Page 7 of Embers in Autumn
Goddamn it.
I didn’t waste another second. “Mask up.” My voice was calm, but my heart spiked. This was the part you never got used to.
I hauled the mask over my face, strapped my air tank tight, and motioned for Connor to follow with the line. Heat slammed into me as we breached the back door, flames clawing up the kitchen cabinets, smoke rolling like a living thing. Visibility dropped to nothing, just the orange glow and the hiss of water as Connor hit the fire.
“Keep it low!” I ordered. “Short bursts—don’t flood it!”
I dropped to my knees, crawling, my gloved hand sweeping the floor. The air was a furnace, every breath rasping through themask. Somewhere above the roar, I heard it—a bark, sharp and frantic.
“Got him!” I shouted, pushing forward.
The husband was crouched in the corner, a golden retriever pressed against his chest. His face was streaked with soot, his breath ragged.
“Let’s go!” I hauled him up, slinging his arm over my shoulder while Connor kept the spray steady, buying us precious seconds. The dog scrambled at our heels, nails skittering on the linoleum.
We stumbled out into the open air, the coolness hitting like a wave. The wife sobbed, throwing herself around her husband, around the dog. The crowd clapped and cried, relief crashing over them in noisy waves.
Behind me, Mike called out, “Ventilation’s good! Fire’s under control!” Santos gave a sharp whistle of confirmation.
I yanked my mask off, sucking in the crisp October air, sweat running in rivers beneath my jacket. My pulse was still a hammer, but already I knew this one wasn’t going to haunt me tonight. Everyone was out. Everyone was alive.
I turned back, watching Connor drag the last of the hose toward the truck, smoke still curling into the sky. Rookie or not, he’d held steady. That was something.
“Good work,” I called, voice hoarse but firm.
He glanced back, eyes wide behind the mask, and nodded hard.
By the time we rolled back into the station, the adrenaline had worn thin, leaving only the ache in my shoulders and the lingering sting of smoke in my throat. The rookie looked like he might collapse into a puddle, Mike was already digging for another pack of jerky, and Santos leaned against the truck like he owned it. Normal, in our way.
We cleaned gear, stowed equipment, logged the run. Thenthe shift was over, and just like that, the world outside the firehouse started creeping back in.
I drove across town, the weight of the day sliding off piece by piece, until the neon glow of a pizza joint pulled me in. A double pepperoni, Lana’s favorite. Greasy, cheesy, the kind of thing that made her smile no matter how sour her mood.
By the time I carried it up the walkway to our house, the sun was low, spilling orange over the shingles. The place wasn’t much. A modest two-story, cream siding that needed a paint job, shutters that had seen better years. But the porch was solid, and the light in the front window always came on when we walked inside.
It was home.
I kicked off my boots in the narrow entryway, setting the pizza box on the counter. The house smelled faintly of old wood and laundry detergent.
“Lana?” I called.
No answer.Typical.
I found her upstairs, sprawled across her bed with a book in hand, the lamplight pooling across her hair. Always reading. Always disappearing into some other world.
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. At least she wasn’t glued to her phone like most kids her age. But still, sometimes I worried. Reading was safe, quiet. Too quiet. I wanted her to have friends, laughter, a life that didn’t feel so… small.
Raising a twelve-year-old girl wasn’t something you could learn in a manual. Half the time, I had no damn clue what I was doing. She wasn’t a little kid anymore, but she wasn’t grown either. One wrong word and she’d either roll her eyes or break into tears. And me? I was just trying not to screw her up more than life already had.
She looked up and spotted me, her whole face lighting up.“Dad!”
That grin—God, it killed me every time.
“Come on down,” I said, lifting the box. “Got your favorite.”
She shot up from the bed, book abandoned, and practically flew down the stairs ahead of me. At the table, she flipped the lid open like it was Christmas morning.
“Double pepperoni. Yes!” She grabbed a slice, cheese stretching, sauce already dripping onto her plate.
