AFTER HE’D GOTTEN the news that Tag was pregnant, Brian had watched the rest of the Broncos football game, but he had no idea whether they’d won or lost. He’d been in shock, and then completely distracted trying to figure out what he should do next. When the chatter and hubbub in the room indicated that the game was over, he’d said good night to everyone and gone upstairs, supposedly to bed. But he hadn’t gone to sleep.
He’d tossed and turned, knowing he should call Tag but resisting the urge. After all, she hadn’t told him she was having his baby. He’d heard the news from his brothers! As far as Tag knew, he had no idea she had his child growing in her belly. She’d been nowhere to be seen when the most momentous event of his life—learning he would become a father—had occurred.
Why hadn’t she told him when she found out she was pregnant? Why had she kept it a secret? Why hadn’t she called him as soon as she left her father’s dinner table, having dropped that earth-shattering bombshell, to tell him the news herself.
You’re not innocent in all this. Why haven’t you spoken to Tag since you walked out of her house in the middle of the night? Why did you cut her out of your life? What is she supposed to think when you left and never came back?
He’d been planning to return. He’d just been waiting until he could prove her wrong. He’d wanted to pass that physical test with flying colors and show up on her doorstep knowing that he was a firefighter again.
He’d wanted her to be proud of him.
When he’d woken up this morning, Brian had made a phone call, but not to Tag. He knew he was being a stubborn ass, but she had just as much responsibility to call him as he did to call her. If that was the pot calling the kettle black, or a case of cutting off his nose to spite his face, then so be it.
The person he’d contacted was Chief Warren, and he’d asked her for a favor. Since there was no snow forecast, he wanted to take the Work Capacity Test today, a week early, instead of waiting until after the New Year.
Ever since the chief had agreed to clear the test site of the snow that had fallen overnight, and schedule his assessment this morning, a herd of wild mustangs had been stampeding in his stomach. Fear wasn’t a strong enough word for the emotions churning through him. Terror was more like it.
What if he couldn’t do it? What if his leg failed him after all?
Brian found Aiden with his head in his hands at the breakfast bar in the kitchen and said, “You don’t look like you got any more sleep than I did last night. Something wrong?”
Aiden lifted his head and waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing you or I or anybody else can do anything about.”
“You’re the best I know at resolving difficult problems. What’s your plan?”
“Don’t have one. Yet.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Brian said. “You always do.” He was too nervous to eat, or to give any more attention to whatever was troubling Aiden, even though he knew he should do both. He poured coffee into a thermal cup he usually took with him in his pickup, took a sip, and hissed when he burned his tongue.
He was a moment from being out the door, when Aiden gave him a shrewd look and asked, “Where are you off to this morning, as if I didn’t know.”
Brian started. “How did you find out I arranged to take my test early?”
Aiden stopped his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “You aren’t on your way to see Tag?”
Brian shook his head.
“Then you spoke to her last night?”
Brian shook his head.
“You haven’t talked to her yet?” Aiden said incredulously.
“No. I thought I’d wait—”
“Your lady tells you she’s pregnant, and you blow her off?”
“Tag did not tell me she’s pregnant,” Brian retorted. “I had to hear it from Connor and Devon.” Every time he thought about how he’d been ambushed, it made him mad all over again. “And I did not blow her off. I want to know whether I’m going to be able to keep working as a firefighter before I talk to her about what comes next.”
“What comes next is that you’re going to tell her how you feel about her and how glad you are that the two of you are going to have a baby. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200, just get your butt over there and do it!”
“She’s going to have to wait until I take this test,” Brian said stubbornly.
“Do you love her, Brian? Are you happy about the baby?”
Brian was surprised Aiden had asked so directly. He opened his mouth to say “Of course I love her!” and discovered his throat had swollen closed, preventing speech. He felt tears sting his nose and well in his eyes.
Aiden’s hand squeezed his nape.
He glanced at his brother and saw that Aiden understood the power of the emotions he was feeling.
Of course I love her.
He’d always wanted kids, but having them was something he’d imagined happening “sometime in the future.” The future had caught up to him. Tag was pregnant.
“Good luck,” Aiden said. “I know you can do it. And go see Tag!”
Brian wished he was as certain he was going to pass as Aiden seemed to be. Go see Tag. He couldn’t afford to think about anything right now except the upcoming test.
He’d worked hard. He was fit and ready. He should be able to complete the difficult tasks required in the time allotted. Knowing he’d trained for every situation was how he’d managed to fight all those fires in hazardous conditions without panicking. He had to ignore the rising fear that threatened to paralyze him and just do the job.
Because he’d changed the date and time of the test, Brian wasn’t expecting to find anyone at the fire station except Chief Warren. He was moved almost to tears when he discovered that firefighters from every shift were there in full gear. They competed ferociously against one another to have the best score in the firehouse. They’d come to badger him, to hassle and plague him, as a means of goodwilled encouragement.
“How did you guys know—”
“The chief made a call, and that started the rest of us calling until we reached everybody,” one firefighter said. “We all wanted to be here to cheer you on.”
“We’re going to make sure you bust your butt getting up those stairs and back down again,” another said.
The crowd hooted and hollered and cheered, and Brian responded by slapping hands and bumping shoulders with firefighters on his way to the chief.
She stood at the foot of the stairs holding a stopwatch. Brian handed her the document from his physician confirming his physical fitness for duty. She glanced at it, stuck it in her back pocket, and said, “Gear up, firefighter.”
Brian suited up in his jacket, pants, air bottle, SCBA, boots, helmet, and gloves. He’d worn his gear when he practiced, so it felt like a second skin.
“You have five minutes to complete all items on the Work Capacity Test. Are you ready, firefighter?”
“Ready,” Brian said, taking an extra-deep breath and letting it out.
The chief clicked the stopwatch and yelled, “Go!”