Page 4 of Under Water

I shove the condom in a biohazard bag to dispose of, then gather Ozzie and Logan from the front yard, where Ozzie is telling McKayla about North’s station crows. She has a far-off look in her eyes that tells me she’s busy contemplating mortality and life and isn’t listening to our sweet little rookie, but that’s fine.

She is calm, and Ozzie is in his element.

Logan walks up and takes the bio bag out of my hands. “Did he get epinephrine in time?”

“He did,” I say. “I think. Benny’s really good at his job, and whatever they can’t do, the hospital’s five minutes from here.”

His shoulders sag, and he glances at the truck. “I, uh…I have a question.”

“Hit me.”

“Do you think Camilo would hate my guts if I asked for a transfer?”

The question jolts me because I thought Logan was getting along here really well. “Is someone giving you shit? Because just say the word, and I can⁠—”

“No. Not, like…not to another station.” He breathes in deep for a second, then shrugs. “Not having what we needed sucked, and there are so many more of us than there are on Benny’s team. I feel like I’d…that it would…” He stops for a second.

I wait patiently because it’s obvious he’s looking for his words.

“I feel like I might matter more over there.”

He’s not entirely wrong. People tend to glorify the life of a firefighter in ways they don’t do with the paramedics. And while we’re all trained, it usually ends with us on the call first, trying to hold the pieces together as we wait for one of Benny’s team. And I can tell Axel is also starting to burn out as the station supervisor.

Hard.

It’s probably why Axel and Camilo are always at each other’s throats.

“I don’t think Camilo will take it personally,” I say, then hesitate. “So long as you remind him you don’t like Axel more.”

Logan bursts into laughter. I know it’s more tension release than humor, but he looks a bit lighter on his feet. “Never. Though I actually do like Axel, so…”

“We all do. We just don’t say it out loud where Cam can hear us.” I set my hand on his shoulder. “Set up a meeting and talk to him about it. If you feel like your calling isn’t here, he’s not going to hate you for that.”

Logan nods and swallows heavily. “Thanks. I just…yeah. I had a weird vacation, and it got me thinking about whether or not I’m squandering this whole second career thing.”

I have no idea what to say to that. I’ve been doing this longer than I care to admit, and I never thought about what was going to happen past this because, frankly, I could probably do this job until they force me to retire.

I got started because of Leo, but it’s not about him anymore. And my life might be a sad, lonely, pathetic mess, but at least it’s mine.

And out of all the things that are chaos, at least this makes sense.

The station is a little too quiet when we get in. The mood on the drive back was a bit more subdued, and in all honesty, I’m thinking I want a long nap and then maybe to convince North to whip up some pizzas in the new pizza oven we set up outside.

I head for the showers because I hadn’t gotten one before the call came in, and I’m just gathering my little bag of shower supplies when the door flings open, and a dark figure walks in.

I recognize him immediately. He’s like the dark storm cloud that haunts the hallways.

Rune.

His name is oddly fitting, and I can’t help but wonder about his parents. I don’t think he had shitty ones like mine. I don’t think he had overly complicated ones like North did. He seems like the kind of guy who grew up very loved and middle-class and happy, and then when he stepped foot outside his childhood house, he got his ass handed to him by the universe.

Of course, talking to him about that sort of thing is a very quick way to get Rune to ice anyone out for at least a week. It only happened to me once and never again. It’s hard to explain the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach when he refused to even look at me, but I don’t want a repeat.

The guys joke about my crush on him, which is absurd. I’m the station’s token straight, and if it’s a man crush, that’s just…well.

Whatever.

I could go full textbook psych 101 and say I’m attention seeking because he seems to hate me the most. And that’s probably true. But I don’t want him. I can just appreciate the nice set of abs he keeps hidden under his polos. And hey, what’s wrong with admiring biceps?