I’m a firefighter. Been a firefighter since I was twenty. I toyed around with a bunch of jobs—some I liked and a few I even liked a lot. And I admit there were a few I got fired from, but shit, I was a kid back then.

  What I always knew was that I was not cut out for college. Nobody in my family went to college. Gracie is a self-taught artist who started tattooing right out of high school. Franco’s a mechanic. Benito did go to culinary school, but that’s a totally different type of learning. I mean, there’s no math required in culinary school—at least not as far as my brother said. Kitchen math, sure, like measuring, budgets, and shit. But the kind of stuff that put me to sleep in high school? Algebra and whatnot… I just couldn’t see spending four years and a load of money to learn stuff I’d never use in my life.

  When I met with the chief, I asked him point-blank about my future. Fourteen years with the department. Excellent reviews and commendations. But I’m the only one who hasn’t been promoted. Last month, I applied for two jobs—captain in a city department about an hour away from Star Falls and inspector here in town.

  I didn’t get either.

  I didn’t even get an interview.

  I had the blessing of the chief to apply for the inspector position, but until the final decision was made, I couldn’t really ask him about what I need to do to move up.

  When we finally sat down, the answer should have been obvious, but I was still surprised when I heard it.

  “There’s no question you’re a good guy and a great firefighter.” Chief shoved the reading glasses off his face and dropped my résumé and list of career accomplishments on his desk. “You know how in-demand these jobs are. Every firefighter in the state would love to move to a place like Star Falls for a six-figure job working investigations. Every time we post an opening, we get more candidates than we can possibly imagine.” Chief pointed at me with a single finger. “How many you think applied for the job you wanted? Throw out a number.”

  I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t know, a hundred.”

  Chief blew air out from between his lips. “V, we had almost two thousand applications come in. Two thousand. We had guys applying from as far as New York and Alaska.”

  “Two thousand applicants…” I repeated in disbelief.

  I knew that the hiring process was often political and came down to who you knew and who knew you, but shit, with that many people, I can understand why I wasn’t even interviewed. I couldn’t compete with that many guys. A job I’d thought I’d be perfect for, but I was never, ever close to being considered, let alone close to getting it.

  “Vito, some of those guys had PhDs. P-h-fucking-Ds.” He raised his silver brows and sighed. “Incredible on paper, great references. At this level, the quality of the careers is next level.” He met my eyes and shrugged. “It’s like anything else. I don’t think a piece of paper from a college makes a bit of difference to whether or not I want you in my company. But it’s a box the powers that be can check, and it makes the process a lot simpler.”

  A box they can check.

  Four years of somebody’s life, maybe more, for the education, not to mention the money, the cost. And for what? After taking some classes on dead poets and basic math, some dickhead with a degree is a more attractive candidate than me after fourteen years on the job?

  Even as my gut burned with frustration, I knew Chief was giving it to me straight. There are no undereducated firefighters getting inspector and captain positions. It’s the guys who have the time in I do and the piece of damn paper to back it up who are edging me out time and time again.

  The meeting we had was all the confirmation I needed. I had no path forward in my career.

  I’m thirty-four years old, and the one thing holding me back from moving ahead in my career is a damn college degree.

  But that’s the reason I’ve spent some of my time on my days off trolling the internet, reading up on local colleges. When I look at the courses that are offered, the application process, the requirements to get in, and then the courses I’d have to take, it sends me off into a funk that has me questioning everything.

  I slam the lid of my laptop down a little too hard and check the time. It’s almost sunrise, and I’ve got two hours until my next shift starts.

  I tug on a T-shirt and slide into my house shoes before quietly heading down the stairs since Ma and Pops are still asleep.

  When Gracie lived here, she didn’t start work until after noon, and I had early mornings completely to myself. Now that Pops is retired, he’s eased off his sleep schedule. Most of the days I’m on shift, I have coffee with Pops before I head out. It’s an oddly comforting routine.

  I try not to spend a lot of time thinking about it, but the reality is that every time I get in my truck and go to work, it could be the last time I see my family.

  Star Falls is a small town, but there are enough smells and bells to keep our department hopping. Smells being anything from someone thinking they smell gas to smelling actual smoke, and bells meaning everything you could imagine. Falls at nursing homes, home alarms, smoke detectors going off because somebody thought cooking a pizza in a toaster was a thing.

  And of course, we see our share of horrific stuff. Accidents. Injuries. Fatalities. Homes destroyed. Precious possessions lost.

  Most people spend their lives running from danger and scary shit. When you’re a first responder, I don’t care what kind, the only way to do the job is to get up close with the stuff that gives other people nightmares.

  Staring into the soot that covers the windows of a burning business. Crawling along the floor of a hallway thick with smoke. I’ve carried kids out of car wrecks with broken bones and injuries that haunted me for months. Wiped the debris off the face of an old lady who couldn’t escape her apartment before the floor of her kitchen collapsed beneath her walker. I’ve smelled things and seen things most people will live their whole lives and never even think about.

  After Michelle divorced me, I moved back home. I was heartbroken and never considered living on my own. I don’t know why. A lot of guys lose their wives and relationships because of the stresses of the job, but for me, I need the routine of my family. The fact that no matter what I’ve seen during the shift, no matter how ugly and awful, the world I love and trust keeps spinning.

  When I was married to Michelle, I desperately needed that innocence. I needed to know that I could come home to my wife, and she’d be there wanting me to watch some dumb-ass show while we argued over whether to get pepperoni on the whole pizza or only half.

  I needed a strong family to anchor me to something that felt stable and real. When that ended, I went back home and never considered living anywhere else. Living under my parents’ roof may be a massive strain on my dating life, but I don’t think I could keep doing this work without some normal, non-fire-related life to go back to.

  There are guys in my company who come from generations of firefighters. Guys whose dads and grandfathers and, in some cases, wives and mothers made careers in the fire service. I think they get a lot out of having people who understand the unpredictable schedule, the wrecked sleep, the hours, and the physical toll of the work.

  But not me.

  When I leave work, I switch off as much as I can. I’m never not a firefighter, but it’s sometimes nice just to be Vito Bianchi, middle child, lost in the noise of my life outside of work.

  When I head downstairs, I’m a little disappointed that Pops isn’t up. Sometimes he surprises me by sneaking down when I’m in the shower or even before I’m awake. But nobody is sipping coffee or reading the paper at the table. I smell the coffee that I brewed before I jumped in the shower, and I pet the dogs who are so old now, they don’t do much more than give me a one-eyed glare before going back to sleep.

  I fill a mug and stare into the darkness outside the kitchen window. I can’t help but think of Michelle being back in town.

  Fuck, it’s been a long time since I saw her. A long time since I had sex with anyone. And even longer since I was in a relationship with anyone who I thought could live up to what I had with my ex-wife.

  My mom’s words come back to me, and I wonder if it would do any good to see her again.

  I finish my coffee and get ready to head to the station. I’m not sure why today, of all days, I’m wishing my pops were there to nod at me over his reading glasses, but I feel like I’m literally heading into the fire today.

  And I’m not sure I like the feeling.

  The call for a structure fire comes in close to midnight. The address is a residence in a neighborhood a short distance from the firehouse, which is good news because we know from dispatch there’s a baby on the scene.

  We scramble to get into gear and load into the engine, with the lights going but no siren. It’s standard operating procedure if we don’t need to clear traffic to run without sirens after bedtime.

  When we reach the location, a woman is standing in the street in front of her house. She’s wrapped in a knee-length bathrobe and is barefoot, cradling a screaming baby against her chest. The minute the crew leaves the engine, the chief greets the homeowner and assesses what he can. Within seconds, he’s calling out orders.

  The scene is surprisingly calm, all things considered. The company falls into our rhythm, uncoiling the hose and wrenching the nearby hydrant. Chief calls out that the homeowner is unsure of the origin, reported smoke in the bathroom, and the bathroom fan was on maybe thirty minutes.

  Chief’s calling out that there’s no husband, just the woman and baby, who appear upset but unharmed. Everyone’s out. That’s a good start. Even with no reported people or pets inside, we’ll still have to check every room just to make sure.

  There have been a few people who’ve locked an unwanted spouse in a closet and tossed in a match, so we can’t just take the homeowner’s word for it when they say the place is empty. Chief sends two vets, Miller and Drinan, on a single attack line while we wait for reinforcements to arrive.

  Chief is standing at the back of the ambulance where the homeowner and her baby have been checked out for any signs of exposure to smoke or fumes. They’re wrapped in blankets against the chilly night made even colder by the fact that they were both barefoot from the quick look I got when we pulled up.

  The fire was contained to the bathroom and the hallway, and it looked like the fan was most likely the cause. The bathroom fan had a buildup of dust and dirt. Not uncommon at all, but most people don’t realize that the fans should be cleaned.

  I feel bad for the woman. Looks like they hadn’t moved in all that long ago. Moving boxes were still stacked in the corners of each room. But the house is so small, very few of her possessions will be salvageable between the smoke and the water.

  Only once the cleanup is nearly complete and the chief asks me to escort the homeowner inside do I realize I know the lady. And I know her baby.

  “Eden?” I’ve got all my turnout gear in place, so I’m not even sure she can see my face. “It’s Vito. Vito Bianchi.”

  Since I’m on the job, I keep my demeanor professional, but inside, my heart is breaking for her. She just moved to town. She’s not even unpacked yet. And now she’s lost everything. She’s literally wearing a blanket.

  Eden’s face drops when I say my name. Her lovely face is pale, and she looks like she’s both exhausted and in shock. I’m sure she is both. Even worse, little Juniper is quiet, sound asleep against her mom’s neck. Eden doesn’t look like she wants to move or walk, let alone go into her house.

  “Hey,” I say, nodding. “I can take you inside. Let’s get your purse, your cell phone. You’re going to need to stay someplace. Can we call Sassy?”

  Eden’s eyes are unblinking, staring at me. She shakes her head slowly.

  I take a few steps away from Eden and ask what time it is. The captain calls back that it’s four in the morning. My shift ends in a couple of hours, but she’s not going to be able to sit out here shivering in a blanket until then.

  “Eden,” I repeat, putting a gloved hand on her shoulder. Through the blanket, I can feel her trembling. “Listen. I’m going to help you. Let’s get your purse and your phone. Let’s take this one step at a time.”

  She’s staring at the house, soft purple shadows under her brown eyes. “What happened?” she asks. “I didn’t…I didn’t leave any candles burning.”

  “I know,” I assure her. “This was not your fault at all. We think the bathroom fan overheated. Come on. Let’s go inside and get what we can.”

  This part is going to be hard. Most people don’t realize that even a small fire could destroy the contents of the house.

  I know from the attack crew that the bathroom had burned, and I mean burned. The flames had been contained to one room, but the smoke, soot, and ash got everywhere. I just hope we can find credit cards, keys, her identification. Hopefully, a pair of shoes that can be salvaged if she’s lucky.

  The excitement and adrenaline of the night start wearing off, and I stifle a yawn. I haven’t slept at all this shift, so pretty soon, I’ll have been awake for a full twenty-four. Not ideal, but there are shifts where I can’t catch any rest between calls. Then there are some shifts where the most excitement is whether the chief’s going to bitch because someone put too much pepper in the chili.

  “You ready?” I let my hand fall to where I think the small of Eden’s back is beneath the thick protective blanket she’s got wrapped around her like a sheet.

  “Is it safe?” She suddenly comes to life and shakes her head. “Wait, Vito…” She looks down at Juniper and shakes her head again. “I don’t want to take her in there. The smoke, there could be toxins…”

  I can’t say I blame her. The fire is out, and the smoke has cleared, but with the stench of ash and the particles in the air, I wouldn’t let my baby go inside that place either.

  She looks down at her bare toes and lets one side of the blanket fall open. “Will you take her?” she asks, her eyes wide and her voice unsteady. “I’ll be quick. My purse should be on the counter in the kitchen. I think my phone was on the charger in the kitchen too. I won’t be long.”

  The kitchen is at the front of the little house, and the bathroom is all the way at the back. Not that that means a whole hell of a lot now, but at least she won’t have to try to sift through the point of origin.

  I reach out my arms, and Eden manages to slip Juniper into my hold without jostling her too much. She sets her in my arms like a baby, not upright against my shoulder like she was sleeping on her mom, which is good because I would rather not have her face against my filthy turnout gear.

  Eden tucks the blanket tightly around her daughter, then meets my eyes. “Thank you,” she says, then starts to walk away from me toward the wide-open front door.

  The captain sees her leaving my side and, taking note of the kid in my arms, nods at me and follows after her to make sure she gets in and out quickly.

  “Property owner’s been notified.” Chief stands beside me and watches as Eden tiptoes past the dark entryway of the house.

  “Owner?” I echo. “This place is a rental?”

  Chief nods. “Tenant moved in just a couple days ago, sounds like. I told the property owner they didn’t need to come out, but Bob Horton owns this place. He panicked and said he’s on his way.”

  “Horton owns this place? The electronics guy? Since when does he own rental property?” As I talk with Chief, I can’t help but watch Juniper sleep. She looks so peaceful and so, so beautiful. Like her mom.

  Chief laughs, but he softens his voice a bit when the baby squirms. “Yeah, Horton is apparently branching out. I told him he’d need to take a closer look at his cleaning and maintenance protocol before he rents a place again.”

  I shake my head. “How long did Bob own this place before he rented it? Five minutes?” A low burn of anger builds in my chest. “This is the shit that lights me up,” I say, trying hard not to pace in place and wake Juniper. “Bob bought this house, probably on the cheap, did nothing to fix it up, and rented to a single mother with a baby. Horton have insurance? She’s going to lose everything.”

  He nods. “She has renters, and he has insurance on the place. It’ll take some time, but she’ll be all right.”

  Little Juniper shivers as though she’s having a terrible nightmare.

  I rock her lightly in my arms and watch as the captain follows Eden back through the front door. She is wearing a pair of sneakers and the knee-length robe. She has the same diaper bag I saw at my parents’ slung over her arm, and she looks far from all right.

  I make a vow to myself there and then to make it my business to see that she and Juniper come through this better than just okay.

  4

  Eden

  When they say you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone… Well, I’m living that now.

  I know everything I lost in that damn house fire. My clothes, my kid’s clothes. Junie’s toys, my books. Talk about taking stock of your life. No matter how much stuff I lost, none of that mattered.

  Not as long as I have my baby and myself.

  We can make it through anything.

  Within a few days of the fire, the house was officially taken over by the insurance company, and I had to make an inventory and say goodbye to everything I’d just paid to move across the country.

  But the simple fact is, every day I wake up thankful that Junie and I were awake when it started. Thankful that I had renters insurance. Thankful that I had a caring local agent who stood by me when the company grilled me about the claim. That was no fun.

  I gave recorded statements about how long I left the bathroom fan on. What I did, where I was, what I was wearing. Even what I had to drink. As if I’d get so plastered as a single mom that I’d burn down a house with my kid in it.

  It all happened so fast.

  I was going to take a shower before bed, so I turned on the bathroom light and the exhaust fan so the steam wouldn’t fog up the bathroom. Just before I was about to step into the shower, I decided to take a bath instead. I left the bathroom to get a book, heard Junie calling for me from her crib, and I went in and checked on her. I changed her wet diaper, but before I could put her back to sleep, I smelled smoke.