Page 52 of Reckless
“Well, I’m glad your father is on board.”
His nod capped off the conversation, the cool press of the brass door handle in his palm grounding him back in the moment as he ushered Zoe inside the busy bar and grill. They’d managed to stick to keeping things casual pretty easily so far, and without any weirdness or drama to boot. What he really needed to do was file the whole thing underif it ain’t brokeand move the hell on.
Starting right now.
Alex pushed a smile over his mouth, relieved when his mood went along for the ride. “So, you’ll probably remember most of the guys, although there are a few new faces, not all of which belong to guys.”
“Really?” Zoe’s eyes lit with obvious curiosity as they crossed the dark, scuffed hardwood in Bellyflop’s lobby. “When did you guys get a female firefighter at Station Eight?”
“Zoe, please. I know you and your father have kind of avoided talking about the firehouse lately, but don’t you think you’d have heard about us getting a female candidate?”
She arched a brow, all warning. “And why exactly is having a female firefighter on the roster such a big deal? There are plenty of women in the FFD.”
“There are,” Alex agreed, bypassing the smiling hostess in favor of heading toward the open area by the bar. “But Eight is one of the only houses in our district that hasn’t had a female candidate yet. Regardless,anytime we get a candidate, it’s a big deal. You’d probably hear about it no matter what.”
Adding a new person to the house—regardless of gender—was good, sure, but it also had the potential to throw off the firehouse dynamic as the newbie learned the ropes. Cole was usually chill enough to keep everyone on the level and balance out the chaos, but some of the old school firefighters, like squad lieutenant Dennis Osbourne, loved to create chaos for rookies.
A pang of missing his home base hit Alex in the chest, but he shrugged it off. “Anyway, let’s get the roll call out of the way. I’m sure everyone who knows you will want to say hi.” He tipped his head toward the tall bar tables where he could already see Cole, Brennan, and O’Keefe jawing, but rather than keeping time with him as she had all the way through the parking lot, Zoe’s steps slowed.
“Okay,” she said, biting her lip as she dragged her feet to follow him past the maze of softly lit booths and tables scattered throughout the front of the sports bar. The hard, sudden flicker of hesitation in Zoe’s eyes caught him square in the chest.
“You really aren’t used to anyone having your back in the kitchen, are you?”
She paused, then admitted, “That obvious, huh?”
Alex had never dressed things up, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Pretty much. But you don’t have to worry. These guys have my six all the time. I bet once you tell them what you’ve got going on at Hope House, they’ll have yours, too.”
In a handful of strides, they covered the rest of the floorboards leading up to the long bar table where half of Station Eight’s C-shift sat in various states of drinking and joking. Alex’s gut gave one last squeeze of self-preservation, but he stuffed it back as he dialed his expression all the way down on the big-deal meter. Zoe was right. What they did on their own time was up to them, and anyway, they’d come to ask everyone for help at Hope House, not have a relationship reveal-all with his fellow firefighters.
“Someone please tell me who let you animals out of the zoo.” Alex kicked one corner of his mouth up into a tried-and-true smirk as he leaned in to clap his palm against Brennan’s, the expression becoming a full-scale grin at O’Keefe’s chuff of laughter from across the table.
“Right.” The paramedic tipped his time-creased FFD baseball hat at Alex after he and Brennan and Cole had exchanged the requisite hey-how-are-yas. “Because you’re a regular saint. You dick,” O’Keefe added without pulling up on his smile.
“Aw. You miss me. That’s so cute.” Alex lifted a brow before spreading a palm over the front of his T-shirt in mock hurt. “And I’ll have you know, I’m a pussycat.”
“Yeah, you’re a real pu—whoa!” O’Keefe’s words screeched to a halt as Cole’s elbow landed in his rib cage and his eyes landed on the spot where Zoe stood just behind Alex, and not a nanosecond too soon. “Holy crap. Look what the pussycat dragged in. Zoe, is that you?”
Alex took a sidestep to usher her closer to the table. She lifted her hand in a small wave, but the laughter shaping her lips was unmistakable. “Hey, Tom. It’s good to see you again. Nice save, by the way.”
“Thanks,” he said, his cheeks flushing slightly as he tacked on, “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I learned how to swear from the best of them.” Zoe split her easy smile between O’Keefe, Brennan, and Cole. “How have you guys been? Staying out of trouble?”
Cole pointed to the pitcher of beer in front of him in an unspoken question, quickly filling one of the plastic cups on the table at Zoe’s nod. “Trouble is kind of relative when you’re dealing with this group.”
Although Alex had busied himself with pouring a beer of his own, he felt Zoe’s pointed glance as if she’d reached out and touched him. “Funny, I don’t doubt that for a second,” she said, turning toward Brennan and continuing smoothly. “So, how’s it going, Nick? I heard you’re training recruits now. That must be pretty exciting.”
“The academy’s keeping me busy. I can’t complain.”
It was about as wordy as the guy ever got about his return trip to Fairview and his career change, but after what Brennan had gone through in the two and a half years following his injury, Alex couldn’t blame him for being tight-lipped.
Zoe didn’t even skip a beat, though. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one who couldn’t stay away.”
“Yeah.” Brennan reached out to slide his arm around the woman sitting next to him, who’d just finished chatting with Station Eight’s other paramedic, Rachel Harrison, and damn. The guy’s entire demeanor changed as he looked at the pretty brunette. “I even brought reinforcements. Ava, this is Zoe Westin. Zoe, my girlfriend, Ava Mancuso.”
“Hi, Zoe. It’s nice to meet you,” Ava said, her warm smile dipping in obvious thought. “Wait...Westin. Any relation to the captain?”
Zoe’s nod knocked a few wisps of gold-blond hair from the low, tousled braid slung over one shoulder. “He’s my father.”
