Page 5 of His Greatest Treasure

I do. Not because I’ve asked to be brought into the drama with his wife but because he’s a talker, and all of his problems become the station’s problems. We’re a family here, yeah, but shit. His marriage has been on the rocks for years now, and he hasn’t done much to fix it. Not as far as I know. But again, it’s not my business.

“Yeah. I know.”

With a pile of clean clothes tucked beneath my arm and my toiletry bag in my hand, I leave the conversation and duck into theshowers, finding the closest available stall before stripping out of my tee and blue uniform pants. Steam fills the space soon after I crank the dial as hot as it’ll go and step into the water.

My neck aches when I drop it and let the pulsing stream of water massage the tight muscles. I’m only twenty-six, but some days, I feel older. Weathered and weighed down. It’s this career, but even still, I don’t think I’d change it for anything.

Being a firefighter gives me a purpose. Something I always felt I lacked in comparison to everyone else in my family. I didn’t grow up with a dozen talents and a head for schoolwork like Jamie did. My grades sucked, and when it came to university, there were no scholarships waiting or a football coach going to boot for me. But I didn’t let that stop me from searching for a passion outside of the normal secondary school route. The moment I found firefighting, I latched onto it and didn’t let go.

Now, seven years out of the academy, I’m one of two lieutenants in our station. A respected member of the team and the entirety of Vancouver Fire. It’s a good life, if not sometimes a harsh and lonely one.

If I have to continue the long stretches of sleepless nights and the overworking of my body in order to continue living the life I have, then that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve never been easily distracted, and I’m content with that.

I don’t see my life changing anytime soon.

I shoot up in bed,my eyes wide and searching my surroundings for the culprit of the bang that woke me. It’s hard to make out anything in the blackness, but as the cloud of sleep starts to drift from my mind, I remember where I am.

The blackout curtains hung over my bedroom window block almost all the light from outside, but as the air-conditioned airblows up from the vent beneath them, they sway, exposing tiny bursts of sun.

Fuck, I’m tired. Throbbing pain between my brows makes me wince. There’s no way I slept as long as I wanted or needed to. I’ve become accustomed to sleeping like shit most of the time, yet with how tired I am right now…

Another loud bang accompanied by a rattling noise makes the pain in my head worsen. My body lags as I stand from the bed and grow dizzy for a second before slumping my way to the window. Parting the curtains, I curse at the blinding sun and squeeze my eyes shut.

“Definitely early morning, then,” I mutter.

Slowly, I open one eye at a time and blink to focus them. The street is relatively full of vehicles, with most people still at home getting ready to leave for work or, like me,sleeping. Nothing I see is out of the ordinary.

I live in a quiet, family-friendly neighbourhood, and over the four years that I’ve been here, I’ve never been woken up by the noises on the street, even while sleeping during the day. Nothing I can see would be the reason for the banging?—

I narrow my stare when I spot a potential culprit. The moving van parked in front of the house beside mine with the wide-open back door that swings in the wind, its chain whipping at the sides.

A breath gets stuck in my windpipe when a woman jumps out from inside of it, a pair of black shorts riding up beneath a round ass and a tank top with the bottom tucked under itself, exposing the entire lower half of her back. Her pink Converse sneakers touch the road a second before she reaches inside the truck and collects a cardboard box with the top open.

A long braid of dirty-blonde hair has slipped over her shoulder and lies along her spine as she carries the box up the sidewalk before disappearing from view. I spin and round my bed in search of my phone. It’s plugged into the charger, but I rip the cord out when I check the time and see that it’s just after sevenin the morning.

I’ve only been home for twelve hours, and now I’m more than annoyed at the disruption. I’m pissed off. Both the exhaustion and throbbing in my head create a terrible concoction of intense irritability.

After finding a pair of sweatpants on the ground, I tug them up my legs and storm out of the room. The porch scrapes against the bottoms of my feet due to the fact I didn’t bother with shoes, but I ignore that as I rush down the stairs and along the sidewalk.

The woman is heading back outside when I abandon the sidewalk and cut across the lawn we share. Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back when she notices me, a surprised sound escaping her. I move another few steps before stopping, now close enough to stare at her mouth and the way her lips shine in the sun, as if she’s just freshly applied lip gloss. It’s odd, considering her face looks otherwise bare of makeup.

Without the window and a large number of yards between us, I notice far more than just her shiny lips. The long braid at her back is messy, with stray strands falling and framing her full cheeks and narrowed chin. Her eyes are round as she watches me and as blue as the sky above us. The freckles splattered over her nose and forehead are a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. With her clothing choice today, I hope she at least put sunscreen on, or she’s going to be burnt to a crisp.

Speaking of clothes . . . she’s missing some from what I gathered during my earlier look. My jaw tightens when I force myself to keep my eyes above her shoulders and not examine the expanse of exposed paleness.

“Do you know what time it is?” I snap. It comes out gruff and really fucking rude.

She blinks slowly, her lips rolling before parting. “What?”

“Do you. Know. What time. It is?”

Her throat jumps with a swallow, and I don’t miss the downward glide of her eyes. They fall to my chest, and I follow them before realizing I only grabbed pants and not a shirt. Anunmistakable sensation of smugness hits me when she continues to stare at my abdomen.

I clear my throat pointedly, and she flinches, snapping her gaze upward and taking a second step back. A splotchy shade of red crawls up her neck before swallowing her cheeks and ears.

“I don’t know the time. Is—is that—is that why you came out here?” she stammers, something soft and almost expectant in her eyes that has me stiffening. I pick up on an almost familiar accent that hangs on to her words.

Crossing my arms, I stare down at her with obvious annoyance, not bothering to hide it. She’s medium height but still far shorter than me.

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