March Heat

by Chase Jackson

  “Well that’s sad,” Duke scoffed, turning back to the bed. “It’s just Ikea furniture…”

  I sighed and tossed my duffel bag onto the bed.

  This is home… I thought to myself. At least for now.

  “Well,” Duke said, “I guess I’ll leave you to unpack…”

  He made it to the bedroom door before I stopped him.

  “Hey, Duke, wait a sec.”

  “What’s up?” he glanced back at me over his shoulder.

  “I owe you an apology,” I said. “For the way I treated you earlier, at the bar.”

  He turned slowly to face me, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I overreacted,” I continued. “You didn’t deserve any of that. You didn’t do anything wrong… you were just being friendly.”

  His brow wrinkled and he pressed his lips together like he wanted to say something, but he remained silent.

  “The truth is, I was already pissed off by the time I got to Vaughan’s,” I explained. “There were these creepy guys who were following me on the street, and—”

  “You were followed?”

  “Yeah,” I shrugged. “That kind of thing happens all the time. I’m sure they were harmless. In their own twisted heads, they probably thought that they were giving me a compliment. I don’t think they realize how upsetting that can be for a woman, or how unsafe it can make someone feel to be spoken to like that.”

  “Why don’t you just tell them to fuck off?”

  “I shouldn’t have to,” I frowned, feeling a flash of annoyance.

  “I’m sorry,” Duke held his hands up apologetically. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have to deal with that kind of shit in the first place…”

  “It’s just frustrating,” I sighed. “I worked so hard to become an EMT and prove myself. Being a woman didn’t get me any shortcuts. I was held to the same standards as any of the guys I worked with. But no matter what I do, I still get treated differently. I hate that. That’s why I started going by Beck in the first place…” I trailed off and sighed.

  I’m talking too much…

  The frown on his face deepened, and he looked lost in thought as he blinked down at me.

  “Anyways,” I said, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly through my lips. “I’m sorry. I was upset at them, but I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair. Those guys were just assholes… I know that not all men are like that.”

  Duke was silent for a few more seconds, then finally he said, “I owe you an apology, too.”

  “You do?”

  “I shouldn’t have assumed that you would want my company,” he said. “You were right, I wouldn’t have approached a guy like that. I guess I just never thought about it from the other perspective before…”

  I was surprised. I hadn’t expected that.

  “Thanks,” I said finally. “I appreciate it.”

  “You got it, bro,” Duke grinned. Then he offered me his fist.

  I blinked at it, confused.

  “Fist bump?” he said. Then, in a fake whisper, he hissed: “Guys usually fist bump to signify the end of a heartfelt conversation…”

  “Oh,” I chuckled. “Right…” I balled my hand into a fist and pounded my knuckles against his.

  After Duke left, I dragged my duffel bag over to the dresser and tugged open the zipper. Despite all of the hustle and bustle, my clothes were still neatly folded inside.

  There was a yellow cardigan arranged on the very top, and I carefully lifted it out of the duffel bag and gently unfolded it. Wrapped between the sweater sleeves, there was a framed picture and a tiny glass vial of perfume.

  I gripped the cool metal frame and blinked down at it. My mother’s face blinked back up at me. Our faces overlapped; her face in the photograph, and mine reflected in the thin sheet of glass.

  I gently pried open the glass perfume vial. The liquid inside had turned a soft amber hue with age. It had been nearly a decade since my mother had worn this perfume on the balls of her wrists. Still, when I held the vial under my nose and inhaled, it felt like just yesterday…

  “I miss you, Mom,” I said softly. My eyes stung with tears, and when I blinked a single teardrop rolled down my cheek and landed on the glass screen with a soft plop. I sighed and refolded the cardigan around the photo.

  I rubbed the tears out of my eyes and turned back to the dresser. I was about to open the top drawer, but then I noticed something resting on top of the dresser: a wrinkled twenty dollar bill.

  That’s the twenty I left back at the bar… I frowned, picking up the bill and feeling it between my finger and thumb, as if the smoothness of the paper would reveal how it had gotten on to the dresser.

  Duke must have kept it… I realized. And then he must have left it here when I wasn’t looking…

  Still clutching the twenty in my palm, I collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the blank white ceiling.

  It was hard to believe that I had started the day back in Rhode Island; back in my small hometown…

  Now I’m here, I thought to myself. The first day of my new life.

  Truth be told, it didn’t feel all that new. Even though I did believe that those cat-callers on the street had been harmless, the experience had still hit too close to home.

  And then there was Duke…

  I glanced down at the twenty dollar bill again. I had meant what I said when I apologized to Duke… but that didn’t mean that I trusted him. Trust had to be earned; I had learned that lesson the hard way…

  I sighed and stuck the twenty back into my short pockets, making a mental note to sneak it in when I paid Duke the first month’s rent. My eyes were scratchy with dried up tears, and I felt too exhausted to unpack. All I could do was stare up at the ceiling as my mind wandered…

  Am I ever going to find somewhere that I feel safe? Or am I destined to spend my entire life running away?

  CHAPTER SEVEN | DUKE

  “I want y’all to stop what you’re doing and take a look at this,” Walker Wright announced, threading his thumbs through the imaginary belt loops on his Nike gym shorts as he sauntered across the Firehouse 56 weight room towards Josh Hudson.

  “This man right here,” my colleague announced, wrapping an arm around Josh’s shoulder, “Is proof that there ain’t no such thing as a ‘dad bod.’”

  With that, he slapped his open palm against Josh’s washboard abs. Josh’s stomach took the hit like a memory foam mattress; he barely flinched.

  Walker Wright was Firehouse 56’s resident cowboy. A transplant from some small town in Texas, he spoke with a Matthew McConaughey drawl. I had also, on more than one occasion, caught him wearing a cowboy hat un-ironically. I was still trying not to judge him for it.

  “Don’t let those abs fool you,” Troy Hart quipped from the weight bench. “February is a changed man. His muscles may be hard as steel, but on the inside, our boy is as soft as a big ‘ol cup of Fro Yo.”

  If Firehouse 56 held a mock election, Troy Hart would be the firefighter voted ‘Most Likely to be Mistaken For a Male Model.’ Between his long blonde curls and ridiculously sculpted face, the man was a work of art; like a Carrara marble sculpture of some sort of ancient Athenian warrior that stepped off of its pedestal and decided to be a fireman.

  “He’s always been a softie,” I teased, slapping Josh’s back from behind as I crossed the weight room.

  “At least one of the Hudsons is keeping it together,” Walker scoffed, just as the weight room door swung open and Brady Hudson strolled in.

  “Did I hear my name?” Brady asked, sticking his hands on his hips and glancing around the room.

  “That depends,” Troy grinned from the weight bench. “Did you hear someone talking about Brady Dad-Bod Hudson?”

  Brady raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

  “I think I liked it better when you nimrods still called me January,” he grunted. Then he made a production of slowly rolling up his t-shir
t, flaunting his very much intact six pack.

  As brothers, Brady and Josh Hudson seemed to be in a constant state of competition with one another. They had competed to out-heat each other in the recent Firehouse 56 calendar and, since they had both become fathers at roughly the same time — Josh to Thomas, and Brady to a baby girl named Claire — they were now engaged in an unspoken battle against the ‘dad bod.’

  They were both adamant that fatherhood wouldn’t cost them their famous Calendar model physiques… and as a result, the rest of the crew had been subjected to months of shameless muscle flexing and ab flaunting.

  Right on cue, Brady jerked his shirt over his head and flung it towards Troy.

  “You call this a ‘dad bod’?” he asked with a cocky grin.

  “Why is it that every time I work out with you clowns, I feel like I’m in the opening act of a gay porno?” I grimaced as I grabbed a set of weights from the rack and carried them over to an empty bench.

  “Speaking of gay pornos,” Troy teased, flinging Brady’s shirt back across the room. “Have you gotten cozy with that new roommate of yours yet, Duke?”

  I froze with my fists wrapped around the dumbbells.

  “Yeah,” Josh said, turning to me. “How’s my replacement doing? Beck, is it?”

  “Beck’s… cool,” I said slowly as I swung my legs around the bench, then reclined backwards.

  Ever since our awkward meeting at Vaughan’s, I had remained tight-lipped about my new roommate… and I had remained particularly tight-lipped about the fact that my new roommate was a she.

  The guys at the firehouse already gave me enough shit for my bi-weekly appointments at the wax salon and the secret stash of chick flicks that I had programmed onto the DVR in the break room. They already teased me for being a ‘diva’… I could only imagine how they’d react when they found out that my new roommate was a woman.

  “Just cool?” Josh repeated skeptically. His face came into view as he stepped closer to the bench and blinked down at me. “Come on, what’s he like? You can tell us.”

  “So far, no complaints,” I said vaguely, gripping the dumbbells. “But we’ve only been living together for a few days.”

  “You think he’s ‘cool’ enough to hang with the Firehouse 56 crew?” Troy asked from the corner, out of view.

  “I don’t know about that,” I huffed as I hoisted the weights up and slowly pressed them over my head.

  One…

  “Why not?” Walker’s head appeared over me, next to Josh. I lowered my arms, then pressed up again.

  Two…

  “Yeah, why not?” Troy echoed. “You trying to keep your new friend all to yourself?”

  “We promise we won’t steal him,” Josh teased.

  I lowered the weights and pressed up again.

  Three…

  “Is he more attractive than you?” Walked teased. “Is that what all of this is about?”

  The muscles in my biceps were starting to throb with pain as I pressed the weights up over my head.

  Four…

  I clenched my jaw and dug my teeth into the fleshly insides of my cheeks, forcing myself to press up through the pain.

  Five…

  “Are you worried that we’ll like Beck more than you?” Brady asked, draping his t-shirt around his neck.

  “Hey, that’s a perfectly valid concern.” Walker winked down at me.

  “Come on, Duke,” Josh said. “Tell us what he’s like.”

  “I told you,” I grunted. “She’s cool…”

  I tightened my grip on the weights and forced my arms up, wincing as my muscles burned from the effort…

  Six…

  “She?”

  Shit.

  I dropped the barbells onto the ground on either side of the weight bench, then I pried myself up slowly.

  “Did you say she’s cool?” Josh blinked down at me, frowning.

  “Yes,” I sighed, rubbing away the sweat that had beaded along my hairline.

  “Wait, what?!” I heard another pair of weights drop from across the room, then Troy stomped into view. “Beck’s a chick?”

  “Yes,” I said again. “Olivia Beck. But it’s not a big deal—”

  “Are you kidding?” Walker hollered, slapping my back. “You’re living with a woman?! Where I come from, that’s a huge deal!”

  “Well to be fair, Walker,” I retorted darkly, “where you come from, the only reason a man would live with another woman is if she was his mother, his sister, or his wife.”

  Walker cocked his head to protest, but then he must have realized that I was right, because he shut his mouth and shrugged.

  “I’m actually with Walker on this one,” Troy said, shaking his head slowly. “This seems like a bad idea…”

  “Why?” I shrugged. “Are you saying that men and women are incapable of coexisting platonically under the same roof?”

  “Capable, maybe,” Walker said. “But it wouldn’t be very fun. I would feel like I had to be on my best behavior the whole time: ‘no ma’am,’ ‘yes ma’am.’ Tucking a napkin in the front of my shirt when I eat dinner…”

  “And you can forget about walking around the apartment naked,” Troy added.

  “I wouldn’t do that around a guy, either,” I sneered, repulsed.

  “Can you confirm that for us, Joshy?” Troy glanced at my former roommate.

  “There might have been a few occasions when Mr. March forgot his towel after a shower…” Josh teased. He whipped the sweat rag off his neck and flung it at me, laughing.

  “You guys are worse than teenagers,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “No wonder most of you are still single…”

  “You’re single, too,” Walker reminded me. “Although… maybe you won’t be for much longer, now that you got some hot female EMT living in your spare bedroom…”

  “Definitely not,” I said firmly, flinging out my hands for emphasis. “She made that very clear…”

  “Oh shit!” Troy snorted. “Duke, you dog! You put the moves on her, didn’t you?”

  “The plot thickens!”

  “I didn’t put the moves on her,” I said. “It wasn’t like that…”

  “So what was it like?” Josh wanted to know.

  I groaned as I considered whether or not I wanted to rehash the story of how Olivia Beck and I had met at Vaughan’s.

  No way, I decided. I’d never hear the end of it…

  “She just made it very clear that she doesn’t want any sort of special treatment,” I explained instead. I gripped the weights again and started to lower myself back onto the bench for my next set. “She just wants to be treated normally, like one of the guys…”

  “What does that even mean?” Troy frowned. “Like… leaving the toilet seat up? Making dick jokes? Sharing notes on your favorite PornHub videos?”

  “Is that what you do with your guy friends?” I raised an eyebrow. Troy just shrugged.

  “Come on, boys,” Josh teased, ruffling my hair. “This is Duke Williams we’re talking about. If anyone could live with a female roommate, it’d be him.”

  “That’s a good point,” Brady conceded. “They’re probably like two peas in a pod. I can picture it now: the two of them wearing matching pajamas, sipping white wine, eating fettuccine alfredo, doing mud masks…”

  “Talking about their feelings…” Troy offered, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Watching Steel Magnolias and shit,” Walker chimed in.

  “Jesus,” I grunted, rolling my eyes. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid…

  “We’ve been over this, guys,” I said, dropping the weights and propping myself back up on the bench. “There’s nothing wrong with a guy enjoying a nice glass of wine, or indulging in a little bit of personal grooming…”

  “Besides,” I added, forcing a stoic smile. “I would never do a mud mask. They clog my pores…”

  Learning how to laugh at myself had been one of
the hardest skills to pick up when I joined Firehouse 56. But it was necessary: no matter what I said or did, the other guys on the crew were always going to find some reason to laugh at me or make jokes at my expense. The only way to rise above it was to get in on the joke and laugh right along with them.

  Besides, I knew that in about thirty seconds, they’d forget all about my roommate dilemma, and they’d move on to the next joke: the cougar Troy took home last weekend, or the new family-friendly SUV that Brady had traded in his truck for…

  I gripped the weights and slid back onto the bench, and the weight room chatter slowly faded away as I concentrated on my next set. This time, I pushed through the pain and did ten presses.

  CHAPTER EIGHT | OLIVIA

  When I was training to be an EMT back in Rhode Island, my instructors had warned me about the inherent challenges that came with being a paramedic.

  They had stressed that it wasn’t enough to merely memorize the ins-and-outs of respiratory failure, or learn how to operate a portable defibrillator. According to my instructors, EMTs had to be prepared to deal with the unthinkable; they had to be be willing to work through whatever obstacles or challenges fell into their path…

  “Something tells me that this wasn’t the sort of ‘challenge’ they had in mind,” I muttered sourly.

  Between my two outstretched arms I was carrying not one, not two, but three strategically balanced cardboard drink trays, each fully-loaded with a ridiculous assortment of decadent caffeinated beverages from the Starbucks around the corner.

  It was my first day on the job as Hartford Fire Department’s newest EMT, and I was officially on coffee duty.

  I had assumed that the day would be spent shuffling through new-hire paperwork, going over policies and procedures, and meeting my new colleagues.

  Nope.

  Instead, my new boss had passed me a notepad and tasked me with going around the office to collect coffee orders from the rest of the staff — including the interns.

  And that was how I found myself waddling across the Hartford Fire Department parking lot with a dozen rapidly-melting Frappuccinos and iced lattes balanced precariously between my arms.