“Worse,” Seth said, sounding defeated. “I hit a crate of tampons.”
“Tampons? Are you shitting me?”
Seth shook his head. “The delivery guy had just taken them off the truck and was going to roll them into the back bay of Picker’s Market.”
Adam wanted to strangle the kid, but he understood that this kind of attention came with the uniform. It was also the kind of attention that took some getting used to. And for a fresh-out-of-school, freckle-faced new guy, it would have been distracting.
“Aw, man,” Seth said. “When the guys find out I hit a crate of tampons and not the girls’ car, I will be the butt of every single joke until I retire.”
At this point, Adam was more concerned about the kid having a career with the department to retire from. Seth was good at his job, feared the right things and nothing else, was a team player, and knew how to take an order. Problem was, when he wasn’t geared up and beating back a flame, Seth could be persuaded into doing just about anything. And when Roman found out what had transpired from his latest screwup, he was going to hit the roof.
Only Adam could talk his way through this with Roman. Explain it in a way that Roman, who was also one of his closest friends, could write off. Because it wasn’t Roman who Adam was worried about pissing off—it was Roman’s boss, Chief Lowen.
The battalion chief had a reputation for scaring off FNGs, which was why the station was short staffed.
Adam had dedicated too many of his personal hours transforming Seth from a death-defying frat boy into the beginnings of an incredible firefighter. He couldn’t lose him to a crate of tampons. Plus, Adam had been that same fearless troublemaker at one time too, getting distracted by a flash of cleavage and making shit decisions that nearly cost him his entire career—and worse. If it hadn’t been for his former captain seeing the potential in Adam and giving him a second chance, he wouldn’t be a fireman, living his dream.
“Here’s how this is going to play out,” Adam said. “I’ll call Roman, tell him I was driving the truck and—”
“No way,” Seth said. “I can’t let you take the fall.”
“As opposed to you getting passed on for the job?” When the kid still looked ready to argue, Adam added, “And McGuire getting written up for giving you the keys to go on a banana run? Not to mention, whoever else knew what was going on and didn’t step in?”
Seth thought about that long and hard, until Adam could see the frown split his brow. And okay, the situation wasn’t quite as dire as Adam was making it out for the other guys, but Seth didn’t need to know that. Once word got out of exactly why Seth had hit the tampon crate, Chief Lowen would rain down on him like Hurricane Katrina.
“So we go with my plan,” Adam said when he heard a car idling out front.
“I don’t like it,” Seth finally said, “but I’ll go with it.”
Adam didn’t like it either. In fact, the second he saw the polished red truck pull into the drive, he was rethinking the plan. The plan sucked. And he needed a new one. A-SAP. One that didn’t involve him, on his day off, dealing with this BS.
Because this hurricane had just turned into a Category 5. It wasn’t Roman behind the wheel of the department vehicle, but Battalion Chief Lowen. A notorious hard-ass who’d spent too many years behind a desk to remember what it was like to be in the field. He upheld the letter of the law, rather than the person’s intent, and based all decisions on potential media coverage.
Adam was so screwed. There was no way even a guy like Lowen could positively spin a fender bender involving a new engine, a tampon crate, and a banana run. Not with the implications about wasting taxpayer dollars on engine repairs when they were already suffering from budget cuts.
To make matters worse, Lowen also had an extreme dislike for Adam.
Partly because Adam lived to walk the line, but mostly because when Adam had been an FNG he’d taken the chief’s goddaughter on the grand tour of the station—ending with a ride around town in the engine—where she’d rung his bell.
“Baudouin. Why am I not surprised?” Lowen barked, negotiating his spare tire around the steering wheel to get out of the truck and inspect the dent. Then he inspected Adam, who was about to take the blame for a collision he hadn’t caused—while wearing nothing but flip-flops, shorts, and a PLAY HARD tee.
“Chief,” Adam said, smiling. “How’s the family?”
“Still off-limits.”
Mondays had always been Harper’s favorite. There was something about the start of a fresh week, the unlimited possibilities the next seven days held, and the sounds and smells associated with Main Street coming alive. Monday had a rhythm, an ebb and flow of the unexpected and the familiar that brought her comfort.