January On Fire: A Firefighter Fake Marriage Romance

by Chase Jackson

  When my little brother joined the crew, he made it his mission to bring poker night back to the firehouse. It hadn’t taken much coaxing to get the rest of the guys on board. And just like that, poker night was back and better than ever.

  Every Monday night we would roll up the bright red garage doors, pull the engines out of the bay, set up a folding table, and gather around.

  My brother would probably never admit it, but I had a hunch that poker night was a lot more than just an excuse to get together with the guys and drink whiskey on a Monday night.

  “Good evening, gents,” Bryce McKinley announced as he plunked down a bottle of Old Crow on the table and took a seat in the empty chair to my left.

  Bryce had only been at the station for a couple of years, but in that short span of time he had become like a brother to me. He was the definition of a self-made man; he grew up on the wrong side of the tracks and got into a little bit of trouble when he was younger, but becoming a single father changed him. He worked his ass off to take care of his little girl, and I admired the hell out of him for it.

  “I see you splurged for the good stuff,” Duke grimaced, inspecting the bottle of bourbon. Leave it to Duke Williams to complain about free booze. He was from one of those old-money families who owned half of Manhattan, and he never let us forget it. The guy was a grade-A tool. And I knew a thing or two about tools; as the station’s resident mechanic, I worked with ‘em all day long.

  “Hey January,” Duke turned to me. “I hope you brought a Hefty bag, because you’re going to need it to carry your ass home after I’m done handing it to you tonight.”

  “I think you spend too much time thinking about what you want to do with my ass,” I smiled back. Harmless banter.

  “I don’t blame him,” Logan Ford joked, slapping my shoulder as he took a seat at the table. “Hudson’s got a great ass.”

  Logan and I had joined Firehouse 56 around the same time. And, just like me, he was a second-generation firefighter trying to keep his father’s legacy alive at Firehouse 56.

  “Which Hudson?” Josh looked up hopefully from the deck of cards he was cutting back and forth between his hands.

  “I think Duke’ll take whatever ass he can get,” Bryce grinned. He poured himself a glass of bourbon, then sat back in his chair. “Beggars can’t be choosers, right Williams?”

  “You tell me, Bryce,” Duke shrugged. “Weren’t you homeless once?”

  “I’d rather be living on the street, than living off of Daddy’s trust-fund money.”

  Duke flicked a poker chip in Bryce’s direction. The chip landed with a splash in his bourbon glass.

  “You can consider that a charitable contribution,” he winked. “My parents always taught me to help those less fortunate.”

  “Simmer down, ladies,” a deep voice boomed from across the bay. We all turned to see Troy Hart strut in through the open garage doors, carrying his motorcycle helmet under one arm. “I thought this was poker night. If I knew we were playing ‘who has the biggest dick?’ I would have brought a yard stick.”

  Standing over 6’7” tall and at least half as wide, Troy Hart was the only guy on the crew who could get away with claiming he needed a yardstick to measure his manhood.

  He dropped into an empty chair next to Logan, then he stashed his helmet under the table.

  “Sorry I’m late, boys,” he kicked one boot up onto the table and slid back in his chair. “What’s the buy-in tonight?”

  “Twenty bucks,” Josh told him.

  Troy palmed the chest of his leather jacket: “Shit. I forgot my wallet.” Then a devious grin spread on his face. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bright red thong. “Can I cash in on this?”

  He sling-shotted the thong onto the center of the table.

  “For fucks sake, Troy,” Josh groaned. “Don’t you get enough pussy?”

  “Yeah,” Bryce agreed. “Maybe you can leave some for the rest of us?”

  “Shouldn’t you be saving that lecture for Hartford’s hometown hero over here?” Duke asked, nodding at me.

  “Huh?”

  “January made the front page of the paper yesterday,” Duke explained. Then he quoted the headline, from memory: “‘Heroic Hartford Fireman Saves Woman from Five-Alarm Fire.’”

  The guys around the table erupted in a chorus of praise and jeers while I slumped a little lower in my chair.

  “At least Duke has a new picture of me to pin up on his bedroom wall,” I said once the noise had died down. “Right next to my calendar spread.”

  “Jesus, Brady,” Logan shook his head. “Would you get wifed up already so the rest of us can have a fighting chance?”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Josh shook his head and grinned up at me. “I don’t think my big bro is settling down anytime soon.”

  I felt a pang of guilt. I had meant to sit my brother down, so I could tell him the news about Cassidy and me, man to man, but I hadn’t gotten the chance before poker night. Now he was going to hear it with the rest of the guys.

  “Actually,” I said, wetting my lips with a sip of whiskey, “I’m officially off the market, boys.”

  “You met someone?” Bryce asked.

  “I more than met someone,” I said. “I’m getting married.”

  “Fuck off, January,” Duke rolled his eyes. He thought I was joking.

  “I’m serious,” I assured him. “I’m taking the plunge.”

  “Why?” Troy wanted to know.

  “Why not?” I shrugged my shoulders. “I’ve already done everything else there is to do with a woman.”

  “Hold up,” Logan reasoned. “We’re not talking about trying anal or watching your chick give a blowjob to your college roommate. This is marriage. That’s a huge commitment!”

  “I get it,” I assured him. “I just meant that I guess I’m finally ready for more. Maybe I’m ready to settle down and take the next step with someone.”

  Damn. It had been one thing convincing Cassidy’s parents that I was ready for marriage, but trying to convince the guys was a completely different ball game. They didn’t know me as the wholesome boy next door… they just knew me as the guy who could melt a pair of panties with the snap of his fingers.

  “I don’t believe it,” Duke shook his head. “You didn’t seem ‘ready to settle down’ last week, when you went home with those two blondes from the bar.”

  Good point.

  “How can you be getting married, when you were still acting single, like, a week ago?” Logan asked.

  “This all happened very fast,” I said. At least that was true.

  “How long have you known this girl?”

  “That’s the thing,” I said. “I’ve known her all my life. We grew up together.”

  “Well who is she?”

  “Cassidy Laurent,” I said. “She’s the--”

  “Next door neighbor,” Josh finished for me. My eyes flicked up to him, and I realized for the first time that he was the only guy who hadn’t said a word since I had dropped the bomb. His face was filled with emotions: hurt, confusion, and most of all, skepticism.

  “What is this, a Nicholas Sparks book?!” Duke chuckled. Then he deepened his voice, pretending to read the synopsis of a romance novel: “‘Town hero can have any woman he wants… but he realizes that true love has been living right next door, all along…’”

  “Actually, yeah,” I said defiantly, glaring at Duke. “Something like that.”

  Duke shook his head, still laughing.

  “Whatever, man,” he said. “I give it a month.”

  “This could be legit,” Bryce said optimistically, turning to Duke. “He’s known this girl all his life. Maybe she sees a different side of him than we do.”

  “Maybe,” Troy shrugged. “Or maybe it’s all bullshit, and January will be back to hitting the bars with us by the end of the summer.”

  “What do you think, Josh?” Bryce asked, addressing my brother. “You know Brad
y best. And you must know this girl, too. Is this the real thing?”

  “Yeah,” Logan echoed the sentiment. “Did you see this coming?”

  Josh glanced up from the deck of cards he was shuffling. His eyes landed on me, and there was an expression on his face that I couldn’t figure out.

  “Honestly?” he said finally. “I’m just as shocked as the rest of you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT | CASSIDY

  “So just to be clear,” I said. “This is not a date. Right?”

  “Relax,” Brady’s face broke into a smile, and he nudged his shoulder into mine as we walked down the narrow sidewalk towards the restaurant. “It’s dinner. You can call it whatever you want.”

  Ok. So, I’m on a ‘not-a-date’ with my ‘fake-fiancé.’ Got it.

  When Brady stopped by my parents’ house earlier and casually asked me if I wanted to ‘grab a bite,’ I figured he meant splitting a pizza and a couple of beers at Rusty’s Tavern. But when we pulled up to a cozy little restaurant built on the glistening waterfront of the Connecticut River, “grabbing a bite” started to seem a lot more like “going on a date.”

  “Anyways,” Brady said, “I figured I had to take you somewhere nice, once I saw how dolled up you got for me.” He grinned playfully, then his eyes roamed down to the little black dress that I was wearing. Granted, it wasn’t exactly a “pizza and cheap beer” kind of dress. Actually, it wasn’t the kind of dress I’d usually wear anywhere.

  The neckline was cut low, the hem was cut high, and the thick black fabric fit snug around all of my curves. It was the kind of dress that put my best assets on display… which was exactly why it had been relegated to the back of my closet. Until tonight. I had slipped it on because some wild part of me wanted to see if Brady would notice… and some even wilder part of me wanted to see if he’d respond.

  Welp. He had noticed, alright. And now it was obvious that I had gotten dressed up for him.

  “I didn’t get ‘dolled up’ for you,” I insisted, even though the bright pink glow spreading across my cheeks suggested otherwise.

  “Whatever you say, Ladybug,” he smirked. Then he bent down and whispered: “Either way, you look stunning.”

  I felt a shiver and a jolt of white-hot heat rattle through my body at the same time.

  The butterflies swarming in my stomach quadrupled when we stepped inside the restaurant. Dim candlelight flickered across the exposed brick walls. Soft jazz music played in the background. Tinted glass windows at the edge of the dining room overlooked the sun setting on the Connecticut River.

  Yep. This was definitely a date.

  We were seated at a round booth at the edge of the dining room. The booth’s tufted velvet bench curved around the small table, which meant we were sitting side by side rather than across from each other. We were close; close enough that when I inhaled, my lungs filled with his aftershave. And that probably meant we were close enough that he could hear how heavily my heart was beating in my chest, too.

  There was something so intimate about it all -- the dim light, the soft shadows, the jazz music, the round booth that forced us to sit closer together, the privacy of the long white tablecloth that draped over our legs…

  “Good evening, Mr. Hudson,” a waiter said, startling me out of my thoughts. He bowed his head at Brady, then he turned to me: “I hear that congratulations are in order?”

  My eyes went wide and I bit my bottom lip. I glanced nervously across the table at Brady, begging for a cue.

  “Good news must travel fast,” Brady said without missing a beat. He flashed me a reassuring smile, then grinned up at the waiter.

  “It does when you’re a local hero, Mr. Hudson,” the waiter said. “While you take a moment to look over the menu, I’ll bring you a bottle of champagne to celebrate, compliments of the house.”

  I watched the waiter weave his way back through the maze of tables towards the kitchen.

  “You still can’t say it,” Brady said.

  “Still can’t say what?”

  “That I’m your fiancé. You looked like a deer in the headlights when the waiter mentioned it.”

  I sighed. Brady was right: I was reluctant to spread the news that we were engaged.

  “Maybe that’s because you’re not really my fiancé,” I reminded him.

  “Ouch,” Brady smirked.

  “I’m just trying to minimize the damage,” I said honestly. “The more we dig ourselves into this hole, the harder it’ll be to climb back out when it all blows over.”

  “Who says it has to blow over?”

  “Come on, Brady,” I said. “We both know how this is going to end.”

  “How is it going to end?” there was a slight smile on his lips, but his eyes were narrowed. Then he added: “That’s a serious question. We still haven’t discussed our game plan.”

  He was still smiling playfully, but I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. Instead, I stared at the tablecloth.

  “This just needs to last until my mom--” I couldn’t finish that sentence. I squeezed my arms around my waist and tried to resist the involuntary shiver that rattled down my spine. Then I felt something warm land on my shoulder: Brady’s hand. He gave me a gentle squeeze.

  “Well considering how your mom is gonna beat this thing and be around for a few more decades,” Brady said encouragingly, “Maybe I should have thought a little harder about what I was committing to.”

  I took a deep breath. I wished that he was right, but we both knew that if that was truly the case, I wouldn’t have been desperate enough to stage a fake marriage in the first place.

  “Anyways. I was hoping we could do it quietly,” I said. “Annulment. Irreconcilable differences. That kind of thing.”

  “You thought you could get rid of me that easily?” Brady smiled.

  “Not at this rate,” I sighed, leaning back in the booth. “Now that half the town knows we’re getting married, we’ll owe them a better story than that. Maybe even a scandal: I’m the grieving wife, you’re the cheating husband with a wandering eye…”

  “Pfft!” Brady reeled back in protest. “And damage my reputation as the ‘local hero’?! Not a chance!”

  “Local hero,” I laughed, shaking my head. “When did you go and become a legend on me, Brady Hudson?”

  “Maybe you would have noticed, if you ever paid any attention to me,” Brady said playfully. There was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and I found myself tracing my tongue along the edge of my own lips, wondering how his mouth would feel on mine.

  “I always paid attention to you,” I said. My voice came out low and soft, like I was telling him a secret. I guess in a way, I was. I had always noticed Brady Hudson. He had been my first crush… he had made me feel things that I had never felt before. And then we had gotten older and drifted apart...

  “Is that so?” his grey eyes pierced straight into me, holding me hostage in his stare. “Did you have a little crush on the boy next door?”

  “No.” Yes. My cheeks were on fire and my heart was pounding so hard in my chest that it could replace the percussion section of a marching band.

  “Come on, Ladybug…”

  “Maybe,” I admitted.

  He smiled and looked away. Did I just make Brady Hudson blush?

  Before either of us could say anything, the waiter was back with the champagne.

  Getting lost in Brady’s deep grey eyes had made me feel drunk, but when the waiter interrupted us, I immediately sobered up.

  Why the hell did I just admit to having a crush on Brady?! I cringed, biting down on my bottom lip.

  “I’ll give you another moment to look over the dinner menu,” the waiter bowed politely, then he scurried off again.

  “We should toast,” Brady said. He raised a glass of champagne, and I did the same.

  “Ok,” I said. “How about… to growing up together.”

  He gazed at me thoughtfully, then he
smiled and leaned in a little bit closer. In a low voice, he said: “To being all grown up.”

  He clinked his champagne flute against mine as his eyes wandered down, inspecting my neck, shoulders, chest…

  I blushed and took a sip of champagne.

  “Speaking of being all grown up,” Brady said, shifting back in the booth. “I feel like I’ve seen more of you this past week than I have in the last five years. What have you been up to lately?”

  “You mean besides watching my mom fight cancer?” I asked, sounding a bit more bitter than I meant to. “Because that’s pretty much been a full-time gig for the last five years.”

  “Besides that,” Brady said.

  “Ok, let’s see…” I scrambled.

  “Do you still teach?” Brady asked. “Second grade, right?”

  “I’m surprised you remember that,” I blushed. “But uh… no. I stopped teaching full-time so that I could be around more for my mom when she was diagnosed with cancer. I still work as a substitute teacher during the school year, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my mom’s treatments or--”

  “Ok, I’m making a new rule,” Brady announced. “For the rest of the night, you aren’t allowed to use the words ‘cancer’ or ‘treatment,’ or anything else related to that.”

  “Sorry,” I blushed. “I know you don’t want to hear about it…”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to hear about it,” Brady said. “But I want to hear about you, too.”

  I blinked a few times. “What about me?”

  Brady cocked his head. His brow wrinkled.

  “What do you do when you’re by yourself? When you don’t have to worry about anyone else, and you can be totally and completely selfish?”

  My skin tingled and I bit down on my bottom lip.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” he continued, his voice getting softer and slower. “It’s the end of a long day, and you can finally let your hair down and relax…”