Page 96 of Jump

Nope. I turn to Nix instead and shake my head. “She’s wrong.”

“I’m not wrong,” she bites out before he can speak. “But ya know what, Lieutenant? If you lose a firefighter, it’s gonna hurt whether they have a dick or not. It’s gonna kill you to lose a company member, whether they remind you of your dead girlfriend or not.”

“Hey now,” Nix cuts in. “Watch it.”

“I mean no disrespect, Chief. But I’ve tried gentle, and understanding. I’ve tried avoidance. And I’ve tried just plain showing him what I can do. I’m running out of options here! And now he wants to send me away, through no fault of my own?”

“You can find a better house,” I groan. “Find a company who’ll be a better fit.”

“I ‘fit’ here! This is my home. This is the best house around, and frankly, I have no desire to commute an hour each day just to hang out at a crappier house full of jockstraps I don’t trust to have my back.”

Alarms ring out above our heads, bringing our discussion to a dead standstill while we wait for the roster.

“Ambulance three,” dispatch calls. Which is not us. It’s not the end of our meeting.

Until, “Engine three.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Nix shoves up from his chair and grabs his hat and phone. “Until I say otherwise, Ivy Patrick is still part of our house. Lead her, Lieutenant Ruiz—or step away, and I’ll lead. But you won’t leave one of your men behind.”

Anger and worry and grief coalesce in my blood until a grumbled “Fuck” rolls along my throat.

But we’re too well-trained not to move when the alarms call us. Too well-practiced to remain sitting, even when the prior discussion was far more consuming.

“I want you in my sights the whole time,” I warn Ivy, as my legs carry me in a run, and the three of us burst from Nix’s office as a trio and sprint through the house toward the garage.

We arrive at the rack of turnouts together, and dive into our pants while Rizz, Sloane, and Axel finish suiting up and head toward the truck.

“I want you to show me you can listen,” I tell her. “I want you to not give me an ulcer from worry while I’m trying to do my job.”

“Funny.” She stomps her feet into her boots and snatches her coat from the rack. “I just want you to let me do my job. I want you to trust me to have myself under control. And I especially want you to concentrate on your job, and stop obsessing over mine. Because that pain you imagine you’ll feel if I someday perish on the job? I’m gonna feel it a thousand times worse when you take a misstep and die because you were paying attention to me instead.”

She grabs her helmet and moves to the end of the line of turnouts, only to stop in front of Ainsley’s.

It’s only for a second, only a brief pause, but time stands still and stretches on for an eternity as she reads Ainsley’s name on the back of the coat, and brushes her fingertips along the shoulders.

Then she turns to me. “I’m not her. I was stronger than anyone else in my graduating class, male or female. I was faster. I’m not her. And to put all this to bed, I challenge you to an arm-wrestling match when this job is done.”

Stunned, I watch her back as she spins away and dashes toward the truck. “What?”

“If I beat you,” she hangs out of the truck door and grins—but I’ll be fucked if it’s not the same arrogant smile Ainsley wore when she knew she was getting too loud. Too overconfident. Too reckless. “If I’m stronger, then you’re on pumps, and I get to brag for the rest of our long, long lives.”

“Wrap it up!” Sloane starts the truck and circles his hand outside the window. “We’re going with or without you, Lieutenant.”

“Shit.” I cast one last glance at the turnouts with COOTES in big, bold letters across the bottom.

It’s a goodbye of sorts. A see ya later. Then I dash toward the truck and throw myself inside.

My heart already thuds, and adrenaline zings in my veins, but I slam the door shut and grab the radio connected to my lapel. “Where are we headed? What are we looking at?”

“Warehouse fire at the steel mill.”

“Again?” Axel turns in his seat and faces me with exasperation in his eyes. “We just put that fucker out.”

“We’re gonna need to shut them down again.” I hit the button on the side of my radio. “Chief? We can’t clear them again and risk someone dying because that warehouse won’t stay up to code.”

“I hear you. Let’s just get in there and do our jobs.” His car, a medium-sized SUV with red and blue lights on the roof, zooms ahead of our truck and clears traffic before we risk sideswiping a family out for their evening stroll. “Evac has already been completed, so now we’re sweeping through on a search, then putting the hot stuff out. Nice and easy, then we’re going home again.”

“I want a quiet night,” Axel drones. “Easy. Uneventful.”

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