Page 67 of Reckless
“Gentlemen.” The chief addressed all three of them with his trademark steely stare. “This is familiar territory for us, so I think we can skip the pleasantries.”
“Yes, Chief,” Alex said, revisiting his compulsion to throw up. But Chief Williams had earned his reputation as a hard-ass honestly, and in truth, he wasn’t wrong about how many times Alex’s file had turned up on his desk. They went through a brief recounting of the events of the warehouse fire, both via the official report and McManus’s overblown account. Captain Westin filled in a few blanks, bringing the overall story to a way more unbiased level, and McManus countered by blustering on about Alex’s shortcomings. Finally—thankfully—Chief Williams cut the whole bitch fest short with a lift of his hand.
“Donovan, you’ve been unexpectedly quiet over there. Do you have anything you’d like to say?”
Alex paused, pulling a deep breath into his overtight lungs. “I can’t argue the events of the warehouse fire in question,” he admitted. “They pretty much speak for themselves per the report. In the same way that Captain McManus didn’t appreciate my challenging his orders, I didn’t appreciate him putting his hands on me.”
McManus opened his mouth with the clear intent of protesting, but Chief Williams killed the move with a brows-up stare. “Captain, please don’t insult my intelligence with an argument here. You’ve made your thoughts more than plain, and the report contains several statements corroborating a mutual shoving match between you two.”
A crimson flush crept over the captain’s face, but he had the wherewithal to keep his trap shut, so Alex continued. “It was my goal at that warehouse fire to do what I thought would keep people safe. I don’t set out to be reckless on purpose, but I don’t shy away from my job, either. I regret the way this incident played out,” he said, the truth of the statement ringing in his ears. “But I assure you, Chief. I’m prepared to return to Station Eight and do my job to the best of my ability. All I want to do is fight fires and serve the community of Fairview.”
Chief Williams paused for only a second before tapping the manila file folder on top of his desk. “I’m going to be blunt, Donovan. Your track record doesn’t speak well for you, and your behavior at this warehouse fire is the crown jewel of your bad choices. Fires are dangerous enough, even when everyone involved in fighting them respects the chain of command.”
Alex’s palms went instantly damp, hisyes, sirwedging in his throat. There had to be some way to make Chief Williams understand how desperately he needed this job, and he scrambled to come up with something—Christ,anything—to plead his case.
But the man beat him to the punch. “However, both Captain Westin and your peers speak very highly of your skills as a firefighter, as well as your dedication. You’ve had an entire month to cool off, during which time you’ve gone above and beyond to complete your community service assignment. All things considered, I believe we can call this one a draw. I’m reinstating you to active duty, effective immediately.”
Relief took the slingshot route through Alex’s chest at the same moment McManus blurted out a heated “What?”
The chief turned his gaze on McManus. “Donovan might not have been in the right in this situation, but neither were you, Captain. I’d like to advise you to think twice next time you’re tempted to put your hands on another firefighter. You’re a superior officer in this department. I expect you to act like one. Am I clear?”
McManus paused before finally mumbling, “Yes, sir.”
Chief Williams shifted, splitting his scissor-sharp stare between Alex and Captain Westin. “As for you, Donovan. The next time I see you in this office, I’d better be awarding you a commendation. If you so much as put your uniform on crooked, I will show you the door permanently, and I won’t lose a second’s sleep over it.”
Alex nodded past the slammingwhooshof his pulse in his ears. Holy shit. His job was safe.Hewas safe. “Thank you, sir.”
But the chief just raised one gray brow, his expression going steel tipped and serious. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re the one who has to stay in line. Now get out of my office, would you? You’ve got a shift to prepare for.”
* * *
Zoe stoodon the neatly kept threshold of Station Eight, the warmth of the late-April sunshine nothing in comparison to the all-out burn spreading through her shoulders. She balanced the two oversized food trays full of mac and cheese more firmly between her palms, wondering if maybe she’d overdone it just a little in the kitchen today. But with the grant proposal having been turned in for a whole work week and the food drive being complete, Zoe had found herself at loose ends on her Friday off. Alex was on shift, and she’d needed some way to burn all of her nervous energy while she waited for news on the Collingsworth Grant. She’d heard rumblings that the committee had already culled the front-runners from the rest of the applicants, which meant in theory, Hope House could be that much closer to getting the money it so desperately needed.
On second thought, maybe Zoe hadn’t cooked enough.
The muscles in her shoulders burned with a fresh wave of exertion, and she snapped back to attention on Station Eight’s threshold. The trio of overstuffed grocery bags looped over her wrists gave up a loud crinkle as she shifted her weight, extending her elbow in an awkward attempt to ring the buzzer.
“Whoa! Hey, let me help you with that.” Jones slipped in from behind her to trade the broom in his grasp for both trays.
Zoe’s shoulders sang with relief. “Whew, thanks, Mike.”
“No sweat,” Jones said, lifting the trays full of mac and cheese with a smile. “Did you cook all of this?”
She bit her bottom lip and gave up a well-yeah half shrug, but she’d needed the outlet, and cooking for everyone at Station Eight had calmed her. At least, as much as anything could right now. “If there’s one thing I learned ages ago, it’s to never come to a firehouse unless you plan to knock with your elbows.”
As if the presence of food had somehow stirred the energy in the building, Cole and Crews stuck their heads down the hallway from the junction into the main common area. “Zoe!” they called out in near unison, and she burst into a smile.
“Hey, you guys. I thought you might like a little dinner.”
“Rookie.” Crews met them halfway down the hall, delivering a hearty nudge to Jones’s shoulder. “You just totally got sprung from KP. Thank freaking God.”
“Ah, don’t mess with him,” Cole argued. Zoe’s heart melted a little bit—Cole always was kind of the peacekeeper, but it was nice to see that his kindness extended to their rookie, who usually got the lion’s share of ribbing and crappy station chores by virtue of his newbie status. Of course, then Cole added, “Let him hand over dinner first,” and yeah. So much for his sweeter side.
“Did someone say dinner?” O’Keefe appeared at the end of the hallway with Rachel at his side. “Oooh, look. It’s my very favorite chef.”
Zoe’s laugh bubbled up from her chest as she made her way into the common room. “Aren’t I the only chef you know?”
“Even if I knew a hundred, you’d still be my favorite,” O’Keefe said with an exaggerated wave. “So what’s on the menu, Chef?”
