high-pitched soundtrack to the tense atmosphere lingering in the room. Mrs. Becker returns, placing two steaming mugs on the table, her movements stiff and deliberate. I shift Lily on my hip, trying to bridge the silence.

"Mrs. Becker, I appreciate everything you've done for us," I start, my voice low and earnest. "I'm sorry tonight was rough."

She waves a dismissive hand, her features tightening. "Marcus, I've been doing this for thirty years. I know when a situation is more than I bargained for."

I can hear the resignation in her voice, a prelude to the bomb she's about to drop. My stomach tightens in anticipation.

"And?" I prompt, already dreading the answer.

"And…" She sighs heavily. "I think it's best if tonight is my last night. I can't keep up with this schedule of yours, and frankly, Lily needs more stability than you can offer right now."

Her words hit like a sucker punch. "You're qu–quitting?" I stammer, the reality of the situation dawning on me. No backup, no family nearby, just me and my little girl and a job that could call at any hour.

"Yes, Marcus. I am." Mrs. Becker's tone softens, but her decision is irrevocable. "You need someone who can be here with her, especially at night."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I understand. Thank you for being honest."

She nods curtly, collects her things, and with one last sympathetic glance at Lily, she's gone.

The door closes softly behind her, and the silence that follows is deafening. Lily whimpers, burying her face in my neck. I carry her back to her nursery, a room bathed in soft pastel colors and filled with plush toys.

"Hey, hey," I whisper, sitting on the rocking chair, Lily cradled against me. "It's just you and me, pumpkin. We'll figure this out."

As I rock her gently, her cries begin to subside. "Dada," she murmurs, her small fingers gripping my shirt. "Stay."

"Always, Lily. Dada's always here." The words are a promise I'm determined to keep. Her eyes, so like her mother's, stare up at me with a mix of sleepiness and anxiety.

It strikes me then—she's been unusually clingy, even for her. "Lily, has something been bothering you? Why the tears tonight?" I ask, hoping for some sign or gesture that might give me a clue.

She simply pats my cheek, the universal baby sign for 'I need you close', and it dawns on me. Separation anxiety. It's been just us for so long each night, and with the nanny's unpredictable schedule…

I sigh, setting Lily down in her high chair and heading to the kitchen to whip up something quick and comforting. Within minutes, the smells of scrambled eggs and toast fill the air. I plate the food and set it before her, cutting everything into tiny, manageable pieces.

"Dinner is served, milady," I joke, a half-smile tugging at my lips as I watch her tackle the eggs with gusto.

Mealtime is a messy affair, but laughter soon replaces tears, the first genuine smiles I've seen all night. Cleanup is quick, and then it's back to the nursery for bedtime.

"Storytime, Lily," I announce as I pick out one of her favorites, a worn copy of Goodnight Moon . I read to her, pointing out the little mouse and the quiet old lady whispering 'hush', her eyes heavy but fighting sleep.

As the story ends, I start humming her favorite lullaby, Purple Monkey , a silly tune that always has her giggling. Tonight, she just listens, her eyelids fluttering shut.

"Dada, stay," she mumbles as I tuck her in, her tiny hand reaching out.

Without hesitation, I climb into the crib, an awkward fit, but she snuggles close, her breaths evening out as she drifts off to sleep. The discomfort of the crib bars digging into my back is a small price to pay for this moment of peace.

Morning finds me cramped and sore, but Lily's peaceful, sleeping face, her hand still holding onto my shirt, makes every ache worth it. I carefully extricate myself, my movements slow and gentle to not disturb her. As I stand, stretching out the kinks in my back, I make a mental note. Find a nanny who fits into our life, someone who can handle the heat, literally and figuratively. But for now, it's just us, and that's okay. I'm not going anywhere.

The morning light filters softly through the curtains as Lily peeks out from under her fluffy comforter, her big blue eyes wide and hopeful. "Dada, no school," she murmurs, the corners of her mouth tilting up in a hopeful smile.

I kneel beside her crib, my hand smoothing back her soft curls. "But pumpkin, you love school," I gently remind her, even though the sight of her hopeful expression tugs at my heartstrings.

She pouts, shaking her head vigorously. "With you today," she insists, and the firm set of her tiny jaw tells me this isn't a battle I'm going to win this morning.

A sigh escapes me, and I glance at my watch, calculating the time. Vanessa's words from the voicemail echo in my mind. There will be no end to the crap she will toss my way for deviating from the routine. But then Lily reaches out, her small hand touching my cheek, and my resolve crumbles. "Okay, just today. We'll hang out together. How does that sound?""Yay, Dada!" She claps her hands, her joy infectious. That settles it. Today's going to be different. Today, I choose her happiness over routine, consequences be damned.

With Lily's bag packed with snacks and a few of her favorite toys, we head out, the fire station our unlikely destination. It's not a place for a toddler, but Station 23 isn't just any fire station. it's a second home, a place where everyone knows Lily, and she knows them.

Through the heavy doors, the familiar scents of oil and smoke mingle in the air. The clanging of equipment and the distant sound of laughter greet us. Ethan, Will, and Theo are in the midst of their morning routines, but they stop as they notice us.

"Hey, isn't that the tiniest firefighter?" Theo calls out, a grin spreading across his face as he wipes his hands on his jeans and saunters over. His enthusiasm brings a smile to Lily's face.

"What's the special occasion?" Will asks, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses as he kneels to Lily's level, offering her a high-five, which she returns with gusto.

Ethan's gaze meets mine, a silent question in his eyes.

"Rough night," I explain briefly, shifting Lily on my hip. "We thought we'd spend the day with our favorite uncles."

"That sounds like a plan!" Ethan claps his hands, his smile wide. "What do you say, Lil? Want to help us check the equipment?"

Lily nods eagerly.

As the morning progresses, it's clear that bringing Lily here was the right choice. The guys go out of their way to make her laugh, involving her in small, safe tasks that make her feel important. Theo lets her help polish the chrome on the truck, her small hands moving carefully under his guidance. Will, with his knack for storytelling, keeps her enthralled with tales of firefighting heroes and mythical fire-breathing dragons.

Meanwhile, Ethan pulls me aside, his expression serious. "You know, if you ever need backup, we're here, not just for the big fires but for the home front battles too."

I offer him a weary nod. "I might actually take you up on that sooner than later. The nanny quit last night."

Ethan's eyebrows shoot up. "Man, that's rough. But hey, why not consider one of us stepping in when you're in a bind? Between the four of us, we could manage it."

The suggestion takes me by surprise, but as I watch Lily laughing with Will, her delight unmistakable, the idea doesn't seem so far-fetched. "You think that could work?"

"Why not?" Ethan slaps my back. "We're practically family, Marcus, and Lily's one of us. Plus, it might be the perfect excuse to escape some of the less exciting paperwork. While we help you, I'll look around, see if there is a live-in nanny available, someone who would offer more reliability."

I glance over at my daughter, her face alight with joy. "It's worth a shot," I agree, the seed of an idea beginning to take root. Maybe it's unconventional and maybe Vanessa would have a fit, but the thought of my daughter being cared for by the people I trust most in the world offers a comfort I hadn't realized I was missing.

As the day wears on, the simple joy of seeing Lily interact with my friends, her honorary uncles, solidifies my decision. This might just be the solution we need, a way to keep Lily close and safe, enveloped in the extended family of firefighters who love her almost as much as I do.

Plus, if Ethan puts his networking skills to the use, I have a feeling he will find her a good nanny.

All too suddenly, the alarm blares out loud. Instantly, all eyes are on the dispatcher's screen, the numbers and codes flashing up signaling the severity of the call.

Ethan catches my eye. He hates this part of the job—something about getting his eyes clawed out, I believe.

But he's also the best at it.

"You go," I say firmly, my voice carrying over the clatter of boots and equipment.

Before he can mutter something by way of protest, I give him a winning smile.

He relents with a snort. "Oh, damn you, Big Mac. Fine. I'll go."