Chapter 1

Theo

I could feel the sweat dripping between my pectorals, along my thick biceps. I was having the dream again. Fire licked at my toes and singed my hair. I was trapped, bursting an ax into the thick, stone wall, knowing that no matter how much muscle I put into it, I wouldn’t make it out alive.

I would die within the hour.

Sputtering, I awoke. I blinked around at my new home—a full ten hours’ drive from my hometown in Alabama. Indianapolis, IN. The place my brother had recently moved to with his family, when he’d nabbed a job in construction. After the bad fire of the early spring had robbed me of my confidence—and nearly killed my best friend—I knew I needed a fresh start. I needed a new fire station, a new group of firefighters who wouldn’t look at me with those eyes that said, “Man. You guys almost died in there.”

Truth of it was, I was a damn good firefighter. Stronger than most of the other men on the force, I’d been the driving energy of most of our saves in the previous five years. I thought that a move north would give me that confidence back. But the dreams still crept in when I wasn’t wary. They swamped my mind.

Rising up, I glanced out the blinds to inspect my new neighborhood. Fountain Square was a strange mix of old-world Indiana hillbillies and new-world hipsters, with twenty-somethings gardening in some front yards and dying cars rusting in others. The heat wasn’t as blasting as it was in Alabama, which meant that—finally, for the first time in months—I could get a fresh breath of air.

Across the street, my pretty brunette neighbor, with huge breasts that burst over her V-neck T-shirt and short, cut-off jean shorts, stood atop her stone steps and looked down at a dark-haired, skinny hipster below. He was weaving his fingers through his hair, shrugging—giving the impression of a near-dead animal in the woods, who just wanted to creep away to die. Grabbing a beer from the small fridge I kept in the main room, I watched from afar as the breakup continued: the gorgeous girl sobbed, while the boy slunk away, terrified.

What an asshole.

The moment the guy got into his rickety white Chevy, the girl crumpled. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two years old, her thin shoulders quivering with the weight of being alone. Slinging the rest of my beer back, I was struck with that feeling I had when I saw someone get injured or trapped: I had to go help her. I had to wrap my arms around her thin frame and keep her from shaking.

I had to tell her it was all going to be all right.

Jesus Christ, Theo. Get ahold of yourself.

I’d lived in Indianapolis for only a week and had my second day at the nearby station in an hour’s time. I gave the pretty woman a last glance, admiring the way she slipped her long brown curls behind her shoulders, letting them bounce, and the way she crossed and uncrossed her long, thin legs, seeming lost in a haze of fear and disappointment. And then I shuffled back to my bathroom for a last-minute, eye-opening shower.

I was miles away from anything I knew. I had to focus, lead my mind away from thoughts of the accident, from thoughts of women. I couldn’t be distracted. Indianapolis was counting on me.

I drove the pickup to the station on the corner of Maryland Avenue and Capitol. Slotting into the parking lot, I watched as my new co-firefighters, Mason and Dillon, strutted into the side door, each of them holding a soda and flashing white teeth. They paused, glancing back at the brooding new guy from Alabama, and then held up their hands in greeting.

They were frightened of me. I was bigger than they were, with a better track record than anyone on the Indianapolis force. When they hired me, they read my stats, my physical abilities, and couldn’t comprehend the number of push-ups I could do at once. Shrugging evenly, I dropped to the ground and did a simple 200, for their eyes only. In the end, they were dumbfounded. Had probably gone home to check their protein intake, how many greens they were eating.

Anything to try to keep up with me.

“Hey, man,” Dillon said, clapping at my shoulder. “Second shift?”

“Yep,” I replied. “As always, hope it’s a quiet night.”

“Sure. Was thinking we could try doing that push-up contest again,” Dillon said. “I’ve been lifting even higher the past week or so, since I heard of your record. Damn, Theo. You must think you’re hot shit. I know I would.”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t want to. Wanted to keep a firm distance between me and the others. Someday, hopefully not soon, we’d be together on the front line. And if anything bad happened to them—as had almost happened to my best friend, currently in the hospital back home in Alabama—I didn’t want it to affect me. Not like it had.

It had run me out of town.

But the past had a way of doing that to you. Of forcing you to carry it around with you. Of making you feel you shouldn’t be allowed to live another second.