Page 47 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“Sounds like a nice night to me.” He stands up and reaches out for me. “Let’s go.”
I let him help me to my feet, and we let the dogs out, before cuddling up for the night. It’s odd, but between his and the dogs’ snores, I’m out like a light. So, when his phone goes off near midnight, we all jump. He answers, “Yeah? Be right there.” Then he quietly says, “Stella, you up?”
“I’m up, I’m up. What’s going on?”
“Just got a call from Michael,” he says as he dresses. “There’s a fire.”
“Oh. How can I help?”
“Watch Max?”
“Of course.”
“I’m really sorry about this, I just?—"
“Don’t worry about it.”
He’s out the door before I know it. I climb the stairs up to my bedroom and everything is dark inside. Suddenly, my bed is cold. I pat the bed and tell them, “Come on up. He’s gone for thenight.” The dogs pile in, and it’s warm again, but not like when Jordan’s there. In spite of the lack of him, their rhythmic snoring is enough to knock me out again.
I don’t know what time it is when I hear the noises. The dogs perk up, too. “Let’s go check it out. Come on.” I grab the Sig from the nightstand and the dogs follow me downstairs. There is a scratching sound at the door. My hands shake as I raise the gun. I shout, “I’m armed, and I will shoot you in the face!”
“It’s me!” Jordan shouts back.
The tension in my body fades while I turn off the alarm, spin the locks, and open the door. The smoke on him wafts into my face, and I almost choke on it. He looks awful, all covered in soot and deeply upset. I hold the door open wide, “Get in here.”
“Sorry about the door, I thought I could maybe get in without waking you. I’m sorry for scaring you and the dogs.”
“That’s alright, don’t worry about it, honey. What happened?”
He slumps into a chair at the dinner table. His voice is scratchy. I’m not sure if it’s from the smoke or not. I imagine the guys have to shout when they’re on scene, so maybe it’s that. But he’s super tense, so I’m not asking anything right now. He says, “Bourbon?”
“On it.” I pour him a glass and sit with him.
“The fire was at the Hannigan House. They’re a big family. Mom, Dad, four kids. They’re all alive,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “but they’ve lost everything they had.”
I pat his hand. “At least, they have each other.”
He drinks his bourbon in one go. “Yeah. At least.”
“All the other firefighters are okay?”
He nods.
“You seem really shaken by everything.”
He gives half a smile, then says, “This is the first fire for us together. I should have warned you…it’s a lot. On me.”
“How’s that? I mean, I get that it’s hard, but?—"
He shakes his head, and his eyes stay on his bourbon. “You show up, get to the truck, and Michael gives you the assessment. Then you go from there, except it’s never just whatever he says, because fires are unpredictable, impossible things. They have a mind of their own.” He drinks it all down. “More, please.” He wiggles his glass at me. I fill it up, and he continues. “So, you’ve got the hose, and you’re working the fire, hoping everyone is out, hoping you don’t find a corpse in the rubble, hoping you don’t lose a brother, and it’s that last one that makes you feel like an asshole.”
I shake my head, “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“My brothers on the truck, the other firefighters…if I lose one of them during the fire, that’s one less pair of hands to help, which raises my chances of dying on the job. Like I said. Asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole for wanting to live.”
He shrugs his thick shoulders. “Doesn’t matter…I think the church is going to put together something for the Hannigans, and they have insurance, so they should be okay. But it’s just…right before Christmas, you know?”
