Page 85 of Jump

“Like I tried to tell you to work the fuckin’ aerial?” Again I step around her, and continue toward the truck. “Did you fuckin’ listen? No! Now I’m telling you to work the pumps.”

“But—”

Turning and walking backwards, I snarl, “Patrick, this is your last chance to do as I order. Next time you decide to make your own rules, I’m transferring you out and making you someone else’s problem. This is my engine, and I have no room for a subordinate who won’t listen.”

Spinning again, and leaving Ivy speechless behind me, I stop beside Sloane and start the pump with a thump of my fist against the starter.

“Little harsh, doncha think?” His voice is deep, and his eyes condemn. “You’re always on her case.”

“I’m on anyone’s case who doesn’t follow orders.”

I move to the head of the line, standing beside Axel as he picks up the hose. “Put it out,” I advise, “but try not to send it over the hill. We’ll swing by the hospital later today and make sure Rory is okay.”

“You don’t have to be everyone’s hero, ya know?” He opens the valve on the hose and shouts to be heard over the ensuing roar. “You have a soft spot for the vic because she was a woman in need. And you have a calloused heart for Ivy, also because she’s a woman.”

“What I have is a crew to run,” I bite out. “And members who need to obey commands.”

I whirl at the sound of shattering glass, and duck when the drunk driver’s truck goes up in flames. The hood bursts open like a tin can under too much heat, and more windows explode so shards spread across the muddy snow and gravel.

Cops duck like gunshots are going off, but Ivy is sent sprawling when she’s too close to the blast.

“If people listened,” angry, I turn on my heels and start in her direction. “No one would get hurt.”

I grab a second hose when Sloane tosses it, and yank Ivy to her feet with one fast pull. Releasing her elbow, I open the line and flood the burning truck, but I spare a glance for the long line of crimson sliding along her cheek, and shake my head in disappointment. “If you were any closer, you’d be dead. Should have been at the pump like I ordered, then your head wouldn’t be bleeding.”

Her cheeks pale, and her eyes are glassy from the shock of hitting the ground. “Lieutenant—”

“Go to the chief and ask him to put you to work. I’m done with you for right now.”

“But, Lieu—”

“Dismissed.” I give her my back and douse the truck.

It’s times like this I miss jumping. I felt like I could fly, out there in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains, with nothing but my wits and my team.

In situations like that, if one of you dies, chances are, your whole team is going down. If you’re slow, nine times out of ten, you’re gonna sleep in your turnouts in the middle of the forest, and hope the dragon doesn’t turn and eat you up overnight.

Life was simpler back then. When you either survived, or you didn’t.

But now I have a team I neither cultivated nor trained. I have a woman on my crew who reminds me of Ainsley, and a boss who thinks I’m too tough on her.

Fuck, but I have a firefighter on my team who thinks she’s invincible, and instead of allowing me to lead her safely, she’d rather step into danger like she thinks it’ll prove me wrong.

Fuck her, because at the end of the day, when her judgment is off and she perishes in the cruelest, most painful way, just like the woman before her, it’ll be the rest of us who have to walk by her turnouts every day. We’re the ones who’ll carry her casket and salute her grave.

We’ll be the survivors left behind, holding the guilt and hoping against all hope this is the last time we’ll see this shit play out.

Vivian has been so terrified of being compared to Ainsley. When really, the one most in danger of that is Ivy.

And from where I stand, she doesn’t stack up.

The rest of my crew finishes the job. We put water on the fire and stop the flames from jumping from the truck to the nearby trees. And when everything is cooled down, we supervise as tow trucks get both vehicles loaded up to haul away.

Drake keeps me in his peripherals while we work, and I keep him in mine. But we don’t speak. We don’t interact.

And when everything is wrapped up on site, my crew and I ride our rig back down the hill and pull it into the firehouse to be checked, tagged, restocked, and prepared for the next call.

This is my life now. Living in a small town I had no clue I would ever call home. Working for a crew who saves people and cars instead of acres of forest and wildlife.

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