Page 17 of Christmas with Three Firemen

I burst out laughing. And, like a fucking holiday miracle, her determined pout finally cracks into a stubborn smile.

Still grinning, I make my way around to the driver’s side and hop up. I start the engine and turn to her, about to ask if she wants to take the scenic route back to the station, when the radio on my belt crackles to life.

Noelle frowns down at it as a load of information spills out, most of it garbled and muted by static, but I can understand it just as easily as any other language at this point.

“Alright,” I say, hitting the button to flick on the sirens. “Let’s rock and roll!”

“What? What’s going on?” she shouts, definitely much louder than necessary to be heard over the sirens.

“Apartment fire,” I tell her. “Possible occupants trapped inside.”

I tap the screen on the dashboard and pull up the address, which is thankfully only about ten blocks away.

“What?” she almost shrieks. “You’re responding to a call? Now? With me? You don’t even have your gear on!”

I smack the bundle of gear folded up neatly in the space between our seats.

“Duty calls, Noelle,” I tell her.

When I sneak a glance at her expression, though, she still looks horrified.

Scared, maybe.

But something much more pressing requires my focus right now, so I lock in and head to the scene.

When we arrive, Cap and a load of the crew in another engine whip around the corner of the block approximately seventeen seconds after us.

“Fuck, they’re fast,” Noelle gasps.

“Yep. Stay in here.”

It’s all I say before I’m throwing on my gear and hurling myself out of the engine, jogging toward the building where smoke is gushing from a fourth-floor window.

Cap spots me and gives me an amicable shove in Wes’s direction, silently indicating that I’m with him. All part of the usual routine, of course, but I appreciate the friendly greeting.

And then adrenaline takes over. Wes and I lead the way up the stairs. Outside, the sirens continue wailing. People are gawking from the sidewalk, but hopefully NYPD will arrive in a few seconds to provide crowd control.

The crew moves with practiced precision. Radios explode with information and instructions. I fall into it like I’m dipping into warm water, easily slipping into the part of me that responds on instinct, trusts in my captain’s orders, and never hesitates to put myself on the line to save a civilian.

Before we even reach the apartment, a man carrying a little girl comes bursting out of it. Wes meets them first, communicating with them quickly and then signaling to me that they were the only ones inside. He breaks off to help the man and his child back downstairs, so I head up with Danny and our rookie Callum.

Inside the apartment, it’s not a major disaster scene. Just a kitchen fire that got out of control and is well on its way to chewing up the outdated cabinetry. I rush to a window, throw it open and signal that we don’t need the hose lines deployed. By the time I turn around, the fire has already been mostly contained with extinguishers.

Easy-peasy.

But then my radio crackles again.

“First floor. We’re getting a second blaze.”

All three of us lock eyes in a mutual, What?

What are the chances that a kitchen fire on the fourth floor would happen at the same time as another fire on the first floor?

“Electrical. ConEd override requested.”

Callum gives me another separate look that’s more like, The fuck?

But there’s no time to puzzle it out. Danny wordlessly signals that he’ll hang back to secure this scene, so we rush back downstairs.