I stood in the frigid early morning air, my favourite time of the day, and watched the animals eat quietly for a few minutes. The dew on the grass and the gentle noises coming from the horse’s soothed me for reasons I did not understand. Maybe it was the quiet that drifted across the paddocks and the white crispness of the grass from the morning frost, or maybe it was because I was an antisocial arsehole who preferred the company of my equine and bovine friends rather than people—Dylan, Carson, and their families being the only exceptions. The other guys at the station did not fit into the category of friends, as harsh as that sounded. Being alone out here on my small farm with my modest house suited me just fine.
Once upon a time, I had been a totally different man who socialised, went out with, and made love to women. I hadn’t given that up completely. I was still a red-blooded male with needs and loved women, but I was just a little… picky. Sleeping with a woman meant more to me that a few hours of release. Most of my work colleagues and the people who had only known me for a few years believed I was some kind of loner who made myself off-limits to affection.
Nothing could be further from the truth. I wanted to have love, to feel that all-consuming need for just one person and to have it reciprocated.
“Not much to ask, hey?” I mumbled the question to the horses who, of course, didn’t give a shit about anything other than their breakfast. Picking up the bucket, I looked wistfully over my land. I owned fifty acres of lush grazing paddocks, perfect for the plans I had for the future.
One day it will happen, I thought with a sigh, but right now, I had to get to work. Quickening my pace, I headed to the stables to put away the bucket and change my shoes.
I was on day shift at work this week, which meant lots of cleaning the equipment and no sleeping, but regardless of the harder work, I preferred days because it gave me more time at home on the farm. And daylight saving made that even better.
“See you in ten hours,” I called over my shoulder to the horses and the few cows that were starting to mill around the trough, waiting for the horses to finish so they could scavenge any dregs or luck out and score a sugar cube, not that there was much chance of that happening.
When I walked into the station’s garage, the first thing I saw shouldn’t have surprised me, but it kinda did.
Seeing Hoove hanging upside down on the fireman pole, using just his thighs wrapped around it to keep him up, and eating a cupcake wasn’t something I cared to see ever again. Although… reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone, opened the screen, and snapped off a couple of photos of the idiot I called my best friend. These would be good for blackmail or maybe blown up and pinned to the noticeboard in the day room.
“Seriously, Hoove, your kid has no chance of being normal sharing DNA with you,” I said, chuckling as I passed by him. The fireman pole didn’t serve any purpose other than for Hoove’s entertainment. A few years ago, we put it there for a charity function to raise money for a local kindergarten where we dressed up in exaggerated stripper outfits, and well, we pole danced for money. That night, we not only raised a shit-ton of money for the kiddies but we also traumatised ourselves until the end of time. Watching Hoove and Carson dance badly—very badly—in glitter-covered G-strings and titty tassels would give anyone nightmares.
“Hey! My kid is going to be just like his old man—fucking awesome,” Hoove declared with a mouth full of red velvet sponge cake, bits of it spewing out of his mouth and onto the floor underneath him. Before I could comment on that disgustingness, I heard Carson laughing.
“It’s Tate I feel sorry for. Imagine having two Hooves to put up with for the rest of your life, hey, Chase.”
A grunt was my only response before snagging a red frosted cupcake from the platter on the toolbox and rushed out of the garage, leaving Hoove’s threats and insults for Carson to deal with.
Four steps along the corridor and I wished I had stayed in the garage with Hoove.
“Hey, Chase. Some new equipment just arrived that needs cataloguing and a security identifying number etched on them all,” called out Mike, the station’s senior officer in charge. Mike was a good guy, whose position was one above Carson and one below our commander. He was happy to be a senior station officer, and he didn’t have designs to go higher in the ranks. A few weeks ago, at a social gathering at the pub, he expressed his desire to retire in a year or two, not wanting the high stress that came with the rank of commander. Which meant Carson would be up for a promotion, and Hoove and I, in turn, would possibly move up with him.
My rank was qualified firefighter, just one below Hoove. Moving up was what I wanted but only in this station and with this crew. I knew there were positions for a lead firefighter that I could go for at other stations in different towns, but I liked it here. The town was just big enough with just enough pubs, a few schools, and even though it wasn’t small enough to know everyone by name, it was perfect for me. Plus, leaving my farm was never going to happen. Prue and Melly’s ashes were buried in my back garden, and Prue’s presence was all over my house. I kept her bedroom the exact way she left it the day she went home on her last day alive. Leaving it all was not an option.
Returning my attention to Mike, I pushed aside the melancholy the memories evoked.
“I am qualified, you know, Mike. I have done my fair share of serial number marking over the years. Get Knox to do it.”
“I am getting Knox to do it, and you are helping him. The kid needs all the help he can if he is ever going to pass recruit status. I pulled a lot of strings to keep him on here for so long at that rank because Carson sees something in him. What, I have no friggin’ clue, but he does. I trust Carson so…” Mike paused, his eyebrows raised to his hairline, waiting for me to understand—which, unfortunately, I did. Bloody Carson.
“So I have to help the useless shit get better at everything he should already know by now,” I finished with a resigned sigh.
“Yeah, something like that, only don’t say that in front of the brass. They don’t agree with Carson and are looking for an excuse to fire Knox. The only reason they haven’t is that Hoges is very respected, and his wife makes great food for the department’s business lunches.” Mike chuckled. He was just as addicted to Lake’s goodies as we were. Well, maybe not as much as Hoove, who was on a whole other level of appreciation.
“Fair enough, mate. Where is the use—um, recruit.” I stopped myself just in time as my commander walked out of his office with the town’s mayor alongside him.
The family of Phillip Masters owned half the town and surrounding land, including the house next to mine—which was currently unoccupied—and two others on my lane. I lived only five minutes out of town, close to where Carson and Lake lived, and while it wasn’t quite classed as the country, it was pretty bloody close. My road was a dirt one with paddocks and animals and, most importantly, quiet. Carson’s place was behind mine with our back paddocks adjoining.
I liked the peace and quiet but enjoyed the close proximity to work and the amenities of town.
“Ah, Chase. Perfect timing. Mayor Masters is here looking for you,” my boss said with a huge fake smile. He didn’t like having to kiss arse every time we needed community funds or the council’s help, but it was a necessary evil, and we were all used to it. However, I never had to do any of the butt kissing myself, thank God.
“Well, that’s because I was out feeding the animals before I left for work this morning,” I told them, keeping the sarcasm I was famous for out of my tone—I hoped.
“Yes. I know your animals. They liked to rub themselves up against my barbed wire fence and leave their hair knotted in the barbs. It is a bit unsightly, Firefighter Brennan, don’t you think?” Masters said in the hoity-toity voice he was famous for.
I hated him, and he hated me. I thought he was an arsehole and voiced that to him many times.
And he blamed me for his cousin’s death.
How the fuck I could be blamed for his cousin shoving a gun bar
rel into his mouth and blowing his head off after he killed my daughter and her mum was unfathomable. But he managed to gain community sympathy for the tragedy, ran for mayor, and had been re-elected several times.
Schooling my expression from anger to bored, I looked at him.
“Not really. It’s hair, and they are animals, and it’s what they do.” Yeah, okay, I put a smidge of sarcasm in my reply, but come the fuck on! Unsightly barbed wire?
“Firefighter Brennan, I think that—”
“Phillip, Chase has just clocked on, and he has a full day of work ahead of him. Maybe you can tell him why you are here, and then we can get some breakfast across the street. Lake has a special on cinnamon buns all this week.”
I appreciated my commander’s effort to deflect Mayor Cockwit away from me so I didn’t throat punch the mayor for the idiocy he just came out with, but judging by the sneer on the dweeb’s face, he wasn’t quite finished with me just yet.
“You should be aware there will be some tradesmen around the property next week. I’m having some work done to the place.”
I felt a chill run up my spine. The house next to mine had been unoccupied for the last five years. Old man Masters, Mayor Cockwit’s grandfather and a hell of a nice bloke, had lived there most of his life until he suffered a stroke that had him hospitalised before being moved to an assisted living facility where he had been ever since. Out of all the Masters family, he was the best of the lot, and I got along just fine with him. After he moved, I kept the grass down on his side, made sure the place looked maintained and tidy. But if Phillip was digging into his deep pockets and spending some of his precious money on his grandfather’s house all after all these years…
Fuck, he better not be moving in.
“Going to be neighbours, are we?” I asked, my teeth and jaw gritted so hard I was going to need a dentist.
When Masters snorted in disgust, my temper cooled just a bit.
“Hardly. Haven’t you seen the house I built? I am used to the finer things, unlike some people. No. Grandfather refuses to allow us to sell it, he is old and stuck in his ways, so we have no choice but to rent it out. With his medical bills and nursing home costs becoming too much of a burden on Mother and Father, this is our last recourse.” His nasally voice droned on and on about shit I didn’t care about. All that mattered was I didn’t have to share air with Mayor Cockwit.
“Yeah, whatever. Commander, I have to go find Knox—” Raising my brows, I nodded at my boss, hoping he knew I’d had enough. News of having a neighbour one day soon irked me a little. I liked my privacy and the freedom to walk around my property without being watched. My dogs often wandered over the fence line to swim in the dam next door. I had one, too, but I filled mine with trout for fishing. Hoove, Carson, and I even built a kick-arse dock and pontoon so we could spend hours out on the water in the summer, drinking and fishing. I preferred that my two Caucasian Ovcharkas, otherwise known as Russian Bear dogs, stay out of the dam so they didn’t fill up on my fish stock.
“Brennan, keep those animals of yours off my property. If the workmen tell they stray over, I won’t hesitate to have them removed from your possession using any means possible. Dogs that size don’t belong in a town with families and children.”
I felt my hackles rise as soon as the words were out of the arseholes mouth. Stalking closer to the man, I got right into his face, my anger back at boiling point.
“You even think about doing anything to my dogs, just one thought, and I will rip your dick off and feed it to them. Let’s remember whose family has a history of violence against kids and women. Back off, Masters, and leave my animals alone.” I heard the fierceness in my words, the honesty behind them. I was beyond caring about the arsehole’s position in the community or the fact he could have my job. I’d lost enough already because of his family.
I watched his face turn bright red with embarrassment at my reference to our past, his perfectly combed hair and tailored suit doing nothing to hide the fear in his eyes.
“You… you just threatened me,” he blustered. “You can’t possibly believe I will let that go.”
“Phillip, that is enough!”
Another voice came from the commander’s office. I whipped my head up to see Masters senior, the cockwit’s father, walk out into the hallway. I saw him around town from a distance now and then, so I knew who he was, but I met him just once, officially, at Melly and Prue’s funeral. He’d represented his family, and at the time, I didn’t take his presence there very well. It wasn’t my finest moment, and at the time, I didn’t regret punching him in the face right there at the church. Later on though… yeah, I could understand why he felt like he should be there. His sister’s kid caused so much damage that night, but he also lost a member of his own family, his nephew. I never spoke to him again after that, but once in a while, when our paths crossed, we exchanged slight nods and tight smiles in acknowledgement.
“I think this needs to be taken elsewhere—” Mike spoke up, looking very uncomfortable at the prospect of a clash of some kind in the hallway of the station.
Not in the mood for any more bullshit and not one to follow protocol, I interrupted him. “Nope. I’m done here. He threatened my dogs, so I threatened him—end of story. If any repercussions come my way, so be it. I have work to do, so excuse me.” My gaze met Masters senior’s, and I saw something in it that resembled embarrassment.
I would be pretty embarrassed if I had to share DNA with that prick too, mate.
“Commander?” I raised my brows at my superior, silently asking for his permission to go on with my day or maybe my last day as a firefighter.
“Go on, mate. Knox is in the day room. Work the boy hard. He is still on my radar.”
Which meant he was itching to fire the kid, but his friendship and respect for Carson were the only things stopping him. Laughing, I pushed past Masters, his face still red and his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and I smirked at him.
“Good luck with renting the house. Make sure you tell the tradies the back door doesn’t latch properly,” I said to him, then took off for the day room. Working with Knox for the next few hours might cure the bad taste left in my mouth from the confrontation. Or it just might heighten my pissed-off mood. It was a fifty-fifty chance either way.
Driving home that afternoon, the bitter taste returned when a crapload of utes with trailers were blocking my driveway. The kicker, though, was the huge blue real estate sign declaring that the house was indeed for rent.
Fucking marvellous.
3
“You call that hard? For God’s sake, a four-year-old can hit the ball harder than that. That kind of play isn’t going to get you far in Miami. In fact, you wouldn’t even get an invite to a school competition. Stop wasting my time, Jamie,” my uncle yelled at me from the other side of the net. Not only was he my uncle but he was also my coach. My parents adored him and never thought for a second all his yelling and screaming at me was anything more than a coach encouraging the best out of his charge.
I, on the other hand, hated his voice and detested the yelling and screaming. But it was the other methods he used that scared me, methods neither my parents nor the other players had any idea about. I wished for the millionth time that someone would—could see the bruises under the sweatbands I wore. That they could hear the slaps across the face that I receive in the shadows of the player’s lounge and the locker rooms, could hear my pleas for him to stop, anything so long as the brutalising treatment I endured would stop.
Hissing through the pain in my wrist, I tossed my racquet down to the court floor.
“My wrist hurts, and I can’t hit the ball hard. Maybe you shouldn’t have grabbed me so hard that you left bruises so close to a major tournament,” I spat at him. I don’t know if it was the pain in my arm or my growing hatred for the sport that somehow went from something I loved to a career I despised, but whatever the reason, as soon as the complaint was out of my mouth, I
knew that voicing my pain was the worst thing to do.
Colin’s face twisted in anger, and his eyes darted to the other courts around us to see if anyone had heard me. On the outside and to most people, he was a respected coach and a well -liked man. In private, he was a completely different person to me with his harsh, biting insults and his temper that always escalated to physical violence.
It started with small slaps and vicious remarks in the locker rooms when no one else was around to see or hear. Then one day, six months ago after a particularly hard practice, I had a small temper tantrum and flounced off the court back to the locker rooms, Colin hot on my heels. Never in a million years did I expect to be slapped so hard across the cheek that it would send me spiralling into one of the open metal lockers, the door cutting me pretty badly on the shoulder.
I remembered being shocked silent, both of us. But it had been the satisfied glint in Colin’s eyes that told me he had not been sorry. I got the impression he enjoyed seeing me hurt and defenceless, and from that day, the physical assaults got more frequent. His temper got out of control, and the slaps had turned into beatings. Where there was once just a red mark for a few hours, there were now bruises. Fists and racquets replaced his open hand, and when the marks couldn’t be hidden, Colin simply told the press I was clumsy.
People believed him and the lies he delivered with a smiling face as he looked at me with the indulgence of an uncle. So now I was known as Jinxed Jamie, and instead of being seen as the monster he was, Colin was the poor man who had to endure being my coach. I hated tennis. The last thing I wanted was to go to Miami for twelve months where there would be no place safe for me to hide from him. All I wanted was to run away, to get away from Colin and the media and the bone -breaking schedule just so that I could reach number one in the women’s rankings.
From The Inferno (Firemen Do It Better Book 3) Page 2