Holding His Forever

D
erek aka Phoenix
is a New York City firefighter and has dedicated his life to saving people. When he loses two of his men in the line of duty, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to see the light again.

However, when an angel in the form of a woman named Fia appears before him, his world as he knows it is turned upside down.

Fia has been working hard to make money so she can finish her last semester of school. A fire in her building sets her back to square one, but the fireman who saves her turns out to be more than she ever expected.

Once he gets his arms around her, there’s no letting go. Because when you’ve got your forever in your arms, nothing else matters.

W
arning
: This is hot and fast insta-love that ignites the pages. It’s burning heat that combusts into an inferno of lava. Okay, that’s all the fire words I could come up with. Now insert a pun about a big hose. It’s quick, dirty, and ridiculously over the top.

C
opyright
© 2016 by Author Alexa Riley LLC. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to [email protected]

http://alexariley.com/

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Edited by
Aquila Editing

Cover Photo by
Sara Eirew
 

Cover Designer:
Perfect Pear Creative Covers

T
o all our
firefighters and their signifiant others… Thank you for your sacrifice and all that you do to keep us safe.

A
nd to the sexy ones
… thanks for making those smoking hot calendars. Keep that shit up.

“
Y
ou finish your shit
, Fia?”

Sam’s gravelly voice from years of smoking barks from behind me as I hang up the phone in his back office. A mixture of annoyance and relief fills me. I really didn’t want to have to cover Kim’s shift at the women’s shelter tonight and was thankful she was able to make it in. I would have done it if they needed me; I’d do anything for that place. But I’m dead on my feet as it is. I’ve been on my feet for the past twelve hours and haven’t slept in over twenty-four, and it would be my luck that if I went back to the shelter, it would be a busy night.

“Already clocked out.” I turn to look at Sam, whose eyes are trained on my ass. He slowly pulls them up to my face as a smirk plays at his lips, showing off his yellow-tinted teeth, not a care that he’s openly running his eyes over my body. Sadly, I’ve become used to it. It still creeps me out, but he’s never tried anything.

Or maybe my luck is about to change, I think, as he shuts the door to his office, trapping me in. The door is always open. The waitresses here at Moe’s always keep our stuff stored back here, where we clock in and out for our shifts.

“You think about my offer?” He cocks his head to the side like he’s giving me the world, not a management position at the diner. I’d stay later after waiting tables and help with paperwork and orders and get a raise, but I think Sam has a few more strings he wants to add to the positionthings I want no part of. I’ve turned down the offer twice now, but he keeps telling me to think on it.

Normally I just mumble a, “no, thanks,” on my way out the door, but now it’s closed and I’m trapped. Trapped with a man twice my age, maybe even pushing three times my age. It’s hard to tell with his shaved head. He’s double my size, and I don’t mean in muscle or height. No, there’s a lot of gut on old Sam.

“I really don’t have the time.” I tell him the same thing I’ve said every time it’s been brought up. At least, not without giving up my shifts at the shelter, and that’s not something I’m willing to do, even if the pay is way worse over there. I love that shelter. I owe them so much after what they did for my mother and me. I’m just thankful they pay me at all, because I would do it for free. I hope that one day I can do it for free, but at the moment that just isn’t possible if I want to keep a roof over my head and food on my plate.

“We’ll cut your serving time,” he suggests, taking a step towards me. I try to match his in retreat but only hit the desk. I don’t want to cut my serving hours only to spend more time with him in his cramped little office alone. Hell, I’ve been in here for two minutes and I feel like I’m having a panic attack. I can feel my heartbeat pick up speed. My anxiety grows with each pull of my breath. I know all too well how men act when they don’t get the responses they want. I’ve seen it for years with my own father and how he treated my mother.

I just shake my head again, trying to push the words past my lips. “I really” My words are cut short when Tracy throws open the door.

“Who in the hell put the” She stops abruptly when she sees us both standing in the tiny office. Her eyes narrow, going back and forth between us. Tracy has been working at the diner for years. She trained me a few months back, and many might even think she owns the place by how she pushes everyone around. And I’m pretty sure she and Sam have a thing. I stay out of her way. I want my tables and tips and nothing more from this place. It’s a means to an end. A slow means, but I’m getting there, dollar by dollar, and this place has the best tips I’ve come across so far, so I put up with it.

“I’m having a meeting.” Sam turns to look at her. Tracy purses her lips at him, clearly not liking what he’s saying.

“No, it’s fine. I really should be going. I’ll miss the bus,” I lie. I always walk home. I grab my purse and coat and don’t even bother to put them on. I just hold them close to my body over my cheap polyester uniform that fits a little too snuggly on me. “Maybe Tracy would like the manager position,” I throw out.

“What!” Tracy half-screams, her face scrunching up. I steal the moment to slip past them both as fast as I can and out the side door of the diner, into the chilled night. The street is empty now that it’s almost midnight on a Tuesday.

I slip my coat on and make the half-mile walk to my apartment, which sits over an old laundromat. Locking the door behind me, I waste no time pulling my uniform from my body and tossing my tips from tonight on the table before jumping into the shower. I have to get the smell of grease off my hair and body. I let the warm water run over me, relaxing my muscles as I wash away the day’s work.

When I’m done I grab a shirt and a pair of panties and pull them on. I sit at the small fold-out table in my half kitchen, if you can call it that. It doesn’t even have a full refrigerator, just one of those tiny ones you find in a hotel, which is probably where it came from. There’s a small sink and microwave, and that’s about it. My exhaustion outweighs my hunger as I count my tips. A hundred dollars on a double shift for a Tuesday isn’t too bad. Every dollar counts at this point. I’m so close to being able to pay for my last semester of college.
Twelve more credits and I’m done,
I remind myself.
I can do this.

I grab the money and place it carefully, along with yesterday’s money, between the pages of a book I keep on the table. I still need to go to the bank and deposit it. After that, I walk the few feet to my bed in the corner of the room and fall face first into the cushioned surface.

“I miss you, Mom,” I whisper into the pillow before sleep takes me.

I
sit
on the edge of the cot and plant my feet on the floor. I’m sleeping in the firehouse tonight, even though it’s not my turn. The department shrink would have something to say about this, but it’s the only way I can move on. To move forward. To work until I’m exhausted enough that my dreams don’t turn into nightmares and I wake up screaming.

The gold plate above my head reads,
Phoenix 1st LT, Engine 20; Ladder 70 FDNY,
and I reach up, tapping it for good luck. Most firefighters are superstitious, and even if I don’t believe all the things that go along with it, I respect the hell out of tradition.

I stand up and walk past the rows of cots towards the chow room. Our firehouse is big, and I’m the first lieutenant here. I supervise the daily operations, training, and lead the emergency response of our engine company. Graham, our second LT, does swing shifts with me so that we’re not both constantly on call. But I’ve been here for the past four months, regardless of whether it’s been my turn on or not.

There are ten guys sleeping in the house tonight, all trying to catch some shut-eye while Brick snores the roof off the place. Most of us have gotten used to him though. After almost ten years working here, there’s not much I can’t sleep through. Except the dreams.

“You’re up late, Phoenix,” Graham says, not looking up from his crossword puzzle.

My last name is Phoenix, and everyone calls me that. My first name is Derek, but I don’t think anyone’s called me by that name since my mom died from ovarian cancer almost five years ago. My dad, who is staying busy since she passed, usually calls me “my boy” or “sunshine.” He loves to tell everyone I had bleached blond hair as a kid and smiled all the time.

“I like to think of it as up early,” I say, reaching for a coffee mug. “You know me, glass-is-half-f kind of guy.”

He lets out a huff at my lame joke, knowing it’s the furthest thing from the truth. I pour myself some sludge from the machine. It’s probably been there for days, but I pretend it looks good.

“You know,” Graham says, but I interrupt him.

“Yes. I know I don’t have to be here. I know that I should get some sleep. I know that I should probably go back home and take some time off. And I know that I should probably be telling all of this to our shrink.” I tick off on my fingers all the things Graham is going to tell me. “Did I miss anything?”

He finally looks up at me and rolls his eyes. “You know, you can always make more coffee,” he says exasperatedly, but clearly I hit the target.

“And I could make more coffee.” I lift my mug up in cheers, and he leans back in his chair, eyeing me.

“You’re first ranking lieutenant, so I can’t tell you what to do. You’ve already talked to the captain and everyone else you’re supposed to.” He sighs, and a look of concern crosses his face. “You’re not healing, Phoenix. We all lost men that day. Marcus and Vance were our brothers, and we should mourn them, but at some point life goes on.”

I just take a sip of the coffee that tastes more like tar, not acknowledging anything he just said. How can I? Marcus and Vance were two of my closest friends. We’d gone through school together, and we became firefighters at the same time. I was promoted to lieutenant of the station, and they were both so happy for me, even though we all came in at the same time. I’d had better marks on the physical tests, so I was given the position. Four months ago, we’d gotten a routine call in the middle of the night. There was a kitchen fire in a three-story walk-up, so we jumped to. When we got to the scene, everything seemed to go as normal. We made our way into the building, all by the book. We got up to the third floor and secured the area. We made sure everyone got out, but just as we were making our way back down, Marcus said he heard something. He was in the rear with Vance, and I heard him over my headset. I’d told him we had the headcount confirmed from the truck outside, but he insisted on going back. I turned in time to watch as he kicked in a door with Vance standing at his side. Suddenly, a small child ran out, and I pulled him into my arms just as the ceiling fell in.

When I woke up in the hospital the first thing, I asked was about my men and the little boy. I was on the landing below and had fallen in such a way that the boy was under me, so neither of us got the impact my two men did. I didn’t lose my life, but Marcus and Vance weren’t so lucky. I walked away with just a few bumps and bruises, and the little boy was safe, but we had to deliver the news to their families, tell them that they’d given their lives to save someone.

My dad was a firefighter, and I hero-worshiped him for as long as I could remember. I walked around in his turnout gear as soon as I could take my first step. He tried to tell me that this job would take a piece of me, but I never understood what he had meant. Not until I woke up in that hospital bed, knowing I’d led my men into that situation. Knowing that there was so much I could have done to stop them, but then maybe there wasn’t. They saved a life that day, but it cost them theirs, and it just wasn’t something I was coping with. At least that’s what the shrink tells me.

Before I can say anything back to Graham, the alarm sounds.