Page 8 of Penance (Rising From the Ashes #2)

Theo

Tension knots in my shoulders, and I press my fingers into my eyes. It’s been two weeks since the fire at the community building, and there have been several others since then.

The whole town has gone crazy.

When I first moved to Benton Falls, there were hardly any calls to respond to; now, it seems like we respond every day.

That, in addition to the tension hanging in the air at home, these last two weeks have left me with a headache that won’t go away.

I could probably end most of that tension if I could just give Tanner an answer, but it’s not as simple as yes or no.

I need to speak to his doctor. He quit playing football because one more concussion could kill him or, at the very least, do permanent damage.

Baseball isn’t as physical as football, but I’m not willing to risk it until I get a doctor’s opinion, which has left Tanner and me in limbo.

He has hardly spoken a handful of words to me in two weeks, and while I feel bad, I’m also his dad, not his best friend. It’s my job to keep him safe.

“Chief, you coming?” Zane Johnson, one of the newer recruits, asks on his way out to the truck .

A smile on his face reveals perfect white teeth as he puts on his gear and waits for my answer.

There’s always a smile on his face.

He’s always happy, no matter the circumstances.

The kid missed his calling. Between the blue-green eyes, light brown skin, curls cropped close to his head, and charming personality, he could be one of those fairy tale princes, at least according to Ethel and Muriel.

He spends more time fighting off those two at some of our calls than he does fighting the actual fire, but he’s a good fireman.

Not that I’d tell him that. It’d go to his head, and it’s already big enough.

Sighing, I head toward my own gear. I don’t have to go out.

A brush fire should be pretty simple for the other men to handle—and there is plenty of paperwork waiting on my desk—but I also know that building rapport means going out with my men on both the big and small calls when I can, which, admittedly, is not as often as I like.

“Yeah, Johnson. I’m coming.”

His smile grows wider, and I fight the urge to grind my teeth. My mood is too sour to deal with his incessant happiness today, but I keep my mouth shut and put on my gear because my mood is not his fault.

Once my gear is on, I load up in the truck with Johnson and two other men, and we take off in the direction of the fire. It doesn’t take long before we take a right turn onto Boyer Street, and out the front window, I can already see what we are dealing with.

Even though we are currently in a burn ban because of the dry spell we’ve had, there’s a fire burning in a ditch, fueled by wood and some other things I can’t identify. Several men and a couple of teenagers stand around it, watching and laughing, and I sigh when I recognize one of them.

This call just got a lot harder.

Zeb Ellis is an addict with a penchant for drugs and fire, and the combination has almost been lethal more than once. But the damage has always been to him and his property—no one else—so he gets away with it.

Placing my hand on the headrest of the driver’s seat where Johnson is driving, I brace myself and turn around to look at the men behind me.

“The fire isn’t out of hand yet. That could change with the wind since the ground is so dry, but for now, be on standby while I handle this.”

“You got it, Chief,” Shane Adams, another of the recruits, says, saluting me. Beside him, James Dunlap, one of the older men on the crew, rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward Adams, holding my gaze as if to say, “Recruits. Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.”

I offer him a noncommittal grunt and turn back around, hopping out of the truck when it comes to a stop.

The men around the fire glance my way as I walk toward them, and a look passes between them that sends apprehension running down my spine. The men’s eyes are glazed over, and their movements are jerky as they stuff something in their pockets.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” I say, trying to prevent the irritation from bleeding into my voice.

I’ve dealt with these types of men before. Addicts who make stupid choices while high on their choice of drug—whether it be alcohol or pills. I was one of those men. That’s why I know that letting these men see my annoyance will only add to the many ways this situation can go off track.

“What do you need, hot shot?” Zeb’s voice slurs. The other men tilt their heads back and roar with laughter, acting like Zeb’s pun is the funniest thing in the world.

Definitely high.

My attention goes back to the teenagers as I try to gauge if they are under the influence, too, because if they are, this just became an entirely different kind of call, but as I meet each of their gazes, clear eyes stare back at me.

A sigh of relief releases from my chest, relieving a little of the weight that’s been there since we arrived, but something about the look of the teenager standing at the end keeps it from going away completely.

He has shaggy blonde hair, a jawline that’s not yet a man’s, but not a kid’s either, and bright green eyes—clear eyes—but they have enough hatred burning in them to start a wildfire.

An inexplicable sadness washes over me as I stare back at him.

At one point in my life, I was him, with so much anger that it nearly destroyed me.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Zeb yells, and reluctantly, my eyes snap to him.

After another quick assessment of the situation, I step forward but keep my hands at my side so as not to provoke a reaction.

“Are you aware we are under a burn ban?” I ask, watching him for the truth. “Can you tell me how this fire started?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugs, flashing the other men a cheesy smile. “We found it.”

“You were just walking along and came upon it?” I ask, skepticism coloring my voice.

“That’s what I said.”

“Well then, you won’t mind if I put it out and investigate how it started will you?”

Out of the corner of my eye, the boys start to squirm, giving them away, but one look from the older men and they freeze.

“Don’t mind at all, but we’ll be heading out while you do. Now that the heroes are here, there ain’t any reason for us to stick around.” Condescension oozes from Zeb, and I press my tongue against the back of my teeth to keep from saying what I want to.

I give myself five seconds before I release my jaw and move on .

“Maybe you should anyway,” I say, keeping my voice even, but there’s also a demand in the words that ratchets the tension crackling through the air. Suddenly, Zeb seems a lot more sober than he did moments before. “You know—just in case I have some questions.”

“Are you trying to detain me, hot shot? Because I’ll tell ya, I know my rights. I reckon you don’t have any authority to do so.”

He’s right. I don’t. Unless I have irrefutable proof that the men started the fire, it is out of my hands.

A bigger crime than starting a fire during a burn ban would have to be committed for me to detain anyone, but letting them leave means putting the boys in the position of being in a car with men who are under the influence.

Not to mention I saw them hide something when I walked up, and I’d bet my life it has something to do with the fire that is starting to spread through the ditch faster than what’s natural.

“You’re right. I’m not detaining you, but you’re obviously under the influence. I’ve had the police department on standby since the moment I left the station. You can leave, but you’re going to be walking.”

Malice flashes in the older man’s eyes, and, for a second, I’m afraid he will argue. But eventually, he jerks up his chin, spits on the ground between us, and growls at the others to follow him.

They all follow without comment, glaring at me as they walk by.

I don’t back down under their stares, keeping direct eye contact with each of them as they pass. As they walk away, they whisper among themselves.

I watch them for as long as I can, and then I get to work, helping my men put out the fire and starting my investigation.

______________________

Weariness weighs on my shoulders as we drive back to the station.

For a small brush fire, it took a lot longer to put out than it should have, and once it was out, we had to stick around to make sure it didn’t start up again.

I’d hoped we’d be able to save at least some evidence of whatever the men had been burning along with the wood, but the fire had been too hot.

Nothing was left by the time we got it under control.

The irritation I felt before the call out ramps up until my body practically vibrates with it. My jaw is tight, and my hands are in fists as I turn my head to look out my window, a sudden craving for whiskey washing over me.

It’s been almost two years since I’ve had a drink, but sometimes, when the pressure makes it hard to breathe, my body starts to crave the vice that makes it all go away. In reality, the pressure is still there, waiting for me to get sober again, but for one blissful second, it goes away.

“Chief, do you have a meeting with any of the boys from the police station today?” Johnson’s voice startles me out of my haze, and I jump, knocking my elbow against the door and cursing.

“What?” I bark, rubbing the spot where my arm bounced off the metal.

Johnson smiles and humor lights up his eyes.

I wonder what that would feel like—to be so unburdened by the world that you always see the good in it.

“Sorry, Chief. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wondering if you had a meeting with any of the boys at the police station?”

My brows furl as I narrow my eyes. More than I would like, my job overlaps with police business, meaning meetings come up that I would rather not attend, but there hadn’t been any on the schedule when I checked this morning. “No. Why?”

Johnson’s smile grows so big I’m afraid his face might split in two. “Because Hayes Miller is waiting for you at the station.”

He nods toward the station, and I follow his line of sight. And sure enough, Hayes is parked in front, leaning against his squad car with his arms crossed over his chest .

The man has been a thorn in my side since the day I arrived in town, but now that thorn is starting to fester.

“Of course he is,” I mutter under my breath.

Johnson chuckles, coming to a stop in the road right beside Hayes’s car.

“Don’t worry, Chief. We’ll take care of the truck,” he says with a glint in his eyes, and I hear the other men chuckle at my expense as I climb out and slam my door shut.

“I’m sure you will,” I grumble before facing Hayes. “Miller, what can I do for you?”

I expect the question to be answered with Hayes’s usual annoying smirk, but his face remains hard as he stares at me behind a pair of black sunglasses. Unease fills my gut and pushes the air from my lungs.

“Is Tanner okay?” I ask, my mind going to worst-case scenarios.

“Yeah,” Hayes says, still watching me. “He’s fine.”

A breath of air rushes back in, and I reach up rubbing my chest. “Then why are you here?”

Hayes stands, unfolding his arms and reaching for something in his car, still not answering. When he looks back at me, there’s remorse written all over his face.

I drop my gaze to the manila folder in his hands, and my heart starts beating so hard I’m sure he can see it through my shirt.

“Just know that I didn’t want to do this, Theo, but I figured it would be better coming from me than anyone else.”

None of his words register. My mind is stuck on the papers in his hands. I know what they are without him having to say. They are the same papers that changed my world sixteen years ago, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, they will change my world again now.

“I’m sorry, Theo, but you’ve been served.”