Page 11 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“Tell you what. I’ll pour you boys some cereal and you can eat it—quietly—while I take a hot shower. If you’re quiet enough, I’ll let you spar.”

Tremaine jumped to his feet. “How quiet do you mean?”

“Like is this okay?” Jackson mimicked chomping cereal as if he were a warthog gnawing on a bone.

“No.”

“What about this?” Tremaine moved his jaw up and down with a high-pitched whining sound.

“No.”

“What about this?” Kip joined the fun, chewing while jumping up and down so hard the windows clattered.

“You guys are hilarious. I think you should join a comedy club, I really do. Maybe go on tour and buy your own breakfasts. Now do you want cereal or not?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” They all performed admirable salutes. There was something to be said for the military, Fred thought as he led them into the tidy kitchen. In fact, sometimes the Sinclairs reminded him of an African-American version of his own family—a bunch of boys destined for the armed forces.

The kids crowded around the bar he’d built to separate the kitchen from the living room while he barked orders.

“Tremaine, bowls. Jackson, spoons. Kip, milk.”

They hopped to it, and in under a minute they were each perched on a stool and had a bowl in front of them. He poured the raisin bran—Jasmine knew perfectly well he didn’t keep Froot Loops in the house—and ignored the groans of complaint.

“Eat quietly, or no lesson,” he warned.

They all instantly went silent. As a threat, it worked every time. They loved their jujitsu lessons. In the silence, his phone rang. He took it into the living room and lowered himself carefully onto his couch.

“Hello?”

A brisk female voice answered, “Hi Poochie. It’s me.”

Fred nearly groaned out loud at the horrible nickname. Where had Courtney gotten Poochie? And why had she never asked if he minded? And why was she calling him? “Hi, Courtney. How did your exam go?” Courtney was getting her business degree. After that, she wanted to get married. On their third date, she’d told him that he fit all her criteria for a husband. He hadn’t felt complimented; he’d felt cornered.

“Killed it.”

He pictured her aiming a shotgun at her exam book. Courtney almost always got what she went after, as she was fond of boasting. The only thing she hadn’t gotten yet was a commitment from Fred. No matter what Fred told her, she couldn’t quite believe that he didn’t want to link his future with hers.

But he didn’t. He wasn’t in love with her and was never going to be. As soon as he’d figured that out, he’d begun the breaking-up process.

“I saw you on TV. You’re a superstar.”

“Nah, just another day at the office.”

“They didn’t make it sound that way. And they kept referring to you as a Bachelor Fireman.” She sniffed, which evoked a vivid picture of her. That sniff usually went with a curl of her lip and a twitch of her perfectly highlighted blond ponytail.

“That’s just a stupid media thing, Court. Sells papers, or ad spots, or whatever.”

“I’m not complaining about it. It’s a good business opportunity. You’re famous, and we should be profiting from it. I have some ideas for us.”

Ideas for us. As if they were still together. Would always be together. What part of “I want to break up” had she blocked out? All of it?

An image flashed through his mind—the crushed interior of the limo, and Rachel’s wide eyes alive in the darkness, like the petals of a violet. Even though she’d fought him like a wildcat and bloodied his nose, he could still feel the supple weight of her in his arms. He’d felt more captivated in those few short moments than he ever had with Courtney.

Bad, Fred, bad. Why was he thinking of some girl he’d never see again while on the phone with the woman he’d been dating up until two weeks ago? He dragged his attention back to the phone call.

“Courtney, we broke up, remember? There is no—”

“Let’s not have this conversation right now,” she interrupted. “Are you trying to upset me?”

He clenched the phone in his fist, resisting the urge to slam it against the counter. How did she always manage to make him feel like the bad guy, no matter what he did or said?

In a huge stroke of luck, his other line beeped. For a wild moment, he wondered if it was Rachel. Maybe she was calling him with an apology for the nosebleed. “Gotta go, Court. I have another call coming in.”

“Call me back, okay? We’re not done.”

Oh yes, we are, he thought. And one of these days you’ll get it. He clicked over to the other call.

“Well, hello, hero.” His little sister, Lizzie, greeted him. “Did you know that you’re all over the news?”

“Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out. Please don’t tell me they showed that girl ditching me.” Just what he needed: the most humiliating rescue operation in San Gabriel history. The hero fireman dumped by his rescuee. He remembered Ella Joy’s threat. You’ll pay for that, Stud. She certainly had the ammunition for it.

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