Page 10 of The Firefighter's Fate

“You really are a coward, aren’t you? You’re not as tough as your brothers, and they’re all pussies.”

“Don’t talk shit about my brothers,” I growl.

He’s really crossing a fucking line.

“Hang on, didn’t one of them get into a car crash and die?” the man asks, chuckling at the realization. “A fucking car crash? Yeah, that’s what I heard. Someone hit him? He wasn’t looking? He was that dumb he couldn’t even drive. He sounds like he was the biggest pussy of all the Penmayne brothers, even more than you.”

He’s talking about Arthur - my brother who did die in a car crash.

I glance at Eric. He’s looking at me.

We know that this has pushed past the limit. We know this means a fight.

I can’t back down now, not when he’s insulted my fucking dead brother.

There was more of a man in Arthur’s little finger than in this drunk man’s entire body.

And he’s about to understand that it ain’t a good idea to start a fight with a Penmayne...

I get up slowly. I draw up to my full height. I’m now the one looming over. I am far, far taller than this bloke. He takes me in. I must look bigger and stronger than when I am sitting at a table hunched over nursing my beer.

“Last chance,” I whisper at the man. “Leave now, or we’ll have trouble. Last. Fucking. Chance.”

He looks me up and down one last time before he’s snarling.

“Arthur Penmayne was a real big pussy,” he sneers. “And he deserved to die.”

I don’t remember much of what happens next, but I do know I swing the first punch.

And I know it makes contact.

My apartment is practically empty, and sort of deliberately so. I’m not a man of many possessions or memorabilia - there are barely any decorations or furniture in here that aren’t a necessity. And that’s because I don’t even spend much time here – I’m always at the station. And on my days off, I’m always somewhere else.

That bar... that man...

I head straight for the bathroom when I enter my apartment and proceed to wash my face before I dare look at my reflection in the mirror. There’s a dark bruise over my eye. It’ll go away soon. I’m not worried about it. I check my arms and neck. No other marks. At least I wasn’t too badly beaten up this time - just some blood that’ll easily wash off in the shower.

I did win that fight, though, even if I didn’t want to take part in it.

Fuck.

I don’t want to have anything to do with my family, but I won’t hear a bad thing said about any one of my brothers. Especially not about Arthur.

I just want to help people, not participate in fights.

Yeah, a bar brawl really helps people, you idiot.

I sigh and pat the bruise on my face. I was stupid for getting involved with that mouthy thug, but now he’s learned his lesson. And he was the one who came up to me and started talking shit. What did he expect would happen?

Did he think I wouldn’t defend my honor?

I’m glad I’ve got my firefighter friends backing me up, no matter what. They came to my side immediately once I threw that first punch and the thug’s mates all rushed in. My crew made short work of them. We always have each other’s backs. The fight was over pretty damn quickly. A real fight doesn’t last as long as in the movies. My brother Victor is an actor in blockbuster movies, and the amount of inaccurate fistfights I’ve seen him in on the big screen always makes me laugh when I have participated in my fair share of brawls.

It doesn’t need to be said that the thugs were on the losing side of today’s particular skirmish.

These bruises will come and go, but the one thing that permanently hurts is that the man at the bar spoke of Arthur. I hate being reminded of the brother I love the most. I hate hearing a single bad word spoken of him.

He’s the brother who shouldn’t have been taken away so early...

---