Page 17 of Nanny for the Firefighters
My guts twist, but once everything is compiled in a private Dropbox, I send Mr. Davis the link.
After staring at my screen for a few more minutes in contemplation, I create one more private Dropbox and slot Tiffany's anniversary photo into it from a few weeks ago, also time stamped, and I send it off anonymously to Theo.
Gathering the last of my things, I give one more glance over the apartment and blow it a kiss goodbye. Time to move on to bigger and better things.
8
THEO
The morning at the station rolls in as usual, with the scent of coffee mingling with the sweet, doughy aroma of donuts—a brief reprieve before the day ramps up into the usual whirlwind. My hands wrap around a steaming mug, fingers absorbing the warmth as my eyes catch the twinkle of the rising sun through the bay windows.
"I swear, these donuts are the glue holding this team together," I quip, tossing a sugary pastry toward Ethan, who catches it with less grace than a cat in a bath.
He grins, sugar dusting his lips. "Sure, Sparks, and your jokes are the sandpaper."
Laughter bubbles around us, but beneath the banter, my mind wanders to Ella. She seems really nice, Lily clearly loves her, and the boys are evidently smitten. She's pretty too, I think with a dry chuckle.
Not that I intend to do anything. I'm a committed guy, girlfriend and all, but it's nice to see new friendly faces around, especially ones that don't want to kick my butt in weekly poker games.
Ethan, catching my momentarily distant look, elbows me gently. "Penny for your thoughts on the new nanny?"
"She seems cool, man. Good with Lily, too. And before you start, yes, I'm still happily taken," I remind him, knowing his mind is running down its usual tracks.
"Dude, just checking. You know with Derek sniffing around?—"
I cut him off, not needing another reminder of my girlfriend's new 'friend'. "Let's leave my home drama out of the firehouse, alright? What about you? Still thinking of asking her out?"
Ethan's face scrunches up, a blend of mischief and defense. "Hey, I'm just happy we might get someone competent for Lily. But yeah, she's… interesting."
Before I can rib him further, the alarm cuts through the station like a siren call. We drop our casual postures, instantly shifting into professional mode. The dispatcher's voice is calm, urgent. "Structure fire reported downtown, possible entrapment. All units, respond."
Adrenaline spikes, and my heart shifts gears. This is it. The switch flips, and I'm all in. Grabbing my helmet, I meet Marcus's gaze as he points directly at me. "Theo, you're on point for this. Take lead."
"Got it, Captain," I respond, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders like a familiar cloak.
We hustle to the engines, the clatter of gear and the rumble of the trucks filling the air with chaotic harmony. As we pull out of the station, the morning tranquility of our small town is shattered by the urgency of our sirens. The streets blur past, a smear of colors behind the urgent wail of our approach.
Ethan, geared up beside me, throws a last quip my way, tension lining his words. "Make it count, Sparks. People are counting on us."
They always are, I think, my mind laser-focused on the task ahead. The details from dispatch replay in my head—location, possible hazards, the number of people reported inside. Every second, every detail counts.
As we turn onto Main Street, the column of smoke rises like a dark beacon guiding us to the heart of the emergency. The acrid scent of burning reaches us, a stark reminder of what's at stake. We're moments away, the truck slowing as we approach the scene.
"There," Bran, the safety officer, points to a building pouring smoke, flames licking at the windows. "Get ready, team."
The truck halts, and I'm the first out, my boots hitting the pavement with the full force of my resolve. Ahead, the burning restaurant looms, a beast we're about to tame.
Heat wraps around us like a suffocating blanket as we push through the smoke-choked entrance of the restaurant. I lead, hose in hand, my team close behind, each of us hyper-aware of the crackling, roaring beast that dances through the building with wild abandon.
"Keep your heads down and stay on me," I shout over the cacophony, my voice barely cutting through the roar of the flames. The visibility is nearly zero, the smoke a thick curtain that obscures the once familiar layout of the local diner. It's like navigating the belly of some great beast, every step forward met with resistance from the fire that hungrily eats through the structure.
The heat is oppressive, a physical weight on our shoulders, and the air is a toxic mix of smoke and the acrid smells of burning plastic and wood. I lead with practiced caution, my mind cataloging every obstacle, every potential danger. The floor beneath our feet groans ominously, a stark reminder of the building's fragility under the inferno's embrace.
"Watch it," I call out as a beam, glowing red with heat, crashes down a few feet ahead of us, sending sparks showering into the smoky air. We skirt around it, pressing closer to the ground where the air is marginally clearer.
As we advance, the muffled cries for help guide us deeper into the restaurant. The sound is both a beacon and a harrowing reminder of what's at stake. My heart pounds against my ribcage, not just from the exertion but also the adrenaline that spikes with every shout, every crackle and pop of the fire consuming the building around us.
"Over here!" Our emergency medical technician, Martinez's, voice cuts through the chaos, guiding us to a corner of the kitchen where three people huddle, coughing violently as they clutch each other. They're kitchen staff, their white uniforms stained with soot and fear.