Page 71 of Quinton's Quest

Since I knew nothing about firefighting, I couldn’t comment intelligently. Instead, when the kettle whistled, I unplugged it. “Are you having a mug?”

“I was thinking hot chocolate.”

“Dude, you have hot chocolate and you were offering me tea?” I put on my most affronted pout.

He laughed. “I usually do milk with my hot chocolate, but the water’s boiled.”

“Point me to the container.” After he did, I set about making two mugs of hot chocolate with heaps of powder. Likely overdoing it, but I really didn’t care—tonight called for comfort.

We settled on the couch before the fire.

He sighed. “I always wanted to be a firefighter. I mean, I did my degree in electrical engineering at BCIT and then went to the JI to sturdy firefighting.”

I struggled to keep up. Engineering degree at the British Columbia Institute of Technology and… “JI?”

“Justice Institute. In New West.”

“Ah. That’s so cool. I never knew any of that when we were growing up.”

“You just saw the soccer player.”

“Well, at least you didn’t play football. That would’ve been just a little toojockfor me.”

“Head injuries and CTE are a thing. With a nurse for a mom, that wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. Soccer to stay in shape and then off to higher education.”

I slapped his washboard abs. “You stay in shape.”

“Some guys don’t take it as seriously as I do. I don’t want to, for a single moment, not be able to do whatever needs to be done.”

“You’re diligent.”

His face shuttered.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. You didn’t fuck up today. You didn’t let some young girl die.”

I wanted to ask if he could’ve done things differently. If another outcome might’ve been possible. But that way led to madness. Likely, he was already playing all thewhat ifscenarios in his mind. Still, I didn’t have the information I’d come to attempt to secure. “Did they run blood tests on you?”

“What?” He blinked. “Yeah.” He yanked up his sleeve to reveal a tiny strip of tape and a wad of cotton. “Sheesh, I totally forgot.” He ripped it off now and wadded it into a ball. “I’d throw this in the fire, but it’s plastic and that’s bad.”

I held out my hand.

He dropped it in. “Under the sink.”

“No worries. Do you want more hot chocolate?”

He eyed his mug. “I haven’t finished what I’ve got. But feel free to get more if you want it.”

“I might just do that. Can I borrow your john first?”

“Hell, yeah.” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder.

I took my mug to the kitchen, plugged the kettle back in, threw the bandage in the garbage, and headed into the bathroom. As tempted as I was to rifle through his things, I wouldn’t have known what I might be looking for. Well, except drugs. And Finn struck me as way too smart to keep them accessible—especially if his mother ever came to visit. So I pissed, flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and hustled back into the kitchen. I arrived just as the kettle boiled. “Thanks for this. I had a full dinner at Fifties and yet I’ll always have room for hot chocolate.”

“Oh, yeah? Were you alone or with someone? Not that it’s any of my business.” His tone was just a touch wry.

“If you must know…” I smiled to myself. “I was on a date of sorts.”