One
Abby
“Here’s to fucking us!”
Sam looks at Jude who has just uttered that beyond classy toast and shakes his head. “Is that your sneaky way of suggesting a threesome?”
Jude grins, all blue-eyed devilish sparkle. “You really think I have the hots for you, Killian? After six months of watching your ass on every ladder at the academy—figuratively and literally—I can safely assure you I’m not interested. I’m done with falling for straights.”
Laughing, I clink my glass against theirs, eager to get us back on track. “Here’s to us and our hot graduate asses. We made it, guys! We fucking made it!”
Sam puts his arm around me. “Yeah, graduation’s great and all, but why doesn’t Jude want me, Abby? Am I not sexy enough?”
“Oh, you’re plenty sexy.” Sam is probably the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in real life. Think a more feral Tom Hardy. “But you’re also, I’d say, a …” I check in with Jude.
“Zero?” he offers with little conviction.
“Let’s go with one on the Kinsey scale.” I pat Sam’s very muscled, very hot arm. “You probably get a little turned on by gay porn but only because you like the grunting. Otherwise, no interest in boys.”
For the last year, I’ve become close enough to Jude Torres and Sam Killian—my best buddies in the academy—to be able to talk frankly about our sex lives. Though really, it’s frankly about their sex lives which are varied and productive. As for mine, it’s an arid desert with not a green shoot of sexual hope in sight.
Not a problem as I’m determined to focus on my career. Four years as a paramedic has led me to the Chicago Fire Department and its training academy. After six months in the program, I’m now a fully-fledged candidate, meaning I have another year to make my mark and earn my wings on the job.
I have things to prove and people to prove wrong. So that sounds like the start of some underdog sob story, but we all have obstacles to hurdle and the journey can be treacherous to your mental health. Just thinking of the “people” sends a corkscrew of discomfort rippling down my spine.
I take a sip of my rum and coke, determined to make it last. Knowing these two, a club is in my future and I want to keep my wits about me given that I’ll be starting at legendary Chicago firehouse, Engine 6, the day after tomorrow. Sharp mind, keen focus, no traces of a hangover.
“I wish we were all at the same house.” Both Jude and I were assigned to Engine 6 in Bucktown while Sam will be kicking things off at 70 in Uptown.
“We knew they’d never put three candidates on the same engine,” Sam says with a shrug of one broad shoulder. Jude and I wouldn’t even be on the same crew. He’s starting tomorrow on the A platoon, a day ahead of me. “This might be it. We’re never going to see each other again.”
“Good, you can finally get over your obsession with me.” Jude leans in to kiss Sam on the cheek. “And see if you can find someone else to crib notes from.”
“Uh, never fucking happened.” Sam points a finger at Jude. “I am going to miss you guys, but I’m guessing it’ll make our get togethers all the more meaningful.” He divides a heartfelt look between us. “Look after each other, okay? Even though you’re not on the same shift, do what you can to have each other’s backs.”
He clears his throat, probably a little embarrassed at his moment of gravity. In all our time together, Sam’s never taken anything seriously except scrambling up a ladder quicker than anyone else and making it out of the smoke box in sixty seconds flat. Of the three of us, he’s the one most likely to capitalize on his hot firefighter status. I’ve witnessed him working his charms on any number of women in any number of bars, and even here in O’Neil’s on Wells, the Killian force is strong.
Jude holds Sam’s gaze squarely, not letting him off the hook, awkward emotions be damned. Never one to shy from the touchy-feely stuff, our Jude. “Wish you were with us, Sammy. Gonna miss you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” I assure Sam with a side glance at my guardian angel-slash-precious charge. “Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”
“Actually, I’m more worried about you, Ms. Thrillseeker.”
I tap my collarbone and mouth “Moi?”
“Yeah, you. Have you ever met a dangerous situation you haven’t wanted to cozy up to?”
Sure I like to get my kicks going toe to toe with the boys. All my life I’ve been forging ahead, anxious to prove I can meet anyone on the battlefield of life, regardless of gender. I was the one shoving frogs down little boys’ pants and generally making their puny little lives a nightmare on the playground. Strike first, atone later.
To be honest, I’d rather hit a dirt bike track or a climbing wall than a club. But this is graduation night and I’m dressed to the nines. One look at the boys tells me we’ll be hitting that club before the hour is through.
“Okay, I’m out.”
Sam bestows on me a drunk-eyed squint. “You had one dance! With me! I thought you were here to celebrate.”
“I am. I was.” The night is already history. “You know I don’t like this thump-thump music and how we can’t hear each other speak and—”
“What?”
Jude has paired off with a metal-enhanced Cyborg hipster type. Several women are giving Sam come-hither looks (or come-on-my-face looks as Jude calls them) and he’s been kind enough to limit his usually meandering attention to me. I’m merely cramping the boys’ style.
I thumb over my shoulder toward the exit. “I’ll catch an Uber.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Sam yells.
Two minutes later, I’m in a car, heading home. Strangely I’m not tired, but then the excitement of the next phase of my life is still thrumming through my veins. A new job, a new workplace, a new start.
Thinking on that new beginning sends me to the place I’ve been trying to avoid all night. All year, to be honest, since I told my father I wanted to join the Chicago Fire Department. When you’re the daughter of a powerful man, a man who has some say over your career because he effectively controls the playing field, it’s tough to maneuver. Fire Commissioner Chuck Sullivan didn’t want his only child to become a firefighter and the big man usually gets what he wants. Today’s graduation ceremony was the first time I’d seen him in four months. As he pinned that badge to my uniform and congratulated me, he practically choked on the words.
I touch the Claddagh pendant around my neck, a precious memento from the late Joanne Sullivan. My mother would be on my side in this, even though her own dreams had crashed and burned long ago. At least she got a few good years in. Thinking about her life cut short would usually be enough to conjure empathy for my father, except the memory of the last time we spoke before the ceremony today ices it out.
You’ll quit in the first month, Abigail. Tops.
I growl, causing the Uber driver to catch my eye with concern. Eager to not look like more of a weirdo than usual, I check my phone and see that Maria Fernandez from CFD Media Affairs has left me another message reminding me to route any media enquiries through them. I don’t expect any, but the brass seem to think my candidacy has feel-good sap oozing from its pores.