Page 1 of Every Beat of My Heart

CHAPTER 1

JAMESON

Anthony turned the rig into an older neighborhood with mature trees, sliding to a stop in front of a small house. It was a routine call for a fire at a residential home. But we were prepared for anything.

I opened the door and hopped out, the fire alarm sounding. My fellow firefighters followed behind me with the hose. I pounded on the door, and it swung open.

“Where’s the fire?” I barked at the kid who stood in the doorway looking fearful.

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “In the kitchen.”

“Anyone else in the house?” I yelled following the smell of smoke.

“No,” he called back.

“You need to go outside,” I ordered, making a mental note to talk to him about a proper fire escape after the emergency was eliminated.

I relayed the location of the fire to my colleagues and raced toward the kitchen, snagged the fire extinguisher on the counter, and sprayed the flames that were licking the curtains.

Anthony and the rest of the crew followed me with the hose, ensuring no embers remained burning.

On the stove, there was a scorched pan and what looked like a badly burned grilled cheese. The stench of burned food permeated the room even through my mask. The stove top was black, and the cupboards next to the stove were charred.

Most likely, the fire started on the stove and quickly ignited a towel or hot pad, then moved to the curtains. It was a common scenario in kitchens and a dangerous one. In a few more minutes, the room, the one above it, and the entire house would have gone up in flames.

“I’ll talk to the kid,” I said to Anthony, who nodded.

Any time I was on site, the chief wanted me to be the one to engage with the homeowners. My coworkers said I had a way with people, especially panicked ones.

Outside, the kid, who looked to be about twelve or thirteen, stood on the grass, gazing up at the house with a guilty expression on his face.

I pulled off my helmet and asked gently, “Where are your parents?”

He swallowed hard. “My mom’s at work.”

“She on her way?” I asked him.

He nodded.

My jaw tightened, but I worked to keep my tone light. “Is there a reason why you didn’t exit the house immediately?”

“I thought I could get it out. We have a fire extinguisher. I just couldn’t get it to work. I didn’t want it to get worse.”

He wanted to get rid of the fire so he wouldn’t get into trouble. But he didn’t understand how quickly a fire could burn out of control.

“It’s good that you had one. But next time, leave the house at any sign of fire. Don’t try and put it out yourself. You could have been badly burned or injured from smoke inhalation.” He could have died if he hadn’t called 911. Most smoke detectors are designed to get the inhabitants out of the house. They are not a direct line to the fire department unless the house has a security system that links the fire alarm to the fire station.

“I should have. I’m sorry.”

Someone parked a sedan behind the rig. A woman with long, dirty-blond hair got out of the driver’s side in a panic.

“Owen!” she exclaimed in relief as she saw him. She touched his cheeks and rested her forehead on his. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice wobbled.

Owen’s mom was probably just happy he hadn’t been hurt.

“Oh, thank God.” Then his mother hugged him tightly.

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