Just add ice, p.2
Just Add Ice, page 2
“Okay, Roo.” Nick stood and put his plate and cup in the dishwasher. “Time for me to go to work.”
Roo was on her feet and waiting at the back door, tail wagging, when he turned around. Nick grinned, giving her a little pet behind the ears before opening the dog door.
“Behave yourself today!” he called out as the tip of her tail disappeared behind the door flap.
Gathering his gear, he locked up and was halfway down the street before he remembered he was training today. The fire station he worked out of was less than a mile’s walk from home, but he needed to drive to the training center at the Boulder Reservoir. He sighed and turned around, berating himself for letting his mind dwell so deep on his loss again.
He opened the garage, throwing his bag onto the passenger seat of the truck as he climbed in. He started the engine but sat there for a minute while the vehicle warmed up, wondering if those moments where grief hit him so hard he forgot what he was doing would ever lessen.
Maybe he should call his therapist. Even if orders hadn’t come from his fire chief to see someone for help with his grief, he’d have gone, anyway. Too many people depended on him to be on top of his game, from those he worked with who should never have reason to doubt that he’d have their backs to those they rescued and helped on the worst days of their lives. But the thing was, at work, he was laser focused. It was outside of the job, in the quiet hours without distraction, where he struggled.
The sun crested the horizon and painted the Front Range Mountains and the Flatirons in a warm, peach-pink glow, when Nick arrived at the command center at half-past six.
“Mornin’, Nick,” James Poverly, fire captain and lead training instructor at the center, greeted with a quick glance.
He sat at one of three desks facing the wall left of the door, tapping away on a computer keyboard. A large dry-erase board with schedules and last-minute info for the day ahead hung on the wall above the desks.
“Morning, Cap.” Nick nodded as he passed by, crossing the space and dropping his bag in the small change room at the back of the command office.
The rectangular-shaped office was large enough to hold a dozen people, with a conference table at one end that was flanked on each side by far-too-comfortable couches—which Nick knew for a fact because he had napped on those couches more than once, as did most every training officer—and overlooked the training yard through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Nick poured himself a cup of coffee at the kitchenette at the back of the space, perpendicular to the row of desks, and then walked over to look out the window. The yard was quiet as the shadows of night slowly receded, but soon it would be a flurry of noise and action.
“No lunch again?” Cap glanced over his shoulder; his brows furrowed.
How was it that Poverly always noticed when Nick didn’t bring a lunch? It was as if the man had eyes in the back of his head.
Nick shrugged. “I’ll grab something from the food truck later.”
“You really need to eat better than that.”
Nick frowned. The food truck that came by daily at noon on the nose boasted a menu with delicious and healthy food. All much better than anything he could make for himself. But he was saved from having to respond when the other half of the four-person instructor team arrived.
Lieutenant Sabrina Verlice from Boulder Station 7, who was also one of his best friends, entered first, followed by Firefighter Óscar Capmany from Boulder Station 4, who’d joined the service the same time as Nick had.
“Hey, guys,” Sabrina greeted, her voice still groggy because she’d probably rolled out of bed ten minutes before she had to leave.
Nick grinned. She was a kick-ass firefighter, but she loved her sleep like a bee loved nectar.
Sabrina unloaded two large food containers into the fridge before disappearing into the change room. She plopped down on the couch when she returned and patted the cushion for Nick to join her. She leaned close when he sat and whispered, “Jenny made way too much for dinner last night, so I brought leftovers for you.”
Nick bit back a sigh.
“Rina. You know you two don’t need to keep feeding me.”
He appreciated how Sabrina and her wife looked out for him. But the feeling that he couldn’t take care of himself without Geoff was starting to rankle. So, maybe he wasn’t doing a great job at it. He’d loved cooking for Geoff and always trying new recipes, but without him Nick didn’t see much reason to put in the effort anymore. These days his culinary skills went as far as what he could pop into the microwave, but he didn’t need to be watched over so much. So maybe he sometimes forgot what he was doing while doing it, and maybe he was still grieving, but he wasn’t going to break down. He’d already done that in private. And though he could admit he wasn’t eating a lot, or overly healthy, he was eating.
But he wasn’t fool enough to turn down a real home-cooked meal. “What did she make?”
“Knew it.” She laughed. “Teriyaki chicken stir-fry.”
“You’d better have brought enough for all of us,” Capmany said as he put his lunch in the fridge before pulling out a chair at the end of the conference table.
“Please.” Sabrina snorted. “You should share with us. Raquel could be a Michelin-rated chef with her skills. I don’t think she knows how to make a crap meal.”
Nick agreed. Invites for dinner at Óscar and Raquel’s house were much coveted amongst the crew.
“Okay, team,” Poverly pushed back from the desk and stood to address them. “We have a few things to go over before heading down to the training yard. We have twenty new trainees who are all on the blended online-onsite program. They’re coming in with book smarts, so we need to make sure they translate those smarts into action. We’ll do the crawl-walk-run model with them.”
“You want us to split them up into fives and take them through the courses, or do an open house style?” Sabrina asked.
“Let’s split them up for the crawl basics,” Poverly said. “We’ll reassess when they hit the walking stage. We have a professional minor league hockey player in the mix this time, too, with the hockey career program. Rayne Hamilton from the Boulder Blitz.”
“Oh, I know who he is,” Capmany said with excitement in his voice as he leaned forward in his chair. “He’s a big guy. Used to be a real bruiser. Not so much anymore, but he still lands some pretty heavy hits on the ice. You should have seen the hit he put on the Corsairs’ defenseman Kostas in their last game. That one’s going to be a highlight reel special for a long time.”
“As long as he keeps that to the ice,” Nick said.
He didn’t know Rayne Hamilton. The only hockey he watched was the Denver Mustangs, Colorado’s major league team. What he knew, though, was that hockey players often made great firefighters. They understood the value of teamwork and were easier to teach because they’d had years under the guidance of their coaches. Occasionally they’d get a pro athlete who didn’t check their ego at the door, but those ones didn’t make it to the service. Firefighting demanded a level-headed personality because ego and fire rarely mixed well. Fire would always win that battle.
After Poverly wrapped up their morning status meeting, they all donned matching “BCFTC Instructor” hoodies and ball caps, headed downstairs, and walked across the yard to the training area. They had multiple full-scale props and buildings for training scenarios, including a car, pressure vessel, two burn trailers, a burn building, and a four-story training tower.
The trainees had arrived, fully decked out in their turnout gear as they clustered in small groups talking animatedly amongst themselves, their excitement at starting the next phase of their schooling palpable.
Poverly called them to attention, ordering them to line up in four rows of five, military style.
“Welcome to the Boulder County Fire Training Center,” Poverly addressed the group when they’d settled into formation, his voice carrying easily across the yard. “Our job here is to make sure you have the foundation, skills, knowledge, and experience to become the best firefighters you can be. The lives you save could also be your own.” He paused as he looked over the trainees, and Nick knew he was making eye contact with every one of them. “We have a three-stage teaching model: crawl, walk, run. You’re going to be learning the basics with an assigned training officer for the first week. This is the crawl phase. When the instructors are confident with your skills, you can progress to a self-directed open-house style through the stations. This is the walking stage. By your third week, you’ll be ready for the running stage with live fire drills.”
Nick scanned the trainees while Poverly continued his introductory speech. They had a diverse crowd, their expressions eager and faces bright with anticipation, but he knew from experience that only a handful of these firefighter hopefuls would make it to the service. Half of them wouldn’t even make it beyond the four weeks of hands-on training they were here for. Firefighting was a dangerous and demanding career that not everyone was cut out for, and there were always a few who realized it wasn’t for them during the course. Others would fail out, not having what it took to qualify no matter how hard they tried—or didn’t try.
“Row one,” Poverly was saying. “You’ll be with Firefighter Capmany.” He gestured toward Óscar, and then to Sabrina. “Row two, you’re with Lieutenant Verlice. Row three with Lieutenant Seavers, and row four with me. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” the trainees replied in unison.
“Let’s get to it.” Poverly nodded. “Fall out.”
Nick stepped forward to greet his crew for the week. There were four men and one woman who was taller than all but two of the men. One of the larger men stood his ground like he owned the yard. He wasn’t the biggest guy on Nick’s team, but he was a solid mountain of muscle a couple inches taller than Nick’s six feet, and easily a couple hundred pounds. His blond hair was set in a spiky style that made him seem edgy. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue that reminded Nick of the sky on a summer afternoon, and the excitement in them was tangible. He held his head high, chin up, shoulders back, and had an indefinable presence surrounding him that made people stop and take notice.
And Nick noticed.
Was he the hockey player? The man certainly looked athletic, and athletes—especially those with a quiet confidence—had always been his type.
And why did it feel like an effort to drag his gaze away from the man?
Nick cleared his throat as a dose of guilt chased the surprise spark of interest, the two twining into his stomach uncomfortably. He hadn’t so much as glanced at another man since losing Geoff. Until now.
“Good morning,” he greeted, clasping his hands behind his back and lacing his fingers so he had something to hang on to. “Like Captain Poverly said, we’re here to make sure you’re as prepared as possible for your future as a firefighter. This job is extremely demanding and dangerous. Every time you go out on a call, there is a potential risk to your life.” Nick made eye contact with each trainee to make the point, just as Poverly had. “Knowing what to do in those situations will help keep you and your fellow firefighters safe and get everyone home to their families at the end of the day. If you have questions, no matter how inconsequential you might think they are, ask. There are always instructors at every skills station ready to help. We also have a safety officer on site in case of any injuries.”
The largest of his trainees raised an eyebrow at that.
“Yes,” Nick answered the unasked question in his eyes. “Even during training, there are serious risks to life and limb. We make the stations and drills as safe as possible, but we are working with live fire here, and it is its own beast.”
“Has anyone ever been seriously injured during training?” the big guy asked as he shifted on his feet. “Or worse?”
“Unfortunately.” Nick nodded but didn’t go into details. If the trainee wanted to know, he could look up old news articles. “Improved safety measures are constantly being put in place, but as I said, fire is its own beast.”
The big guy paled, and Nick mentally placed odds against him making it through the first week of training.
“Before we get started.” Nick unlocked his hands and pointed at the big guy. “Call out your names.”
“Chip Morin,” he answered with a slight inflection, as though his name was a skill-testing question that he wasn’t sure of the answer.
Nick stifled a sigh. He’d need to keep a close eye on Morin, so he didn’t hurt himself or his fellow trainees. He shifted his gaze to the next trainee, the one who’d drawn his attention.
“Rayne Hamilton.” He smiled, wide and genuine. His voice was deep and gruff, as though he’d smoked a pack of cigarettes on his way to the training center.
Nick’s brain short-circuited for a second. He swallowed.
So that’s the hockey player.
Once again, Nick had to consciously drag his gaze away, his focus divided as the rest of his trainees introduced themselves. Kelly Wash was the female trainee. Zeke Thatcher and Rex Brownlow rounded out the fivesome.
“Okay.” Nick motioned toward a collection of skills testing stations. “Today we’ll go through pulling and folding hose lines, throwing ladders, and forcing doors. Follow me.”
The lines and ladders stations were already full, so Nick led them to the forcible entry station, where two free-standing metal doors set in metal frames stood. He picked up a set of tools that were leaning against a doorframe and held one up in each hand.
“You all know what these are?”
“An axe and a Halligan bar,” Hamilton answered confidently.
The timbre of his voice set off a queasy feeling in Nick’s stomach. Something that felt an awful lot like fluttering butterfly wings.
What the hell . . .
“Correct.” His voice was tight, the word sounding forced and clipped. Frowning, he cleared his throat and turned to face the door. “I’ll demonstrate a few ways to use the bar, and then you’ll all take turns practicing solo and with a partner.”
“OKAY.” RAYNE TURNED TO FACE his fellow trainees, who stood in a half circle while Lieutenant Seavers explained proper forced entry techniques. “No one told me how hot firefighters are.”
Especially Lieutenant Seavers, but he kept that to himself. The sun had been shining on him when his row of trainees was placed with the too-sexy-for-his-own-good instructor.
Kelly Wash, who he’d met and hit it off with when he’d first arrived that morning, chuckled softly beside him.
“I’m right there with you,” she said under her breath.
But one trainee standing on the other side of Kelly—Brownlow, who’d kept to himself, not talking to anyone when they’d all arrived and had been waiting for their instructors—was frowning at him.
Rayne raised his brows in question.
“Shh,” Brownlow whisper-hissed, his eyes narrowed.
Both of Rayne’s eyebrows climbed higher as he met Kelly’s equally surprised—and amused—gaze.
“Did he just shush me?”
Kelly disguised a bark of laughter as a cough and elbowed him in the side.
“Shush,” she whispered with a gleeful note in her voice.
He shot a glare at her before returning his focus to their sexy instructor, just as the lieutenant turned to face them as he explained how they used the Halligan and axe to force open doors. Rayne knew from his classes what tools were needed, and how to use them in theory, but he’d been itching for hands-on experience. He’d felt the same bubbles of excitement fizzing in his stomach as he’d prepared for his first day of fire training as he did when it was game day with the Blitz.
“First, we’ll sound the door to see where any locks are,” Seavers was saying, his gaze landing on Rayne for an extended second.
Hazel. His eyes are a green hazel.
Rayne watched as Seavers raised the Halligan bar with the curved, two-pronged claw end facing the door. He rammed the metal door from top to bottom in five spots near the frame. The door bowed slightly where it was free of locks, but the top and middle had no give.
“There’s a lock here, and here.” Seavers placed the palm of his hand on the door, where it had shown no give. Then he pointed to the space between. “This here is where we want to gap it.”
Rayne swallowed as he watched Seavers attack the door. His attention riveted to the service pants that hugged Seavers’ beautiful, firm ass, and stretched over his strong thighs. He’d removed his hoodie as the day warmed, and his long-sleeved “Instructor” T-shirt fit tightly to his lean frame. The muscles in his back and arms flexed and contracted as he worked the tool into the jam, showing them a few ways to angle the adze—an arched cutting blade set at a right angle to the handle—and pick end to force the door open.
Heat that had nothing to do with the temperature under Rayne’s turnout gear spread through him. Had he ever seen anything sexier than a gorgeous man busting a door open? Nope.
He covertly adjusted himself, but when he glanced around to make sure no one had noticed, Kelly was grinning at him. He smiled back and mouthed, What? doing his best impression of an innocent, wide-eyed puppy. She shook her head before turning back to the demonstration.
Which was what he needed to focus on. Learning the skills for a new career, and not getting sidetracked by a man with a beautiful body, captivating hazel eyes, and sinfully sweet voice.
Lieutenant Seavers put the tools down against the doorframe he’d been demonstrating on. “Who wants to go first?”
“Me,” Rayne called out at the same time as Brownlow.
Lieutenant Seavers pointed at Rayne. “Hamilton. You’re up.”
Brownlow shot another disapproving frown Rayne’s way. Like it was his fault that the lieutenant chose him first. He ignored Brownlow and stepped forward.
