Page 1 of Sparking Sara

Part One

Denver

Chapter One

“You’re a good man to have around, Andrews,” Captain Ingram says as we’re exiting the building, the last remnants of smoke wafting out the doorway with us before it dissipates into the clear sky.

“Yeah, as long as motor vehicles aren’t involved, he’s your guy,” someone grunts out behind us.

The captain turns around, trying to figure out which one of his team said it. “You spouting off your smart mouth again, Nolan?”

Geoff Nolan tries to look all innocent. “Me? No, Cap, I wouldn’t do that.”

Geoff and the other guys walk around us back to the rig, shaking their heads at me as they go by. None of them are happy about me being here. I’m only filling in for one shift while someone attends a funeral, but for them, I guess that’s one shift too many.

“Don’t let them get to you, son,” Captain Ingram says. “You did great today.”

I shrug. “Thanks. But he’s right. I’m crap when it comes to MVAs.”

He puts a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “I’ve heard the talk. And I’m sorry as hell about your parents. But I’ve also seen you in action.” He nods back to the building we just vacated. “You can have my back in a fire anytime. Youdidhave my back. I’d be in the ICU with a tube shoved down my throat by now if you hadn’t thought quickly the way you did.”

“Thanks, Captain. Maybe you could keep me in mind if something opens up on Engine 89.”

“Uh … sure.”

I can hear his hesitation. He tries to hide it, but it’s there. It’s always there. Nobody will come right out and say it—well, except for that asshole Geoff Nolan—but everyone thinks it. Everyone knows I’m skittish when it comes to car accidents. For two months now, I’ve tried not to be. I’ve tried to put the thought of my parents—cold, trapped, and dying in a frozen car that got wrapped around a tree at the bottom of an embankment—out of my mind. I try not to think about them slowly freezing to death with blood from their injuries icing to their skin. I try not to think about the fact that they could have been saved if someone had been there to help them.

It’s the reason I wanted to become a firefighter. But it’s also the reason I’m not a very good one.

Car accidents. They plague my dreams. They are the root of my nightmares. I don’t even like toridein cars. Living in New York City is perfect for someone like me, because having a car is not a necessity. Riding in a rig is different. Nobody misses the big red fire truck coming down the street.

Back at the firehouse, I grab a magazine and spend the rest of my shift by myself in the bunk designated for detailed firefighters—the floaters who fill in for the regular guys who are on leave.

My phone rings. It’s my sister, Aspen.

“Hey, Pen. What’s up?”

“Did I catch you at work?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you today?”

“Engine 89, just over the bridge.”

“How do you like it?” she asks.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old.”

She sighs into the phone. Aspen never wanted me to become a firefighter—for obvious reasons. But if nothing else, I live to prove my sister wrong. Hell if she’s going to tell me what I can and can’t do. I spent the better part of the last few years with too many people doing that. It’s time I write my own story. Live my own life. Control my own future.

Aspen’s best friend, Bass, works for FDNY too, over at Engine 319. He’s a hero in her eyes. Especially after what he did for his wife. And even though my sister and I are as close as two siblings can be—we are twins, after all—I’m not sure I will ever measure up totheSebastian Briggs.

“I wanted to let you know Sawyer and I are coming to town next week.”

I laugh. “I kind of figured that, considering the Royals are playing a series with the Nighthawks.”

Aspen’s husband, Sawyer Mills, is the shortstop for the Royals. He used to play here in New York for the Hawks, which is why they still own a townhouse here. The townhouse I now live in since it sits empty most of the year.

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