his kid were riding around in a vehicle with hazards all over the floor. Prick. Grabbing a stray fast food bag from under the driver’s seat, I push myself out of the truck so quickly that I almost lose my footing as I land on the pavement.
Jack stands at nearly the same height as I do—a few inches above six feet—and his light brown hair is starting to gray in places mine has yet to. He stands proud, feet shoulder-width apart and his arms folded over his chest. I could hit him right now if he weren’t my lieutenant. He smirks and looks so much like our father that I reconsider clocking the smug bastard.
“As one of our lieutenants, you’re supposed to lead by fucking example,” I shout and mimic his stance, tossing the trash in my hand on the ground. “I know the fucking diet ginger ale bottle is yours. Nobody else drinks that shit.”
“You tellin’ me how to do my job?” He doesn’t sound so amused now. Good. His smile and lazy attitude were making me feel more than a little violent.
“Somebody has to,” I snap. “I’m tired of picking up after everybody all the goddamn time.”
A few people pause along their way past the firehouse and check their phones and tie their shoes. Nosy fuckers are all just waiting around to see if one of us is going to throw a punch so they can put it on the internet. I learned my lesson after that stupid charity basketball game went wrong. In my defense, that pussy detective in the Thirty-first started it.
I take a few deep breaths and try to center myself. I don’t have much of a temper—at least not compared to the rest of the Hayes men. I’m the calm one. Or, I used to be.
“Hey, assholes,” Hennessey shouts from the open garage bay. He’s got on a short-sleeved FDNY shirt that’s about two sizes two small and shows off his muscles and tattoos. Jack’s a prick, but Hennessey is a fucking bastard.
I don’t really hate my brothers.
I promise.
“What?” Jack and I turn and shout in unison. We sound so much alike that it catches us both off guard. Hennessey grins because he knows that shit bugs us. It has since we were kids.
“Chief wants us in the conference room.”
He turns around and walks between the engine and ambo and then pauses.
“And, uh, you two jerk offs might want to stop sizing up your dicks. Half of Little Italy is watching.” Hennessey heads to the back of the garage and darts up the stairs.
Jack eyes the trash on the ground and lets out a heavy sigh. I relax my stance a little bit and look at everything I pulled out of the truck.
“Damn it.” I crouch down and grab the empty diet ginger ale bottle. Jack follows, and we collect the remainder of the trash and toss it in the nearest receptacle.
“I’ll make sure the guys clean up before end of shift,” Jack says.
I fight against my mood to thank him, but it doesn’t do any good. The asshole wins out. I manage a grunt as we walk through the garage bay and up the stairs. We pass the second floor, which houses the living areas for those on shift, and head up to the third floor where the administrative quarters are.
The long central hall on the third floor is well-lit with all doors closed except for the conference room door, which is wide open at the very end. Inside, it looks like Jack and I are the last to arrive. Somebody had the forethought to put on a pot of coffee, which I’m grateful for. My shift is coming to an end soon, and I’m beat. The truck needed a tune-up and an oil change, and Smokey, the firehouse’s cat, had a dirty-ass litter box that nobody else has cleaned in the last few days. Then there was the mess in the truck. As usual, I’ve spent my entire shift fixing things and solving problems, and yet I can’t find a way around the biggest problem I have—Melanie.
Since the Heroes in Action event, Royal and Melanie have been attached at the hip. The beautiful, crazy blonde I met that night has a killer sense of humor, a kindness that astounds me, and a
Jack stands at nearly the same height as I do—a few inches above six feet—and his light brown hair is starting to gray in places mine has yet to. He stands proud, feet shoulder-width apart and his arms folded over his chest. I could hit him right now if he weren’t my lieutenant. He smirks and looks so much like our father that I reconsider clocking the smug bastard.
“As one of our lieutenants, you’re supposed to lead by fucking example,” I shout and mimic his stance, tossing the trash in my hand on the ground. “I know the fucking diet ginger ale bottle is yours. Nobody else drinks that shit.”
“You tellin’ me how to do my job?” He doesn’t sound so amused now. Good. His smile and lazy attitude were making me feel more than a little violent.
“Somebody has to,” I snap. “I’m tired of picking up after everybody all the goddamn time.”
A few people pause along their way past the firehouse and check their phones and tie their shoes. Nosy fuckers are all just waiting around to see if one of us is going to throw a punch so they can put it on the internet. I learned my lesson after that stupid charity basketball game went wrong. In my defense, that pussy detective in the Thirty-first started it.
I take a few deep breaths and try to center myself. I don’t have much of a temper—at least not compared to the rest of the Hayes men. I’m the calm one. Or, I used to be.
“Hey, assholes,” Hennessey shouts from the open garage bay. He’s got on a short-sleeved FDNY shirt that’s about two sizes two small and shows off his muscles and tattoos. Jack’s a prick, but Hennessey is a fucking bastard.
I don’t really hate my brothers.
I promise.
“What?” Jack and I turn and shout in unison. We sound so much alike that it catches us both off guard. Hennessey grins because he knows that shit bugs us. It has since we were kids.
“Chief wants us in the conference room.”
He turns around and walks between the engine and ambo and then pauses.
“And, uh, you two jerk offs might want to stop sizing up your dicks. Half of Little Italy is watching.” Hennessey heads to the back of the garage and darts up the stairs.
Jack eyes the trash on the ground and lets out a heavy sigh. I relax my stance a little bit and look at everything I pulled out of the truck.
“Damn it.” I crouch down and grab the empty diet ginger ale bottle. Jack follows, and we collect the remainder of the trash and toss it in the nearest receptacle.
“I’ll make sure the guys clean up before end of shift,” Jack says.
I fight against my mood to thank him, but it doesn’t do any good. The asshole wins out. I manage a grunt as we walk through the garage bay and up the stairs. We pass the second floor, which houses the living areas for those on shift, and head up to the third floor where the administrative quarters are.
The long central hall on the third floor is well-lit with all doors closed except for the conference room door, which is wide open at the very end. Inside, it looks like Jack and I are the last to arrive. Somebody had the forethought to put on a pot of coffee, which I’m grateful for. My shift is coming to an end soon, and I’m beat. The truck needed a tune-up and an oil change, and Smokey, the firehouse’s cat, had a dirty-ass litter box that nobody else has cleaned in the last few days. Then there was the mess in the truck. As usual, I’ve spent my entire shift fixing things and solving problems, and yet I can’t find a way around the biggest problem I have—Melanie.
Since the Heroes in Action event, Royal and Melanie have been attached at the hip. The beautiful, crazy blonde I met that night has a killer sense of humor, a kindness that astounds me, and a
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