The future. That’s a word that caught in Trent’s throat.

  Angel had asked him the other night why he hadn’t told his mother the true reason for their return to White Pine. He’d offered up a convenient excuse of not wanting to burden his mother as she sat helpless and frustrated in the hospital room, and while Angel appeared to accept that answer Trent knew it was an act. Time to man up, he would say, face the truth, face yourself. It was at moments like this that Trent wished his father were still around. He’d been the fire chief for twenty years, which meant he was accustomed to making decisions, big ones, life and death and all that the future held.

  Trent made a decision right now, a light bulb going off over his head. If he couldn’t have Paddy Rodgers to talk to, he knew who the next best thing was. So, returning to the bedroom, he quickly dressed in jeans and a light sweater, tossed on his leather jacket and, kissing Angel on the forehead, he made his way back downstairs. He left a note, so as not to worry Angel when he woke. He signed it, “Love, Trent.”

  White Pine was an early-to-rise kind of town. At eight in the morning, the parking lot at Shiner’s Diner was packed, the locals indulging in whatever special breakfast was being whipped up in the short-order kitchen. Trent bypassed it for now, needing nourishment of the mind more than food. Cruising through downtown White Pine, he saw the remnants of winter receding into the sewers, the warming spring sun melting away the last of the snow. Turning a corner as much by instinct than anything else, he arrived in front of the White Pine Fire Department, pulling into the side lot. He parked Angel’s Porsche next to the chief’s Explorer. He smiled at the sight of the van, knowing its being here meant so too was Chief Devon O’Connell.

  As he made his way toward the classic brick structure, he saw that the doors were open and exposed to daylight was the main engine, and an old friend was hosing it down.

  “Dicky Tenders, look at you,” Trent said.

  The man turned, nearly spraying Trent with the hose. “Trent Rodgers, the prodigal son.”

  “That’s me.”

  Dicky looked around. “You alone?”

  “For now. Angel’s back at the house.”

  A frown crossed Dicky’s face. “Still together, huh?

  “Sorry, Dicky, I’m still off limits.”

  “Hell yeah you are,” he said, “not that that’s stopped this horny place. More homos than you can shake…”

  “A hose at?”

  They laughed over the double entendre. “So, what brings you back?”

  “Mom.”

  “Yeah, heard about her fall. She okay?”

  “Doctors can’t wait to get rid of her,” he said.

  Dicky laughed. “That says it all.”

  “Chief around?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Thanks, see ya round, Dicky. Good you haven’t changed.”

  Trent made his way inside the fire station, running his hand along the sleek engine and feeling its cold metal, even while his heart warmed with memories of the years he’d spent here. All around the station he saw a younger version of himself listening to every word his father said, trailing after him like a hapless puppy intent on serving his master.

  Taking the steps two at a time, Trent heard boisterous sounds coming from the common room, the guys on break. He’d visit later, whom he sought now was at the end of the corridor, and so Trent ventured down it. He stopped just before the door. Hung on the wall was a plaque remembering Paddy Rodgers, and Trent reached up, ran a hand over its smooth surface.

  “Hey, Dad,” he said.

  Then he knocked.

  “Enter at your own risk,” came a gruff voice that was familiar to Trent as the memories.

  He turned the knob and opened the door, sticking his head in first. “Got time for an old recruit?”

  “Trent! My God, boy, get in here.”

  Trent closed the door behind him, turning to find the chief buried in paperwork. He set down a file, got up and took Trent into his arms, embracing him like a long lost son, and Trent supposed he almost was. It was just the kind of comfort Trent had come seeking, and he enjoyed the exchange perhaps even more than he had anticipated. When they parted, O’Connell smacked both of his upper arms and smiled through his thick gray mustache.

  “What a sight for sore eyes you are, Trent Rodgers. I suppose you’re here for Trudy.”

  He nodded. “Partly. It was an impetus, but we were coming back anyway.”

  “We?”

  “Angel Montero. We drove off together, we arrived back together.”

  “Glad to hear. So, you’re…happy.”

  That’s when doubt crossed Trent’s face, O’Connell picking up on it right away.

  “Sit, my son, talk to me. I’m guessing this isn’t just a social call,” he said.

  Trent did as asked, taking the seat opposite the veteran presence, who took up behind his desk. He folded his hands, linking them, listening. Trent’s eyes fell on the paperwork, a ruffled mess of official documents.

  “Sorry if I disturbed whatever you were doing.”

  O’Connell frowned. “This stuff, damn nuisance. Fire at an abandoned house the other day, this is the county investigator’s report.”

  “Not good news I take it?”

  O’Connnell nodded. Not good news meant only one thing to a fireman: arson. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Trent, tell me what I can do for you? You looking for work?”

  “Not yet,” he said, “not that I suppose there are any openings.”

  “Full up,” he said, “but the whistle blows, I’ll take volunteers like you and Angel any day of the week.”

  “Thanks, Chief, I’ll let Angel know.” He paused, considering his words in his mind, trying to push them to his tongue. “So, I’ve come for some advice, but also…for a favor. They’re related.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my interest. Out with it.”

  So he did. “Angel’s asked me to marry him.”

  O’Connell said nothing, he just nodded.

  “I said yes,” Trent said.

  “Well, that’s wonderful. If, of course, it’s the answer you wanted to give.”

  “It is, no doubt there, chief.”

  “Well, this will certainly be a first for the White Pine Fire Department,” he said. “We’ve sure had our share of shenanigans with you boys, swapping partners just as fast as you can douse a fire. But men will be men, no matter who they’re attracted to. Can’t have a fire house full of Dicky Tenders now, can you?”

  “No, firm is always better,” Trent said.

  “Yes, the man does have an unfortunate name, considering some of his, uh, brothers. So, what’s the worry, Trent? You and Angel love each other and you want to get married. The last thing I knew, the state no longer had a problem with it. So that must mean you do.”

  “Not with the idea, just the reality.”

  “Which is what?”

  “This past year with me and Angel on the road, aimlessly going from one job to another, it was great. But it was also pure fantasy to me, and not a lifestyle I can see myself doing the rest of my days. I want to settle down and I want to work and I want to have a family, just…you know, it will all be different from what most people consider normal. Not that I care.”

  “And you think Angel has a problem with all this?”

  “Angel Montero is a free spirit. He follows the wind.”

  “You think White Pine will be too confining for him?”

  “He didn’t last long his first time here, did he?”

  “Seems to me, you were partly responsible for that. You both left, voluntarily.”

  “He wasn’t leaving without me, that’s for sure.”

  “And what makes you think he’d leave now without you? He’s the one who proposed.”

  “I know I’m being silly. I just don’t want to make a mistake.”

  “Ha, boy. You think us straight men know what we’re doing with our ladies?”

  Trent smiled, feeling at sudden ease in the presence of the man who had served under his father for so many years. He was practically family, Paddy and Devon more than brothers of the flame, and as such his words and advice meant that much more.

  “You tell your mother yet?”

  “Didn’t want to burden her, considering her situation.”

  “You think maybe good news like you’ve got would speed her recovery.”

  “That’s what Angel says.”

  O’Connell nodded. “Smart man. Then I say you’ve got your answer.”

  Trent nodded. “It’s nothing I haven’t told myself either, but I can’t help myself, I’ve got to over-analyze everything. But, sir, I have one more request, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sir, sounds official.”

  “Good word, official. We’d like you to officiate at the wedding.”

  Chief Devon O’Connell remained silent and Trent feared he’d pushed his tolerance level. It was one thing to be accepting of gay men in his fire house, and indeed he was right that he’d had to deal with an inordinate percentage of them here in White Pine, but to actually stand up in front of God and his fellow man and proclaim two men as husbands, perhaps that was taking life too far. Trent was about to backtrack and withdraw the offer when O’Connell extended his hand.

  “In the name of Paddy Rodgers, it would be my honor,” he said.

  Relief spread through Trent’s body, his heart beating wildly. “Chief O’Connell…”

  “Hold up there, son, not so fast. I’ve got just one condition.”

  Trent nodded, knowing he’d agree to anything. “Sure, name it.”

  “You see, there’s this little project we’re working on, and we’re going to need your help.”

  § § §

  A calendar.

  Of course he had said yes, considering who had asked the favor and also who its proceeds benefitted. But the idea of modeling…posing for a photograph that people would buy and tack to their kitchen wall and ogle seemed as unlikely as…well, marrying another man. What was fantasy to some, a calendar full of hunky firemen, was reality to him. Sometimes life took strange turns, bending its very definition.

  Two-thirty in the afternoon, Trent had returned to the White Pine Fire Department, and at his side was Angel, who when briefed about the charity calendar had laughed aloud.

  “What month am I?”

  “Don’t laugh, if I’m in it, so are you.”

  They were gathered in the hangar of the station house, the engines having been moved to the tarmac to create room for everyone. Trent and Angel’s reunion with their former co-workers had had gone well, everyone glad to have them back. They’d said nothing of the wedding, which was to remain under wraps until Trent could inform his mother. He’d promised Angel he would soon, just as soon as she was released. When the other guys pressed them about why they’d returned, Trudy’s broken leg proved as good an excuse as any.

  So now they were all gathered for the first meeting about the calendar. Trent and Angel, Chief O’Connell, Dicky and his straight cohort Topher, as well as the hero from the other day, Austin Walker, waited for the rest of the group. Austin had been way cool with them both, even hugging them. Trent eyed him carefully, knowing that Angel and Austin had been an item when Angel had first come to work for the department. It didn’t go unnoticed that Austin seemed to have matured since then, and he carried himself a bit taller, confidence oozing from him. He was a nice looking guy, hunky, the ideal candidate for the calendar. As the men were talking, a red and white fire cruiser with the letters HH pulled into the parking lot. All eyes turned to see who else was on the guest list.

  It was Austin who spoke. “Just as Kent Crandall guessed, Honor Hills is helping out.”

  Indeed, there were not enough willing candidates from the White Pine ranks to fill out the twelve months of the calendar, and they had reached out to Joey Silva, now an honorary member of their department after having served two months as acting chief. Trent had never met him, but based on how Austin was looking at him he had to guess that something had gone down between them at some point. Trent couldn’t blame him one bit, Joey Silva walked like he owned sex, his big frame and large bulge in his jeans, his thick beard announcing his presence even before he spoke a word.

  “Morning guys, good to be back.”

  Handshakes all around, introductions made.

  “Joey Silva, this is Trent Rodgers and Angel Montero.”

  “Pleasure,” he said, his eyes remaining focused on Angel just a bit too long. “This is my father, Chief Alex Silva, and one of our young stud firefighters, Simon Dandridge.”

  Alex was as handsome as his son, with salt and pepper hair and a tan, crinkled face.

  Simon was all muscle, taller and broader then even Joey, with a shock of red hair. Like a Sequoia tree come to the East Coast.

  Together, the three beefy men from Honor Hills were as diverse as could be, and Trent supposed that was the point. No sense filling the calendar with all the same types of men. In fact, taking a look around at them he absorbed the differences between them: the exotic Angel, the all-American in himself, the surfer dude in Austin, the chunky Dicky and the wiry-framed Topher, the seasoned vet in Chief O’Connell, the silver fox in Alex Silva and the Nordic red in Simon, and filling out the group was the bear-like Joey. But he realized they accounted for only nine of the twelve months, and he wondered how they would fill the remaining three.

  Just then another man arrived, sliding down the fire pole. Trent had never seen him before, but he was certainly something to look at. He was blond, his hair short, spiky, perfectly styled, and his body was thick without being cut, a solid specimen with a body not unlike Trent’s. There was something so Joe College about him, a youthful vigor helping him dismount from the landing spot. Austin waved him over.

  “Nick Lynch, meet Trent and Angel. And…well, you know Joey.”

  “Hey, nice to meet you both, I’ve heard a lot about you guys.” Nick paused, darting his eyes about the room. “Joey, how are you?”

  “Fine. You remember my father, Alex. And this is Simon.”

  Nick nodded hello before stepping back to make small talk with Dicky and Topher. Trent stole a look at Joey Silva, noticing that his eyes followed Nick’s every move. Either he had an unrequited passion for Nick, or they’d already passed that stage and had already moved into the break-up stage. But he definitely sensed things were unfinished between them, not with the heat that had swirled around them during those introductions. Trent gave Joey one more study and he decided the man was really sexy; he could see a thicket of black hair spilling out over his open collar, hairier even then Angel, which was saying something.

  “So, we’re here, where the hell is our host?” Dicky Tenders said.

  “I’m right here.” A fresh voice announced itself to the gathering, emerging from the rear door of the fire house, another man at his side.

  Trent knew the former, he’d gone through years of school with him. It was the chief’s son, Tucker. Last he knew Tucker had gone Hollywood, becoming part of a successful musical duo named Tuck and Tumble. They’d had a big hit song that no one could get out of their heads that one summer. Trent had had no idea he’d returned to White Pine, too. But he’d have to wait to catch up with him, as the reunion suddenly turned all business.

  “Hey guys, thanks for being here today,” Tucker said, “I’d like to introduce my friend and celebrated photographer extraordinaire…Ellis Van Pelt.”

  The gang applauded, albeit without much enthusiasm. They didn’t know him from Adam, nor his works or reputation, and so far all he’d done for them was walk into the station house and stared them down through wide-eyed glasses. But he had this air of an artist about him, his eyes discerning as it scanned the group. The silk scarf around his neck was donned for effect.

  “Well, gentlemen, good afternoon. I see we’ve got some lovely subjects here,” Ellis said, stepping forward to assess his models even closer. He paused when he stopped before Dicky, pursing his mouth before saying, “And some not.”

  “Hey, you little fag…”

  “Dicky,” Chief O’Connell said, shutting him up.

  “Oh, I mean no disrespect, sir,” Ellis said, nonplussed by Dicky’s inappropriate behavior. “To each his own and isn’t that the point, this calendar will feature all types for all proclivities. Now, let me say that if you truly want this calendar to succeed and to raise enough money for all you intend the money for, then I suggest you listen to me, indulge me, and do as I say. Calendars of firefighters are always, pardon the pun, hot sellers, and so there’s no reason why the Men of White Pine…”

  “…and Honor Hills,” said Alex Silva.

  “Yes, of both villages, there’s no reason we can’t make this both artistic and sexy.”

  Ellis finished his study of the men, a finger to his lips in thought. He spun around, a look of concern on his face.

  “Gentlemen, do you see a problem?”

  Trent gazed around the space, looking from man to man, his lips counting. “Ten men.”

  “Give the man a prize for knowing his math,” Ellis said.

  “Wait, there’s twelve months,” Austin said.

  “Ah, yes, another ace among you.”

  Austin didn’t appreciate the pointed barb, and he stepped forward, red-face. “Fuck-off.”

  Sometimes only the simplest of words were necessary. Trent was glad Austin had stuck up for them in front of his prick, there was no need for this urban dilettante to treat them all like fools. Who the hell got this guy, and why would he agree to do it?

  “Austin, that’s not necessary, we’re all in this together,” Tucker said.

  “You’re not,” Austin said. “Prancing around like some photographer’s lackey.”

  “He does have a point,” Ellis said, and with a finger to his lips he turned to Tucker. “I’ve got a splendid idea, since you happen to be the fire chief’s son and also a cute hottie with a tight butt, I think it’s safe to add you to the mix. That gives us eleven.”

  “Wait, I didn’t…” Tucker started to say.