My Fake Husband by Black, L. (motivational novels TXT) 📕

firefighter. It was in his blood. He and his brothers had grown up to be just like their dad—second-generation firefighters. My big brother Damon was a proud third-gen fireman right here in Rockford Falls. I grew up around that station with my dad and uncles. I climbed the trucks, wore the too-big helmets and boots, helped with chili suppers and food drives for the soup kitchen. My dad knew I loved that place, that institution, just like I knew he had a soft spot for law enforcement, too.

“Hey, I was the lynchpin holding that city together. Stay away from CNN if you don’t wanna see the riots that broke out since I left. I’m sure it’s a disaster.”

“Now I know you work hard. Being a cop’s almost as good as a firefighter, and don’t you forget it.”

“Almost, huh?” I asked. “Well I won’t let that go to my head.”

“The difference is you get to pack a gun. Even though I walked into plenty of sticky situations on a fire call only to find out there was a domestic disturbance involved and some guy pitched a cigarette into the garage or tried to set his girlfriend on fire—”

“Yeah, that’s not really a fire department kinda problem,” I said. “Dispatch was snoozing on those.”

“True. They always sent us in when they didn’t know who to call. You don’t call the paramedics, the cops might walk in and it turns into a firefight—”

“So you send unarmed firemen in raincoats?” I said dubiously.

“Okay, so not all the time, but it did happen a few times.”

“People are usually happy when the fire truck pulls up. Not so much with a squad car.”

He chuckled along with me. After a while, I got him downstairs and poured myself some coffee. I gave him green tea and ignored his grimace at the cup.

“It tastes like grass.”

“Yeah, it does. But it’s good for you. One small cup.”

“I want a Coke.”

“Artificial phosphorus. I might as well dig a hole in the backyard and let you jump on in,” I said. He snorted.

Damon, my brother walked in just then. He had the same auburn hair as me, taller of course, and a weightlifter’s physique. I was strong and solid thanks to my fitness program, but I had curves. Damon always looked like he was in a competition for the lowest body fat percentage on the crew. He ruffled my already-messy bun as he went for the coffee pot.

“So how do you like living with your parents now that you’re thirty?” he teased.

“She’s a pain in the ass,” Dad piped up, and we cracked up.

“See, the whole time we were growing up, I tried to tell you that but you’d just say my mother was gonna wash my mouth out with soap if I talked that way about my sister,” Damon joked.

“Fine, you were right,” Dad grumbled over his green tea.

“This coffee is fantastic. Did they let you do coffee and donuts duty in Charleston? Or did you have to be pretty to be the coffee girl?” my brother teased, giving me shit as always.

“What? I look like you, and I know you love your pretty face,” I said, squeezing his cheeks. “So I’m adorable. But no. I learned to make decent coffee because I like coffee.”

“Did your boyfriend like coffee?” he teased.

“There is no boyfriend. I took my vows to the badge, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Cause you knew you couldn’t cut it as a firefighter,” he said, “seems like that rings a bell.”

I elbowed him as I went past to get more coffee, and my brother rolled his eyes. “You know I’ll pitch in with the old man here. My schedule’s just been crazy lately because we’re short-staffed.”

“I know,” I said, as he draped an arm around my shoulders and I leaned into his hug.

“I still can’t believe you gave up being an officer in Charleston to come home, but it’s sure as hell nice to have you back,” he said.

“Thanks. It’s real nice to be back. My ego got out of hand in the city with no one talking shit to me 24/7. I know I can count on my big brother. I’m booking a housekeeper for Wednesdays to start with.”

“I don’t want strangers in here going through my stuff,” our dad grumped.

“Then pick up your stuff and put it in a drawer. I’ll buy you a safe if you need someplace to hide your old Playboys. I guarantee Mrs. Atkinson isn’t gonna be here to hunt for old-fashioned porn. She’s going to do the floors and the woodwork and bathrooms to give Mom a break.”

“Well, if she’s doing all that, what are you doing?” Damon asked. “Besides making coffee and giving me hell.”

“Well, this afternoon I’m cleaning out the fridge and then I have big plans to replace the shower curtain liner with a new one because the old one is mildewed. Maybe if I’m feeling wild I’ll run the self-cleaning feature on the oven.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re already stir-crazy?” Damon asked.

“This from the man who cut off his own cast when he had a broken arm because he was bored?”

“I was fourteen. And in my defense, no one told me I wasn’t allowed to use the table saw for that.”

“I thought you were out in the garage building a bird feeder. Thought it might build character. We were lucky you didn’t cut your damn arm off,” Dad said.

“My point isn’t that Damon’s an idiot—though I have several examples to prove it—but that this family doesn’t do well with downtime. Dad, I think that’s half the reason you’re so grouchy. That and the kidney failure obviously.”

“Yeah, that part’s a barrel of laughs,” he deadpanned. “Good thing you’re here sweetie.”

“Yeah, I’m a total Florence Nightingale, I know,” I said. “There’s a reason I didn’t become a nurse. Anyway, I’ll settle in. I’m just antsy because I’m used to working fourteen-hour days…” I trailed off, not wanting my brother to know how restless I really was.

“They’re down an