Page 1 of Playing with Fire

Chapter One

~Beckett~

A woman’s forceful, grating ode to Mickey hit Beckett’s ears as he wandered into the engine bay of Applewood Fire Station Number One. Despite the fact that his eardrums nearly burst at the intrusive noise, he smiled contentedly as he walked to the music’s source. In the twelve years that Beckett had been a member of the fire department in his small hometown of Applewood, Washington, he’d been exposed to a lot of horrible music, but none more awful than that chosen by the current fire chief, Mason Trilby.

The burly bear of a man was his mentor, someone Beckett had looked up to since he first became interested in fire safety. Over time, it had become apparent that the man’s wisdom did not extend to his musical taste. Chief Trilby insisted that the 1980s were the Golden Age of Music, but instead of blasting classic hits from artists like Queen, Bon Jovi, or Michael Jackson, his playlist was a series of one-hit-wonders that were in the cultural zeitgeist for mere seconds before disappearing into obscurity. While Beckett could appreciate and sing along with the occasional hair band power ballad, his own interest in 80smusic began and ended there.

Shaking his head in dismay at the continuation of the earsplitting wailing, Beckett strode further into the open bay to find the chief bopping along to the melody, his voice hoarse from repeating the chorus. The silver strands in his otherwise black hair caught the light from the fluorescent bulbs above as he shamelessly enjoyed the song, singing to his heart’s content. The other crew member on shift seemed less inclined to indulge the man, and instead scurried around the fire truck like a red-headed squirrel while doing his daily maintenance checks.

“Do you really have to torture the rookie with this shit?” Beckett asked his superior.

Chief Trilby acknowledged Beckett’s presence by raising a stiff middle finger. “Fuck off. This is part of the soundtrack of my youth. I won’t have you besmirching the good name of one Miss Tony Basil.” The chief’s admonishment, while spoken gruffly, was infused with the same good humor he regularly possessed. When the older man finally turned toward Beckett, he smirked. “Besides, the new guy likes it. Don’t you, probie?”

Dale Banks, the probationary firefighter in question, peeked around the corner. Like a groundhog on the prairie with his sudden, noiseless appearance, Dale ran his fingers through his reddish-brown hair, his slight overbite more obvious as he gnawed his lower lip nervously. His eyes were wide and filled with panic as he faced Beckett, his hand disappearing into his ruddy curls once again. It was a situation Beckett had dealt with before, not knowing whether to be completely honest or tell the boss what he wanted to hear.

In the end, he had always chosen to tell the truth because that’s just the kind of person he was. His parents raised him accordingly, but that didn’t mean Beckett didn’t also feel his stomach drop as he considered his options. Despite the oscillating fan directly behind him, Dale sweated as he weighedthe pros and cons of his potential answer. Ultimately, he gulped down his apprehension and jutted his chin out defiantly.

“No, sir. I think it sounds like shit,” Dale answered plainly, his expression equal parts bravery and fear as he watched the chief straighten from his position, drop his wrench on the floor with a loudclang, and march over to where he stood stalk still.

“What was that, probie? You think it’s shit?” Chief Trilby didn’t flinch as Dale blinked rapidly, trying to determine if he had just signed his own walking papers. His face turned a sickly shade of pea soup green. He looked like he might toss his cookies at any second as he faced his boss.

After a weighted silence, Dale nodded solemnly, causing the chief’s stern mask to slip as he guffawed, clasping the younger man on the shoulders. “You’re alright, probie,” he assured him. Chief Trilby bestowed a wide smile upon the young man before turning back to Beckett. With the chief’s back to him, Dale slumped in relief and he took in his first breath within the last two minutes.

The man was built like a tank, had a series of expressions that could curdle milk, and would give anyone a dressing-down so terrifying that it made them want to cry like a baby in their mama’s lap, but that was the thing about Fire Chief Trilby. No matter how intimidating he was, he always made people feel like they belonged. It was exactly the same way he made Beckett feel during his own probation, still made him feel every time he walked into the station, and the way Beckett hoped to make others feel when he became chief one day.

Gaining the top position at the station had always been a dream of his. Beckett always knew that he wanted to help others in his hometown, but it had always been a vague notion until the day it became blindingly clear. Since the night a fire broke out nearly fifteen years ago on his family’s apple farm, Beckettunderstood what he was meant to do. That wild night was seared into his memory, never dulling or fading as the years passed. If anything, it only grew more vivid with each passing day.

****

A summer storm had rolled in from the coast, not something that was entirely out of the ordinary for a town in the Pacific Northwest. The sheer amount of lightning that struck the fields that night, however, was something to behold. Beckett and his four brothers had been standing near the big windows in the family room, watching the orchard get lit up by the bolts of electricity that seemed to burn brighter than the sun, creating shadow play among the trees and outer buildings that was both beautiful and terrifying. The spell they’d found themselves under was broken the moment their dad had rushed into the room shouting about the barn being on fire.

The barn had been the main source of storage for the orchard. Losing it would cost the family dearly both financially and emotionally. Their mom immediately ran into the kitchen to call emergency services while his older brother Aiden shuttled the three younger boys into another room. The only reason Beckett knew any of that presently was because it was recounted to him later that night. The minute his dad turned to leave the house, Beckett was hot on his heels.

Rain-soaked earth had given way under the weight of Beckett’s heavy boots as he raced after his dad. The moment his father caught sight of Beckett behind him, he turned and yelled at the teen. “Get back in the house, Beckett! The barn is lost.”

The panic in his father’s voice rang out over the rolling thunder and cracks of lightning, practically punching Beckett in the chest. Yet he didn’t heed the man’s words. Instead, Beckett ran closer to the flames, knowing that the space between the fiery barn and every tree that stood on The Kemp Family Farm was short enough that even a small spark could destroy hisfamily’s entire livelihood. It took all of two seconds for Beckett to decide exactly what he was going to do. He sprinted toward the garden shed, grabbed the hoses hanging up on the wall, and ran back outside where he tossed one to his dad.

Nolan Kemp stared at Beckett like he was a crazy man. Maybe he had been slightly off his rocker, but saving the farm was also the most natural thing for him to do. “Hook yours up to the north spigot, I’ll get the south. Spray the surrounding area as much as you can so the fire won’t spread beyond the barn.” Not bothering to wait for a reply, Beckett ran to the nearest faucet and hooked up the hose, raining water down everywhere he could reach.

Heat licked his exposed face, neck, and arms as he worked and singed the small hairs all over his body, but Beckett hadn’t felt any pain. He was driven by a bone-deep determination to get the job done, to prevent any more loss or a larger tragedy from occurring. Eventually, the fire department showed up. Their hoses, along with the rain that eventually followed the electrical storm, put out the rest of the fire. Beckett’s dad had been correct about the barn being a lost cause as it was burned to a crisp and ready to collapse at any moment, but it could have been so much worse. Because of Beckett’s quick thinking and action, it hadn’t been.

As the fire crew packed up and the chief talked to his dad, a younger guy approached Beckett and gave him a light slug on the shoulder. “Hey, kid,” the man began with a smile. “You did good.” Without another word, he walked back to the fire truck. With the storm over and the fire out, Beckett was once again surrounded by nothing but darkness from the night sky and the smell of charred wood and earth. One thing was blindingly clear. He was meant to fight fires, save people, and always do good.

****

“Sleeping on the job, Kemp?” Chief Trilby slugged him onthe shoulder as he passed by, just like he did that night all those years ago. “Or were you daydreaming of that big rescue from the other day?”

Snorting, Beckett followed the chief back to his tools and grabbed a screwdriver, tossing it back and forth between his large hands. “I wouldn’t exactly call getting a cat from a tree abigrescue, and I am definitely not daydreaming about it.”

Applewood was a small town. That coupled with an increase in fire safety standards in building materials and maintenance meant there were very few fires that actually needed putting out, so most of the calls to the station were for minor fender benders, medical emergencies, and the occasional animal rescue. It was a pretty easy gig. Though Beckett didn’t wish for more fires or more serious emergencies to fall upon the town, he sometimes wished something more exciting than a feline rescue would happen.

Beckett’s eyes flicked up to Chief Trilby’s, which held a knowing glint. “I meant the woman the cat belonged to, dummy.” He shook his head sadly as he mumbled something about “kids these days,” a phrase that made Beckett chuckle seeing as how he was hardly a kid. At thirty-two years old, he’d technically been a man for a long time and felt like one much longer than that.

“Nah,” he replied honestly. The woman seemed nice enough. Beckett didn’t miss her batting her eyelashes at him in appreciation when he handed her the black Bombay cat she had called about in a panic, but he was unmoved when he gazed back at her. She had been attractive enough with her dark hair and red lips, but beyond a passing appreciation for her symmetrical features, he felt nothing. No zip, no zing. “No sparks.”

Only a handful of times had Beckett felt that sense of intense possibility, but it always disappeared after a date or two with the woman, never lasting for the entirety of therelationship. It was like striking a flint with steel, seeing flickers of what could be and hoping it would flare up into a firestorm, only to watch it burn away into nothing but a small puff of smoke. In his past relationships, Beckett kept things going for much longer than he should have. He hoped that if he tried hard enough, if he kept striking that flint, eventually things would catch fire. Beckett didn’t put much stock in manifestation, but he had always believed he couldwillsomething more solid to happen between him and whoever he was with. It never did.

Chief Trilby snorted and focused back on the engine. “Sparks are for dreamy teens and romance novels. Real love takes time and work.”

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