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“Tiny, make sure Abrams’s rope attachment is secure.”

“You got it, Boss,” he answers.

Stokes and Cap are already inching their way forward, gently talking to the jumper. “Come on, man. There’s always a way out.”

The middle-aged man shakes his head. “No, this is the only way.”

From my experience, when someone waits until backup is called and for the fire department to arrive, they want to be saved. If he really wanted to jump, he’d have done so before we arrived to stop him.

Fly Guy slowly gets into position to jump, if needed. The harness around his body is attached to a long rope that’s hooked onto the truck.

“Come back on over to this side, and let’s talk it out. I’ve seen a lot of stuff in my day. I promise you we can figure this out. You don’t want to do this,” Cap says.

The guy looks back at Captain, and the tension in his face falters. He stares back to the water and then back at Cap. There’s something about Captain that people trust. He just has this jolly, honest appearance to him. It’s the Santa Claus factor, as the guys in the house like to call it. Rosy cheeks and a big belly that jiggles like a bowl full of jelly—it’s a thing.

Back at the firehouse, we have a theory that people trust Cap because the “Santa Claus factor” takes them back to their youth when anything was possible and wishes came true. That, or the simple fact that Cap is a stand-up guy and radiates that goodness through and through.

“Someday, it won’t hurt as much. I guarantee it. That’s the day you must fight for because it’ll happen, but only if you come back to this side.” Cap’s tone is smooth and reassuring.

The moment the man decides not to jump is evident. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he blows out a breath. I rush forward and wrap my arms around him. Stokes and Cap do the same.

“Come on, man,” I say as we pull him back over the railing. “There you go.” He slumps down on the pavement.

I nod toward Stokes, and using the cutters, he removes the weighted plate.

* * *

“Cheers to Capand another life saved.” Fly Guy lifts his beer to give recognition to our captain.

“And to all his helper elves,” Pauly D shouts.

Deacon stops recording and taps on the screen of his phone, sending the short clip to Cap, who’s at home with his wife. “You didn’t have to add the elves’ part.” He raises a brow toward Pauly.

Jamison Stokes nods in agreement. “Yeah, you know he hates the ‘Santa Claus factor.’”

Pauly leans back in his chair and takes a swig of his beer. “Well, it is what it is. Not enough people embrace who they really are.” He smirks.

“Right,” I draw out slowly. “Because Cap really does get dressed in a red suit to fly around the world in one night delivering gifts.”

“Look.” Pauly shrugs. “I don’t know why the guy gets so uptight about the comparison. Everyone loves Santa. It’s a compliment.”

Deacon’s girlfriend, Cam, steps up to the table and looks around expectantly. “Hey, guys. Ready for another round?”

“Yes.”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

The guys chime off in agreement.

She raises a brow. “Anything different? Speak up now, or you’re getting the same.”

“The same drink is perfect, gorgeous,” Snow says with a slight slur, tipping his empty glass toward Cam.

“Hell, no. Snow’s cut off,” Deacon barks out. “You’ll address her by her name from now on.”

“What?” Snow argues, his voice rises an octave. “I’m not even wasted.”

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