I bite my lip. “Who screwed up here?”
“Wozniak, without a doubt. Ten to one he didn’t check his gear when he came on shift.”
“Is it true he wanted the LT job and Roman got it?”
Gage raises an eyebrow. “Look who’s up on all the flavors of the tea. Yep, he passed the exam after his third try and expected he was a shoo-in, but Roman came in with twelve years’ experience, five as a lieutenant in New York. He did the CFD mini-academy and aced the city recertification. We’d be dummies not to find a spot for a guy of his caliber.”
No doubt Roman is a better leader than Wozniak, but the friction I’ve seen in the past few weeks could be down to the fact Roman got what Woz rightfully sees as his. There’s bound to be bitterness, but Woz really needs to get his act together.
This incident isn’t going to help.
When Woz comes back into the lounge, looking like he’s been dragged to hell and back, I suspect the energy between them has only become blacker.
About an hour before shift end, Tyler puts his head around the door to the lounge.
“Venti wants to see you, Abby.”
I haven’t spoken to the boss much, but he seems like a good guy. Kind of gruff, one of those heart-of-gold types. I head to the office and smile at Billie.
“Go right in,” she says, but there’s no smile in return.
The first person I see is Roman, standing by the window in an at-attention pose, hands behind his back. I’ve never seen him look so serious, not even when he called Woz into his office to haul him over the coals. The captain is behind the desk and on the other side is Fire Commissioner Chuck Sullivan.
My father.
“Candidate,” he says, an unmistakable edge to it.
“Sir.”
“Close the door, Sullivan,” Captain Ventimiglia says, “and have a seat.”
I do as I’m told. What the hell is my father doing here? My back’s to Roman so I can’t see his expression.
The last time I saw my father was three weeks ago at graduation. In that time, his hair has gone grayer, the lines on his face more grooved. The buttons of his uniform are straining slightly, so he must have put on a few pounds. Even though I know his presence here is likely not conducive to a happy-families reunion, I’m still glad to see him and know he’s all right.
He heaves a sigh. “I understand there was an incident at a callout this morning with you not following CFD protocol.”
I slide a glance to the captain, wondering why the Commissioner is getting involved. Should I defend myself or land Wozniak in it? And did Roman really report me for not immediately following his order?
“I made a judgment call in the moment. Lieutenant Rossi has already put me straight.”
“You gave your air to another firefighter, putting yourself in danger. What the hell, Abigail?” That little burst of emotion surprises me so much I start.
Before I can answer, the captain speaks up. “Candidate Sullivan understands she made a mistake.”
“Mistakes get people killed.”
No shit, Dad.
“She wasn’t sure how long it would take for us to get there,” Roman says. “She showed good instincts even though it wasn’t strictly kosher.”
My neck prickles with his scrutiny.
“You’re limited to light duty for two weeks,” my father says.
“What?” I jerk my gaze to the captain, who remains unmoved. “But I can’t learn if I’m not on callouts.”
“It’ll give you time to review the procedures again.” My father again.
“Would you be getting involved if this was a firefighter not related to you?”
The captain’s eyes widen, a clear signal to me to keep a lid on it. But I can’t help it. My father has barely spoken to me in months and now he’s here as soon as the grapevine reports I made a mistake? Who told him?
I twist in my chair to face Roman, who’s still standing by the window in a military stance. He meets my gaze without giving me an inch. Did I once think those eyes beautiful? I take it all back. All I see now are cold, flat discs of censure.
Somehow I manage to choke the next words out. “Is there anything else?”
“No, Candidate. You can go.” The captain sounds conciliatory, maybe even a little weary.
I can’t look at Roman as I leave because if I do, he’ll need a tank of air to breathe through the rage I’m sending his way.
Eighteen
Roman
I’ve no idea why Commissioner Sullivan feels it’s necessary to interfere with the workings of my crew. I’m trying to see it from his perspective—the man lost his wife on the job, after all—but this micro-management BS is untenable.
Venti and the Commish are shaking hands. I can tell the cap isn’t loving this either but he’s a hundred times more diplomatic than I could ever be, which is why he’s in charge of the firehouse and I’m not. He mumbles whatever crap Sullivan needs to hear while my head does a half-decent impression of a room filled with noxious gas in need of emergency ventilation.
Knowing that leaving before I blow would be best all around, I push off from the windowsill and head toward the door.
The commissioner doesn’t let me off so easy. “Lieutenant? Walk me out.”
Fuck.
I hover at the door, not making eye contact with Venti because if I do, I won’t be able to rein in my feelings. I already don’t like this guy. We had a run-in and while it should have been smoothed out by now, it’s only become aggravated by the presence of Abby.
She acquitted herself well during that incident. Really well. So there was some flapping of the gums, but that’s to be expected. I don’t think Abby is capable of not giving her opinion, but she’s no fool, and for the most part knows when it’s best to keep it zipped. What concerns me more is not the danger Woz put her in—and believe me, that grabs my gonads—but my reaction to it.
I wanted to kill him.
And I wanted to kiss her.
I came this close to touching her earlier at the scene, checking if she was okay. To cover my inappropriate reaction, I got all pissy with her. I had to. Now her father is here trying to tell me how to do my job.
Billie isn’t around so I assume the Commissioner will say his piece in the outer office but instead he starts walking and doesn’t stop until we get to the Wall of the Fallen. It’s a canny move.
“You’ve lost people?”
He means in the service. “I have.”
“My daughter doesn’t want to hear it from me but I’m doing this for her own good.”
Of all the self-serving bullshit. “Your daughter is a member of my crew and there’s a chain of command here. I prefer to sanction crew members in my own way.”
“You think she shouldn’t be punished?”
“I think she should be educated. Like all my crew.”
Sullivan rubs the back of his neck, drawing attention to some scarring there. It’s a tired move and for a second my heart pangs in sympathy. But then he opens his mouth.
“I heard she was put on latrine duty her first day.”
“You hear a lot.” I still have no idea how news of an early morning run made it to him. I hadn’t even filed a report yet and I can’t imagine Venti shooting the shit with this asshole about the fuckups of his crew. He knows it undermines me.