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Watching Trin(7)
Author: Freya Barker

My eyes drift out the kitchen window where the day promises to be a dreary one.

I wasn’t lying when I told Bodhi my life is in chaos; it certainly feels that way. The offer of dinner with the handsome firefighter—and anything that might infer—has tempted me more than once these past two weeks. A few times I had my phone in my hand, almost calling the number he left me. The desire to just be me—not defined by the needs of others—is strong, but if this morning’s incident is an indication of what lies ahead, things are about to get more complicated.

Maybe some day in the future, when I have some semblance of control in my life. Of course by then the man with the kind heart and warm eyes will have long forgotten the impromptu offer of the slice of normalcy he extended.

An acrid smell breaks through my spinning thoughts and my eyes snap to the stove, where the pan is starting to smoke. Quickly I turn off the burner and slide the sandwich on a plate. I startle when I swing around and find Pops standing behind me. I didn’t even hear him come downstairs.

“Is that for me?”

His eyes are on the plate I almost dropped.

“This one’s for Tuck but I can make you one.”

His eyes meet mine and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to throw another fit and brace myself, but then he smiles and nods before shuffling to the kitchen table. When I look over at Tucker, I notice he’s halfway up from the couch, his eyes following Pops.

 

 

Bodhi

 

“How’s your dad?”

Vic hands me the pile of dirty dinner plates and I rinse them under the faucet before stacking them in the dishwasher. We rotate kitchen duties in pairs and tonight Vic and I are responsible for dinner and clean up.

Meals at the fire station tend to be simple and easy to reheat, mainly because—like tonight—we could get called out at any time. The only one who goes all out every time is Sumo, a great cook, which only makes it harder when we get called out and one of his gourmet meals ends up in the garbage.

No one really mourned the merely serviceable lasagna Vic and I threw together that ended up in the bin tonight. Not that I would’ve had an appetite after the call we had.

The alarm came in from a bakery downtown. One of their employees had been mixing dough in an industrial mixer, prepping for tomorrow, when the giant beaters seized. The idiot stuck his hand in to loosen them and got his arm caught. The result was a gruesomely twisted hand and forearm with several open fractures. It took dismantling the entire machine before we were able to extricate the guy. The damage was so extensive I don’t know if it’s even fixable.

“No more adventures,” she shares. “At least none outside of the house.”

What I really want to know is how her sister is doing, but the fact she hasn’t used my number is a clear indication I must’ve misread her cues. Too bad. The woman’s been on my mind a lot. She’s nothing like Vic who is blonde, athletic, stacked, and only a couple of inches shy of my height. Katrina is short—even next to me—has lush reddish hair, nicely rounded hips, and those unique pale eyes. It’s not that I can’t see Vic’s appeal, it’s that I’m completely captivated by her sister’s unique beauty.

“My grandmother—Mom’s mom—lived with us her last few years when I was still in high school. She had dementia. I know it became a full-time job for my mother to care for her and put a stress on our entire family. Numerous times she’d wander off, completely oblivious to her surroundings, and we’d be roaming the streets to find her.” I put the last of the glasses in the dishwasher and add detergent, before closing the door and turning it on. “It’s a tough situation on everyone.”

Vic crosses her arms over her chest defensively and regards me closely.

“Are you trying to make a point?”

Touchy.

“No. At least nothing other than the offer of a friendly ear of someone who can appreciate what you’re dealing with. That’s all,” I dismiss her and start walking toward the sleeping quarters.

It’s late and I want to grab as much sleep as I can before the next alarm sounds.

“Wait.” A hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to face her. “I’m sorry. I thought…” She hesitates. “I know you heard me go off on my sister, and I thought you were calling me out on that.” She raises a hand. “Not that I wouldn’t deserve it. I was a bitch and, uh, things have been strained at home. I know I should apologize to her but there never seems to be a good time.”

“Now is always a good time for an apology,” I impart a bit of wisdom, courtesy of my level-headed father.

She grimaces. “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

 

“…Engine 3. Medic 3…”

I swing my legs over the side and rub the remnants of sleep away before launching myself out of bed. There’s a reason we usually sleep dressed at the firehouse.

“…Swift water rescue, 29th Street Park…”

I’m right behind Hog, running down the stairs, and over to the rig where our turnout gear is waiting for us to step into. By the time I’m turning left on East 3rd Avenue, barreling through the dark streets, Cap is able to give us a more detailed report.

A witness heard voices calling from the river and spotted an overturned raft with two, maybe three, victims hanging off the side just north of the East 32nd Street bridge. The rapids start about half a mile south of the bridge, right by the park. Dispatch is sending other rescue units farther down the river just in case.

“Who the fuck would take out a raft in the middle of the goddamn night?” Hog grumbles behind me.

“College kids, idiots, drunks, or any combination of those. Take your pick,” Vic suggests dryly.

In spring—with the water volume up in the Animas River due to the snow runoff—the rapids are at their most dangerous. However, we’ve had quite a bit of rainfall, especially this past week, so the water is high and the river unpredictable and treacherous. Especially at night.

“Got that right,” Cap mutters.

I pull into the small riverside park, Medic 3 right behind us, and stop as close as I can to the edge of the water, aiming the headlights at the churning tide. It took us a total of six minutes to get here from the time the call went out. Given the speed of the current and the location the raft was first spotted, we’re going to have to hustle or we’ll miss them.

“Cheddar and Roadkill, suit up. Vic, you and Hog set up floodlights and secure safety lines. Hurry!”

The idea is to tie both of us off to the safety lines attached to the rig, before we head into the river to try, and intercept the raft. I just hope to God the victims are still hanging on.

“I see it!” Vic yells out just as we step into the water.

I take a quick look, catch a glimpse over the rolling whitecaps, and hear screams when a side of the capsized raft hits the first drop. I grab a firm hold of my toss bag and dive into its path. Cheddar is downstream, hopefully ready to catch whatever gets by me.

Blindly reaching out, my hand hits rubber and I manage to hook on to the grab rope that loops through the rings on the outside of the raft.

“Pull!” I yell to the shore, where the rest of the crew is manning the safety lines.

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