Stout was a good boy, too. He really wasn’t any worse than any other dog. I just don’t like dogs and that wasn’t Drew’s or Stout’s fault.
Dammit, why did I have to be such a prick?
“There he is!” the firefighter next to me called.
My eyes snapped in the direction the firefighter pointed and I saw him running from the front door. In the glow of the flame, his silhouette glowed like an action hero.
I lost control then. I didn’t realize I had left the porch of Drew’s house and started running toward him until I crashed into his arms and buried my face in his shoulder, weeping.
I couldn’t see what was going on around me with my face obscured by my tears and Drew’s arms but I could hear him talking to the firefighter who first approached me.
“Shane, thanks for the quick response.”
“Who the hell you think you’re talking to?” the firefighter responded. “If you die, it’s going to be by my hands, not some damn house fire.”
Despite my emotions, I managed to chuckle at that.
“What are we looking at?” Shane asked.
“Second floor mostly,” Drew replied. “Not sure what the cause is yet.”
“Well, we’ll figure that out later,” Shane replied.
A moment later, I heard the whir of the fire engine, then the sizzle of the water as it reached the flames.