Reece

Get ready. I'm going to get in your face.

Halfway up the stairs that led to the station house offices, I froze.

Why did I let Alex talk me into this? What in the name of all that was holy was I doing here? Here — Lakeshore Volunteer Fire Department, where Matt and Dad had formed their exclusive little club, where I had never been welcome?

I rolled my shoulders and set my jaw. I shoved my hand into my pocket, felt for the square of paper I'd stuffed inside and immediately felt calm.

A door slammed in the distance, jerked me back to my mission. Okay. I could do this. I walked up the stairs to the station's second floor, where I knew the offices were located. On the second floor, framed pictures lined the corridor, catching my attention. Smiling faces of guys in turnouts standing in front of shiny red trucks, newspaper clippings of honors awarded — and the losses experienced — since the Lakeshore Volunteer Fire Department was formed back in the sixties. I stopped in front of one large frame. Under the glass, a hand-painted sign commanded me to NEVER FORGET. Under that, a series of pictures stared back at me, all neatly aligned like the headstones that no doubt marked their graves. Men, way too many men, listed by the year of their death. An entire cluster of men listed for September 11th, 2001.

But only one listed for December 9th.

I traced Matt's name through the glass, the burn in my chest as hot as the day it formed.

"Help you, son?"

I spun, found myself facing a huge bear of a man wearing station gear — dark pants and a blue T-shirt emblazoned with the LVFD Maltese cross over the left pec. The slogan PROUD AND READY curved around the logo.

I opened my mouth, but when the man's eyes went round, figured no introduction was needed. "Yes, sir. I'd like to join the Junior Squad." I held out the application form clutched in my hand.

The man took the form, held it at arm's length and squinted at the words. With a sigh, he met my eyes. "So you're him."

My stomach dropped. "Yes, sir. I'm Reese Logan."

"And you really want to do this?"

I have to. "Yes, sir. I do."

The man thrust out a hand the size of my face. "Chief Brian Duffy. Why don't we step into my office and chat?"

I gulped once and shook the chief's hand, then followed him to the office behind the last door on the right. Two huge windows overlooked the apparatus floor. I stood and watched the crew from Engine 21 set up their bunker gear — boots inside pants — for the next alarm.

"So. Reece." Chief Duffy grabbed a pair of glasses off a desk littered in paperwork and took another look at my application.

"Just call me Logan." After a moment, I remembered to add a "Please."

Chief Duffy smiled under a bushy mustache. "Logan. Have a seat."

I sat stiffly in a straight back vinyl chair facing the chief's enormous desk. The chief lowered himself into a chair that groaned and protested his bulk but by some miracle held together. Chief Duffy just stared at me over his glasses for several minutes until I shifted uncomfortably.

"Uh, sir. I'm sixteen years old and I realize most of the class probably started as soon as they were old enough but I can promise you I'll work hard—"

"Why?"

I blinked. "Sorry?"

"Why now?"

I frowned and thought how best to reply. "Sir. I've always wanted to do this, but my dad and my brother — well, I wasn't... welcome then."

"Son, you really think you're welcome now?"

"Chief, I'm a strong, willing volunteer. From what the news has been saying, you don't have enough of those."

Chief Duffy's eyes went sharp when they met my eyes over the desk. "No. No, we do not. Volunteers are leaving faster than they're joining and that is quickly becoming a problem for this house. But that doesn't mean I have to take on somebody who I am damn sure is going to upset the climate around here."

I looked down at my hands and sighed.

"Does he even know you're here, son?"

I shook my head.

"That's what I figured." Chief Duffy sighed and scrubbed a hand over the short gray hair that still covered all of his head, though I knew he was in his fifties. "What do you know about my cadets, Logan?"

I sat up straighter and looked Chief Duffy straight in the eye. "Junior Squad is the future of Lakeshore, Chief. The LVFD averaged 2000 calls last year — up from previous years. But you're losing members. Even though you gained two full members from graduating cadets, you lost six members in the last fourteen months. Cadets meet twice a week and work under a supervisor — Lieutenant Neil Ernst. The squad practices fire service until age seventeen and only then are permitted on-scene. Since the squad was formed, there's been a ninety-percent conversion—"

"Okay, okay." Chief Duffy shot out a hand to cut me off. "So you've read the website. I want to know why you think you'd be a good cadet."

Because I have no other options. "Because I come from a firefighter family, Chief. Dad, brother, uncles, grandfather. It's in my genes. It's not about parades and medals and pictures in papers. It's about doing work that matters — even to the people who think their taxes are too damn high."

Chief Duffy laughed once— a sharp sound that echoed off the office walls. He studied me for a long moment and with a nod, reached for the phone on his desk, pressed two buttons, and then that loud voice reverberated across the entire house. "Jamison, chief's office. Jamison to the chief's office."

I cringed. Was I about to be escorted off the premises or welcomed to the brotherhood?

"Okay, Logan, we'll give this a trial run. Here are the rules. First, assuming you pass the background check, you need to know something right now. Lieutenant Ernst is out — the seventh volunteer to leave us this year. Relocating to Florida, can you believe that crap? The Junior Cadet squad's new supervisor is Lieutenant John Logan. You got any issues with that?"

My stomach clenched into a tight ball. Fuck me. "No, sir."

"Good. Second, you step a single toe out of line I will cut you loose, no questions asked. That means no family drama in my house. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." I swallowed hard. I could make that promise; my father was another story.

A tap on the door interrupted us. "Yes, chief?"

"Mandy, this is Reece Logan, our newest cadet. Get him set up, will you?"

I looked up and for a second, saw the fast burst of outrage on Amanda's face before she controlled herself. With a nod, she mumbled, "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Chief Duffy." I shook the chief's hand.

"Better hurry, Logan. Jamison's pretty fast."

I turned and found the doorway empty.