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CHAPTER ONE
Easton Kooper
“Dad, I know you’re like a million years old, but?—”
“I’m thirty-six, Tru, thirty-six. Your estimation is way off. I worry about what they’re teaching you in school.”
“Whatever, Dad. As I was saying. Can we listen to music that was created after the turn of the century?”
I looked in the rearview mirror, where my ten-year-old son, Milo, was playing one of his games, his eyes fixed on his tablet. The smirk on his face and the little glances he made at me was all I needed to know he was listening.
“I’m sorry, Tru, I can’t hear you…speak into my good ear.” I cupped my right ear, and she snorted…Milo giggled.
“Lame.” Tru’s eye rolls were legendary, and I couldn’t hold back my laughter.
At thirteen years old she was the spitting image of her mother, except she had green eyes. Milo and Tru both got those from me. But other than that, she was all her mom. She was tough as nails, stubborn, and brilliant like her too.
Milo was more like me. Same brown hair, identical smile, and loved more of a hands-on approach to life. Unless it was an update on one of his games.
Laura Kooper, my wife and the world’s best mother, died three years ago, throwing all our lives into a tailspin. The four of us became the three of us, and in one fell swoop I was drowning.
Fighting fires was what I knew. I was a good dad, but I hadn’t realized how many pies Laura had put her fingers in until she was gone and I was raising my children alone.
The first year had been a mess of tears, anger, and chaos. Slowly but surely, we’d found our way—a new way, but not a day went by that I didn’t miss Laura so much it hurt just to breathe.
“Oh thank God, school!” Tru unbuckled her belt, and I chuckled.
“I never thought I’d hear you utter those words. So what you’re saying is, all I need to do to get you not to give me a hard time about going to school is to throw on some amazing music?”
“It’s not amazing.” She opened the door, but I grabbed her arm.
“You’re amazing, Tru-bug.”
Another eye roll but I wrangled a grin too. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too.”
Once she was racing off, I looked at Milo. “Almost win the level?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, you’re the next drop-off. You have ten minutes.”
“The pressure!” he shouted, and I hit the gas.
At thirty-six I was one of the youngest lieutenants this firehouse had ever had. I’d worked my ass off to get here and loved every part of it. I’d operated both engine and ladder, but I was currently in charge of Ladder Truck 121.
Before Laura’s death, my shifts were twenty-four hours on followed by forty-eight hours off. It had meshed with Laura’s schedule. After she passed, I was able to change to ten-to-twelve-hour shifts for three or sometimes four days. I had my weekends, but holidays were tricky.
Fool’s Pass Fire Department, where we lived, was the main hub but a little less than half of the house fell into Red Root territory, so we often found ourselves helping in both places. It got busy some days, but that was fine. I had a lot of time with my kids this way.
A slap on my shoulder pulled me out of writing my report about a house fire on Gretchen Avenue where we’d rescued a fifty-three-year-old woman and her four cats.
“Why are Trish and I doing the book drive this weekend, East?” Jim Hastings was my closest friend on the job, but he also worked for me.
“Well, Jim.” I spun in my chair and smiled at the burly man who was more jolly than scary. “I specifically remember you and Trish saying to me around Christmas, ‘Please, if you let me and Trish out of being Santa and Mrs. Claus this year, we will be at your mercy.’”
“Well, shit.” Jim sighed and leaned against the wall in my office.
