by Lisa Ladew
Table of Contents
The Firefighter's Secret Obsession
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
The Firefighter's Secret Obsession
by Lisa Ladew
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or organizations, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Copyright © 2016 Lisa Ladew All Rights Reserved
Book cover by: http://www.stunningbookcovers.com/
Dialogue editing by: http://www.theblurbdiva.com/
Thank you to Anette King, for constant inspiration and assistance in those areas where I fall short.
Thank you to Lia Coletti Rensin for helping me work out the finer details of Eme's background.
Special thanks to Helen Crawford Veach for naming Jazzy, my new favorite character. ;)
Thank you to Laura Forren for the consultations! I love having readers who work in the field.
And of course, I have to thank Kristine Piiparinen for being overly awesome and helping me with my time crunch and deadline.
* I have taken a few small liberties with the rank, structure, rules, and daily operations of the San Francisco fire department in order to tell a more compelling story, and also in order to not impinge upon the reality and privacy of the people doing this job every day. Fire station 66 is loosely based upon all of the fire stations currently operating in San Francisco, but it is entirely fictional. Also, Eme would not have been promoted in the manner I have described in the book. The real world of fire department promotions is quite political, but definitely more structured and rule-bound than it is in my imagination.
* The locations I describe in South Africa are based on real locations, but purely fictional, as is the European fire training.
Prologue
She pushed hard with her leg, the toes of her right foot barely finding a hold in the tiny crevice, but holding anyway and giving her enough purchase to lift herself erect, clinging to the sheer face of the granite wall. She looked down, knowing she was less than six feet off the ground, but also knowing she shouldn't be bouldering alone. It was dangerous. Foolhardy. Stupid.
But she wasn't going home. No way.
Tomorrow was Christmas, which meant her husband would be home from work and she would be expected to perform her role of loving wife in front of other people. If she were to deal convincingly with him, convincingly enough to keep herself from spending the night nursing her own wounds and bruises, she needed this time alone with her free and fearless self. Had to have it. With her mother vacationing in France, trying to recover from her loss the year before, Christmas would be nothing but a horrible, nerve-wracking chore.
She scouted ahead for her next fingerhold, her next toehold, then finally decided to progress laterally, when she heard voices above the noise of the waves. Male voices calling to each other. Coming her way?
She held her breath and stiffened, hoping they were not coming her way, would not choose her rock, would not even see her.
She was sick to death of being afraid of men. Afraid of what they would do to her. Afraid of the power and strength of them. Afraid of their seeming free license to do whatever they wanted, especially the free license of men in power. She knew there were places that weren't like that. America being the one that popped into her mind most often. She wished she knew firsthand what rumors about America were truths, and what were lies. It sounded like both a horrible and wonderful place at the same time and she fiercely wished she could find out for herself. But then she'd dreamed about living in America since she had been a child. Ten years of hell hadn't changed that.
As the voices got louder, she prepared to drop to the ground and run, wondering frantically if a woman could boulder in America by herself without fear of gang rapes or worse. Her muscles tensed, ready for action, fear tightening them into unbreakable knots.
The voices buoyed and harsh male laughter broke across the granite cliff she was clinging to, but she could tell they had chosen a different path. They were moving away from her.
Her muscles began to shake from the strain and she took the lateral path she had decided upon, using her other leg and hand. She clung tight to the wall and listened until she couldn't hear the voices anymore.
She forced herself to relax and looked upward, searching for her next hold. She fought for every foot she gained and the next time she looked down she judged her distance from the ground to be ten feet. Time to go back down. She had no mats. No spotter. No ropes. She'd planned on coming with a group, but when the instructor had cancelled, she couldn't bear the thought of going home. Not without the only therapy she had.
She'd been to this area before with her instructor and a few other classmates and they'd tried a nearby rock with no ropes, as was customary with bouldering, but with mats and spotters. They'd each gone as high as they felt comfortable, and she'd pushed herself to thirteen feet that time, loving the powerful way her body served her in the dangerous sport.
Her instructor had nervously called her down as she contemplated going higher. He'd jokingly suggested she had a death wish, and she hadn't corrected him. Was death better than the life she was living? She didn't know.
She might entertain a death wish occasionally, but she did not have a broken bone wish, and from this height, most likely if she fell and were injured, that is all that would happen. Unless she fell on her head.
She looked over her shoulder at the gray granite slabs below her, watching as an ocean wave partially covered one. What if she did dive? Land on her head? Would it be instant? Painless? Would there be freedom?
She shook her head and began feeling for a lower toe-hold. She would not kill herself. Escape was possible. She just had to figure out how. She couldn't believe her only choices were to live caged or die.
She found the lower toehold, eased her body downwards, and shifted her weight, then moved her right hand into the new position. She carefully shifted again and moved her other hand to the next hold but before she could reach it, the rock that had already held her once snapped with
a brittle cough and she teetered backwards. She grabbed for the hold she had been reaching for but three of her nails caught the rock and tore off, instantly slicking the hold with her blood. Her body weight pulled her backwards and she catapulted through the air, her mind assessing the fall in a quiet, calm way that terrified her. The rock below was unforgiving and this was going to be bad.
Her body twisted to the side and she rolled her shoulder and tucked her chin, flinging her right hand over the other shoulder to protect the slim bone of her skull as best she could.
In the split second before she impacted the rocks, she realized she didn't want to die.
Her life might have seemed meaningless and torturous, but it was still the most precious thing she owned.
Chapter 1
2 years, 3 months later, in San Francisco
Bronx
Bronx waited off-stage quietly jangling the coins in the pocket of his recruit uniform with his free hand, loath to hang up on his brother, but needing to get back to the ceremony. "Phoenix, you need to talk to someone."
Phoenix laughed into the phone, the bitter bark sounding hollow and thin because of the thousands of miles between them. "Talk to who, B, talk to who?"
"Your Sergeant."
"Didn't I tell you? I'm the Sergeant now."
Bronx listened to the strain in his brother's voice and worry spread through him. Bronx had thought the military would be good for Phoenix. Get him far enough away from his two torrid love affairs, women and fighting, to let him get his head on straight. Nope.
"Congratulations," Bronx whispered, watching the line of recruits in front of him move steadily, one at a time, towards the stage as names were called, diplomas handed out. His vacated spot in line was visible as a person-sized hole and his friend Jazzy shot daggers at him with her eyes. He could read what her expression was saying, even from forty feet away. Get your white ass out here before you get in trouble.
Phoenix breathed hard into the phone and Bronx fumbled for words, knowing his brother needed him. "I'll tell Knox. He can help you. You know he can. He's a BFD these days, bigger than dad."
"Don't tell him, B. I'll fix it myself. I only called you because—"
Phoenix's words clipped short but Bronx knew what he meant. Because it had always been the two of them against the world. Because they'd always had each other's backs. Because they were as close as twins. And even if there was nothing the other brother could do, they had no secrets from each other. It made the burdens easier to carry.
The sound of the static-y line muffled and Bronx listened hard, eyeing the recruits in front of him. Only two more spots and it was his turn. He had to go. He opened his mouth to tell Phoenix to call him back in an hour when Phoenix swore, good and loud, and spoke to someone other than Bronx, someone on his end. "Tell him I'll be right there. Don't let anyone in there with him."
Phoenix's voice got louder as he addressed Bronx again. "I gotta go, man. Sorry I'm not there. I'm stoked for you. I'll call you in a week."
"Sure," Bronx said quietly. Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as the line went dead. Bronx swallowed his emotions, shoved his phone in his pocket, and ran out to take his place in the line of recruits, ignoring Jazzy's look of relief.
He couldn't help Phoenix get out of his current meat-locker of a life, but he could try not to fuck his own life up along with him.
Bronx wiped his hands on his pants, knowing he'd have to shake the fire chief's hand soon, and not wanting her to feel the sweat on his palms. He didn't want her to think he was nervous.
But he was nervous. For once in his life, Bronx was glad he'd never had a serious girlfriend. Phoenix had had several, and they'd always been disasters. This latest one might just get him kicked out of the military and back here in San Francisco with a dishonorable discharge only four months after he'd changed his mind about getting out and re-enlisted for another four years.
Bronx didn't think Phoenix would be able to handle it if that happened. There was something dark in Phoenix. Something that manifested as twisted and violent at the times when Phoenix couldn't or wouldn't hold it back. Bronx had a tiny touch of it too, and he hated it, constantly covering it with jokes and puns.
Phoenix never covered it though.
Bronx rubbed the back of his neck and wondered if it had finally caught up with him, and if so, what could he do about it?
Nothing for now. He'd have to put it all on hold until he heard from Phoenix again. Stick a pin in it, plaster on a smile, dredge up a joke, and live his own life.
Finally.
Chapter 2
Bronx
The line of recruits moved again as Bronx tried to pull his attention back to his graduation ceremony.
In front of him, his best friend in the academy, Jazzy, stepped up onto the platform, flipped the audience double Vs with her fingers, and strode across the stage like she owned it. Bronx shook his head at the wave of laughter and whistles from the audience, and tried to jettison the worry that came from talking to Phoenix. Phoenix was a big boy. He could handle himself, Bronx finally decided, and felt a bit of the weight on his heart roll away. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, knowing he was next and he needed to be one hundred percent present.
Bronx watched Jazzy take her certificate. The Chief reached behind her and gave Jazzy another certificate and a wooden plaque as the deputy chief on the microphone announced to the crowd that Jasmine Larue had won the award for highest academic achievement of San Francisco Fire Academy number 216. Bronx cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, his voice blending with the whistles and cheers and applause from the crowd. Jazzy didn't even look surprised.
He watched her shake the chief's hand and stride to the other side of the stage. His chest fluttering with uncharacteristic butterflies, he took his cue and walked up the few steps. The audience had quieted down, but when the deputy chief announced his name he heard the stomping and whistling start immediately from the audience. His brothers, of course. Phoenix wasn't there, but Talon had shown up and taken his chair neatly.
Bronx snuck a look at the audience and saw his brothers in the front row, all of them standing even as everyone around them sat. The three of them stomped their feet and yelled, sounding like a crash of rhinoceroses. As Bronx watched, Knox put his fingers to his lips and whistled, the piercing sound making the people around him fly hands to cover ears. Bronx grinned and looked forward again, just catching Knox's fiance, Mica, pull desperately at Knox's sleeve, trying to force him to drop back into his seat and remember he was a respected member of the community and not a high school wrestler.
Bronx stopped in front of the fire chief and held out his hand for his certificate or a handshake, he didn't care which. But she put her hand on his arm and waited for his brothers to quiet before she spoke.
They finally did and she gave him a rare smile. "Nice job Rosesson, I expect big things from you," she said, then reached behind herself to the table for another plaque, handing it to Bronx.
The deputy chief at the microphone announced that Bronx Rosesson had won the award for best overall recruit and the crowd exploded in applause. A wide smile spread over Bronx's face. He hadn't expected to win one of the three awards available. Most of the guys in the class and even Jazzy, the only female, were all younger than him, plus he'd bombed a few of the written tests pretty hard, even though he always made up for it with the physical tests. He'd even gotten in trouble a time or two for cracking wise, making jokes, being a goofball. He'd never been able to help that, no matter what was at stake. He'd crack wise on his deathbed. Something about the unbearable heat, or how his uniform pants always rode up in the crotch. Eh, he still had time to work on it.
***
Sunlight streamed through the picnic area as the academy instructor said his last few words to SFFD Academy 216 at the rear of the lawn behind the station. Eager to be dismissed, Bronx watched the family members and administrators surrounding the buffet table, which was set
up against the back wall of the building.
Around him, his classmates clapped and he pulled his focus back to the small group and slapped his hands together dully.
The instructor raised his voice to stop the clapping and spoke again. "I have everyone's assignments. After I call your name you are expected to stick around for the full meal, then cleanup, then you are released for the rest of the day. You are all expected to show up to work tomorrow at 8 a.m. sharp and you'll be given your shifts then."
Bronx fidgeted in his seat until his name was called, then he bounded up and grabbed the folded piece of paper, thanked the instructor, and walked towards the crowd around the buffet, holding the paper tight in his fingers. He didn't care where he ended up, but he was hoping for downtown. Where the action was.
He pressed the paper to his lips, not noticing he was doing it, then ripped it open and read through it quickly. Station 66. The Marina. Not downtown but a busy station. A light feeling of satisfaction filled his chest. He'd done it. He'd said he was going to be a firefighter all his life, and he'd finally completed every single step. He started tomorrow.
Bronx folded the paper three times and stuck it in his pocket, his eyes scanning the crowd for his brothers. A hand clapped him on the back and he turned around.
Jazzy was smiling at him, holding her own paper in her hand. The sun shone through her dark wavy hair and brought a bit of a blush to her caramel-colored skin. "Where'd you get placed, Mr. Best Overall?" she asked, excitement in her voice.
"Station 66, you?"
"38. I hope they ain't a bunch of tight-asses over there." Jazzy balled up her fists and shook them at the sky, throwing her head back and letting out a whoop of victory. "We did it Bronx!" Her hand dropped down and smacked him a good one on the ass.
Taken by surprise, Bronx rubbed his cheek and yelped. "Hey!"
"What?" Jazzy asked with exaggerated innocence. "I think I've earned the right to slap you on the ass with all the free tutoring you got. Just be glad I ain't trying to slide down your pole."
