Chapter 1

1

Silas

Tones echo throughout the station.

“Engine 47, Engine 45, Engine 42, Medic 47, Medic 42, multi-vehicle crash intersection of Main and Sossoman. Reports of entrapment. Caller says woman trapped inside is in labor. Time out 17:32.”

“Here we go,” Asher says, putting down his phone after, I’m sure, getting a text from Sienna, saying she made it home okay.

The guy is a little obsessive when it comes to how much he worries about her.

We all get up from where we were sitting and head toward our assigned jobs for the day.

“Silas, you’re on the engine for this call. Myles will take your place as medic,” Captain says.

Frustration rips through me, but I know I can’t fight it. He’s just trying to save me from another tailspin that I went on a few months ago when a, I guess you could say, similar situation went down.

“I’m on it,” Myles, or who we call Ghost Pepper, responds, then playfully sticks his tongue out at me.

He’s lucky he’s my best friend, or I’d sock him—hard.

We get our gear on and head out, lights and sirens, to the location of the accident. When we get there, it’s pure chaos. Some people are trying to help the woman while others watch on in horror.

“Get the Jaws,” I hear someone yell out.

I snap into gear and focus on the task at hand. When I get to the car, the woman screaming makes me stop in my tracks for a second until I block it out and get the apparatus in place.

Myles has crawled in the car through the back seat and is trying to calm the woman down while we work on getting her out.

“My baby! Ahh,” she screams, and my world goes black.

“Silas, out of here,” Atta screams, pushing me out of the way and taking over, bringing me back to reality.

I go help someone in the other car, checking to make sure they are okay. I see where else I am needed until I hear the ambulance speed off, and I look to see the car where the woman was trapped is now empty.

A whoosh of relief fills me, and then I get back to work on what else needs to be cleaned up for the night.

Those of us on the engine head back to the station while the guys on the ambulance don’t get back for a while.

I’m lying in bed when Myles comes in and leans down to whisper, “Mom and baby are fine.”

I pretend to be asleep and act like I haven’t been lying here all night, trying to fight back a panic attack, but internally, I’m super grateful he calmed my nerves with just those five little words.

Though nothing extremely tragic happened last night with that call, the guys all know it messed with me, so we plan to head to Ruby’s—a bar we always hang out at for some choir practice.

“What’s up, Joey?” I say as I enter Ruby’s.

“First one to arrive,” he says, grabbing a beer, opening it, and setting it in front of me before he reaches for a glass to pour me a shot of Patrón.

I’m here so often that I don’t even need to order my first round anymore—Joey just knows.

That’s why I come here. Not only because I think it’s the best place in town, but also because it’s owned by a fellow firefighter at my station named Cooper March—aka Marchy—and his two brothers, Axel and Joey.

I walk to my normal spot and hold the shot up to him. “Here’s to another fucked-up day. May the liquor gods wash my memory away.” I down it, then stand there, dropping my head to my chest and closing my eyes, letting the fire fill my belly and put out the pain trying to rise inside me.

“That bad?” he asks.

Joey is the youngest of the brothers and the one I get along with the most since we graduated high school together and go way back.

I meet his eyes, and he purses his lips, gives me a quick nod, and goes back to what he was doing before I arrived.

That’s the third reason why I come here. Since Cooper is a firefighter himself, he knows exactly what we go through; therefore, his brothers do to. Some days are a walk in the park, and some are literally a living hell, inferno and all. They know when we walk in here, we’re not looking to talk about what happen; we just want to erase it from our memories and move on with our lives.

A female voice comes over the microphone behind me. It’s earlier than usual for them to have live music, so I turn to see who’s playing.

“Hi, I’m Kara Parsons. This is my first time up here, so please be patient with me,” she says timidly as she adjusts the stool she’s sitting on.

The place only has about seven people total, so when a guy whistles, saying, “You got this, gorgeous,” I sit up a little straighter, making sure he doesn’t say anything else that might be deemed inappropriate.

She takes her time getting her guitar hooked up and adjusting the microphone, so I turn to Joey and ask, “How come she’s starting so early? There’s no one here yet.”

He shrugs. “She wanted to get some experience before doing a real show, so we said we’d help her out. She’s here of her own accord; we’re not paying her to play.”

That sounds about right for the March family.

Getting to play at any bar in this country music legend of a town is a big accomplishment, no matter how big or small the place is. People get discovered from joints like this. All you need is a chance to show your stuff, and the March family is never one to turn someone down.

She starts strumming her guitar, so I turn to give her a listen. Her voice is soft, not overbearing, and the way she has to reach over the guitar with her tiny frame makes me smile. It’s obvious she has some grit to her—being out here like this proves that. I’m definitely not the type of person to put myself out there like she is on a stage, all by herself. People like her impress me, so I always want to give them my full attention as my way of saying so.

The fact that she’s pretty good-looking, with her light-brown hair falling forward in ringlet curls helps too.

Hawk is the next to arrive, Hayes and Marchy quickly coming after him. There’s eight of us on shift together, and on days like this, we don’t even need to ask if we’re all going to choir practice; we just know that’s what absolutely has to go down.

I still don’t know why we call it choir practice. I was just told that’s what it’s called after my first horrible call on the job.

My fire captain wrapped his arm around my shoulders and said, “Let’s get you to choir practice.”

Let’s just say, I’ve been a faithful follower ever since.

Maybe they call it that because it’s the only way they can tie something as holy as singing in a church choir with something as sinful as drinking away our sorrows after a fucked-up call, like we had last night. If church served alcohol, then we’d go there, but since they don’t, we come here and pretend that we’re at church, praying for God to erase our memories.

“What’s up, fellas?” I say, turning my attention to them and away from the girl singing.

“What’s going on here?” Hawk points to the girl onstage, wondering why someone is playing early, just like I did.

“Joey said this is her first time singing at a place like this, so she wanted to go early—get the nerves out, I guess.”

“She’s cute,” Hawk says.

“Whoa! Did the lovestruck fool just acknowledge another female in his presence?” I tease.

Ever since he got together with Skye, I swear she is all he talks or thinks about. The fact that he’s here and not running straight to her shows how fucked up our night was—sometimes, you just need to be around those who truly get it because people can try to understand, but they don’t unless they’ve actually lived in our shoes.

“You know I’ll be the one messing with you the most when some girl gets her teeth sunk in you, right?” he volleys back.

“Ha!” I laugh out loud. “Not going to happen.” I lean on the bar, motioning for Joey to get me another round. “I like my freedom too much.”

“Just like Mr. Hit It and Quit It over here?” He points at Asher Hayes, or who we call just by his last name.

Hayes and Brax are the oldest in our crew, both thirty-six years old. Both were also as single as the day is long, but that changed recently for Hayes.

I’ll admit, I looked up to Hayes with the way he was able to get the ladies day in and day out, even at his age. There wasn’t a time when I didn’t see him hooking up with someone different. Then, he met Sienna, and his outlook on women changed.

“His old ass needed to settle down. He’ll need someone taking care of him here real soon,” I joke, and he shoves me for doing so.

“Don’t think I still can’t whip your twenty-four-year-old ass.” Hayes raises his eyebrows at me.

“You wish.” I blow him off as I turn to face the musician onstage again since she’s singing a song I recognize.

Brax, Hollywood, and Ghost Pepper arrive and all head straight to the bar to meet us.

And, no, these aren’t any of our real names. In the firehouse, we all either go by our last names or a nickname that was given to us by the guys. Since my last name is Feddeler, they call me Fed. Not too original, but it’s my family name—something I’m very proud of—so I’ll take it.

None of us say anything as Marchy stands behind the bar, pouring us all a shot.

We all take one from him, hold it up in a silent prayer to those we lost, and down it in unison. One for all, all for one—our motto and lifeline to the job we chose.