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event.
    â€œIt’s a good idea,” his mother said firmly. “Don’t you laugh this off or you’ll be needing ice for that thick head of yours instead. Of course you should be captain.”
    Aw hell. He should have known she’d latch on to this idea like a toddler with a teddy bear. “Here’s the best part of the entire event. This is Double D in the dunk tank.” He played the clip. On the screen, the big-­bellied veteran was taunting the kid who was trying to unseat him. He put his thumbs in his ears and waggled his hands. “Wait for it, wait for it . . .” Finally the kid hit the target and Double D went down with a massive splash. “Shazam!”
    He used the momentary distraction to disappear into the kitchen. “I’ll be right back with that ice.”
    â€œVader!” his mother called after him. “We’re not through with this!”
    Cursing under his breath, he slowly banged his head against the freezer door. He should never have mentioned this to his mother. Big mistake. No one was more persistent than a proud mama stuck in a wheelchair with not enough to distract her. How could he tell her that she was the reason he couldn’t consider the captain gig? Captains had a lot more responsibilities than the guys at his level. The studying to become captain would take up huge amounts of time. How was he supposed to take care of her and commit to such a big change?
    He reached into the freezer for the quick-­freeze packs he kept for his many injuries. He was always bruising something. Digging through a drawer of dish towels, he found a soft one that wouldn’t chafe his mother’s head.
    On the other hand . . . Captains got paid more money. He didn’t know exactly how much more. Maybe it would be enough to bring back Betsy, the home health care aide. Their insurance benefits had run out last month, and he’d had to cut her hours. He shuddered, remembering the sight of his mother curled up on the floor. Since the age of fourteen, he’d been protecting her. That was his job. He’d even taken out a huge life insurance policy for himself, so that if he died while on a fire, she’d be financially secure.
    But he rested a lot easier when he knew that someone else was keeping an eye on her while he was at work.
    He wrapped the ice pack in the towel, grabbed a jar of salted peanuts, since he hadn’t eaten since lunch, and headed back to the living room.
    Ginny was replaying the epic splashdown of Double D in slow motion. “Do you know that I think he tripped the lever himself?”
    â€œNo. Really?” He squinted at the screen.
    â€œSee here? His hand goes behind his back? What’s he doing?”
    â€œScratching an itch. Looking for a donut. Who knows? It’s Double D.” He handed her the ice pack and settled her hand against her cheekbone.
    â€œIs he still gluten-­free?”
    â€œSure. If you don’t count hamburger buns and ‘everything’ bagels. And a cruller or two. He’s doing good though. I told you about the chicken wings he made last week, right?”
    That was their cue to settle into the beloved routine they shared, in which he spun firehouse stories, some real, some exaggerated, some completely invented, until she dozed off for her nap, at which point he’d tenderly extract her from her chair and carry her to her bed. This time he stuck with reality, because half of his brain was still mulling over the captain idea. Maybe Freddie was right. Maybe he should ask around. Maybe he could pick up some moonlighting work while he was at it.
    One thing was for sure. To properly take care of his mother, he had to step it up and make more money.
    He must have dozed off in mid-­story, because he was in the throes of a vague dream in which Cherie was steering a large wheelbarrow overflowing with hundred-­dollar bills toward him, when a loud exclamation startled