Page 53 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
If it’d been anyone else, I would’ve let the silence hang, kept nursing my drink, and stared a hole through the glass. But Frank isn’t just anyone to me. He’s the retired fire chief, the man who shaped half the firefighters in this town, me most of all.
My mentor, my sounding board, the guy who’s had my back even when I didn’t deserve it. Respect doesn’t even cover it. If Frank wants to talk, I damn well listen.
I glance sideways to find him standing there, dressed sharply in his navy blazer and a crisp white shirt. His hands are tucked into his pockets, the lines of his face deeper tonight, but his eyes are sharp as ever.
“You been hiding back here long enough, son?” he says, rocking back on his heels.
I let out a slow breath, the corner of my mouth twitching with something that might pass for a smile. “Long enough.”
Frank studies me for a beat, then jerks his chin toward the crowd. “You pulled this off again, you know. The department’s lucky. The town looks good tonight, and people are supporting.”
I nod, but my neck feels stiff like it’s made of stone. “Doesn’t feel like I’ve done much worth celebrating.”
Frank doesn’t say anything, not right away. Just shifts his stance to look at me. When he does speak, his voice is quieter, laced with something more serious.
“You’re not just nursing that drink, Noah,” he says, eyes narrowing. “You’re sulking.”
I let out a humorless laugh, low and dry. “Maybe.”
He tips his head, waiting, the way he always does when he knows I’m holding something back. The silence stretches between us until the words scrape out of me, rough and low.
“I fucked up, Frank.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and it’s as if the confession takes the air with it.
Frank doesn’t seem surprised; he doesn’t even bat an eye. Just shifts his weight, leaning one shoulder against the post beside me.
“Isn’t the first time you’ve said that in your life,” he replies, casual as ever. “Won’t be the last, either. The question is: did you fuck up so bad you can’t fix it?”
I don’t answer because I don’t know. Or maybe I do. Maybe the answer’s written all over the last five days.
“I feel like I’m letting something good slip away, and I can’t do anything to help it,” I say finally, my voice rough with self loathing. “And I’m not sure I deserve something so good.”
Frank is quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed somewhere out over the crowd.
“You know, back when I met my wife,” he starts, his tone dipping into that old storyteller rhythm of his.
“I thought I’d blown it before I ever stood a chance. Young and stupid, like most men are when they first meet someone who could change everything. I spent weeks avoiding her. Thought I was doing her a favor, keeping my mess away from her. Turns out, I was just scared. And scared men... they don’t make for good decision-makers.”
I glance over, catching the faint smile at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, I wonder how he figured out it was about a woman.
“You’re not scared of another chance, Noah. You’re scared to let her see you.”
His words burn harder than the whiskey, knocking through the walls I’ve spent years stacking.
“She deserves better than what I can ever give her,” I say, the words more for myself than him.
“Maybe,” Frank shrugs. “But better’s not always about being perfect. Sometimes it’s about being honest. Showing up, even when you feel like hell. That’s the part most men get wrong.”
I’m about to respond, to say something, anything…..when I feel the air shift around us.
It’s subtle at first. The hum of voices softens, and the clink of glass fades like the room’s taken a collective breath. My head turns without thinking, drawn by the same invisible thread that’s pulled the entire crowd.
And then I see her.
Kate.
Wait,Kate?
