From the back of the room came a feminine noise of distress, somewhere between a cough and a wail. Jake knew instinctively that it was Charlie but didn’t turn to investigate.
He got up on legs that didn’t feel like his own, that seemed to walk of their own accord to the double doors. He just followed Mick and the other firemen, feeling numb. The blood rushing through his head, the pulsating anger, the viciousness of Charlie’s unexpected betrayal—all of it had vanished and been replaced by this yawning pit of nothing. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel anything again. He was conscious of breathing, conscious of having a heartbeat, but he didn’t feel human.
He didn’t register or remember anything about the drive back to the firehouse. All he could think about, as he turned into the familiar circular driveway, was that this would no longer be his home—the house he had lived in for more than a decade. The guys—Old George, Mick, Grady, Tommy, Hunter, and Rafael—would no longer be his brothers. They’d no longer share a purpose in the community, or even have a role here. What in the hell were they all going to do?
Despite the presence of Mick and the other guys next to him as they entered the firehouse, Jake hadn’t felt this lost and alone since he’d been kicked out by Dave and Maria Nash twelve years ago.
Not-Spot came bounding over to greet them, his entire body wagging in enthusiasm, his tongue spilling out the side of his mouth like extra glee. You’re home! You’re home! Except this was no longer home. The dog’s excitement seemed almost obscene, given the circumstances. Jake had let them all down. Why would anyone or anything be glad to see him?
Jake sank to his knees, ostensibly to hug Not-Spot, to pat him and scratch him behind the ears, but in reality it was because he didn’t feel that his legs would hold him up any longer. The dog licked his face and wriggled with joy, tail whipping anything within reach.
Jake leaned his forehead briefly against the dog’s neck and breathed in the comforting scent of his fur: canine love mixed with earth and leaves. But Not-Spot squirmed free to get to Mick, Tommy, Hunter, and Grady, just as excited to see them. Jake wasn’t special, and now that he wouldn’t have a job or a title or a paycheck, he’d better get used to that.
He stayed down on his knees as the other guys gave the dog his due affection. It seemed a monumental, if not impossible, effort to get up. Stand tall. Like a man. But without a job, without a home, without a purpose in life, he didn’t feel that he qualified as a man.
“Hey.” Mick’s tone was gruff.
Jake looked up to find him holding out a hand. He wanted to take it but found that he couldn’t. “I . . . let you down. I let all of us down today.”
“No. You didn’t,” Mick said. “Now get the hell up off the floor. I’ve got something to say, but I’m only gonna say it once, which means we’ve all gotta be in the same room. So let’s go upstairs.”
Jake nodded, but he still couldn’t take Mick’s hand. So Mick grabbed his instead. He damn near dragged Jake up the stairs.
Rafael and Old George sat at the kitchen table, looking sweaty and beat-up. “Man, you wouldn’t believe—”
“We probably would,” Mick said. “Listen, there’s no easy way to say this: We lost the vote today. The town council decided that as of the new year, Silverlake has an all-volunteer fire department. No salary. No benefits. Kingston Nash—courtesy of his granddaughter—has finally won. We’re . . . done.”
Old George gaped. “What?”
“You’re kidding me,” Rafael said.
Jake stared wordlessly at them.
“No joke, gentlemen,” Grady said. “Sorry to say. Jake here put up the good fight. But the numbers are a problem, and we know that and we’ve known it for years. Charlie Nash, reading from her granddad’s script, made it sound like we’re money hogs. We’re the death of police and schoolteachers and Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, too.”
Old George finally closed his mouth. “But . . . what the hell are we going to do?”
“That’s a damn good question. If we want to stay in this burg, we’ll need to find other jobs. We’ve all got EMS training. We’re practically professional PR guys, with all the work we do for the community . . .”
“But what’ll happen with the firehouse?”
“Beats the hell outta me.”
“Maybe the town will put it up for sale. Maybe we can go in together and buy it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Hunter said bitterly. “That’s gonna happen. Since we’re all rolling in cash.”
Jake sat down heavily on one of the kitchen barstools. “Guys . . . I’m so sorry. I let you down today. I don’t know what else to say.”
“You didn’t do any such thing, man.” Mick turned to Grady. “Did you see him let us down? No. Kingston Nash just finally got his way. Maybe he bribed half the council. Hell if I know.”
“It’s not fair to insinuate that the council is crooked,” Jake said wearily. “Though Billy Hodgkins isn’t exactly unbiased, since Kingston regularly pays his bar tab. Wish I’d thought to point that out, but it’s too late now.”
They all stared at one another.
Jake dragged a hand down his face. “Mick, you got something to say?” Maybe he could get them all united and on the same page.
“Yeah, I do. This sucks, and I say we demand a revote, based on . . . on, I dunno. Something.”
As rousing speeches went, it left something to be desired. “I don’t think it works that way,” Jake told him.
“Yeah, well, it should.”
Silence ensued.
Once again, it was up to Jake to lead them onward. To think of something. To bring them all together. If only he weren’t so tired. So demoralized. So heartsick.
Get up. Give them a speech. He didn’t know where the voice came from, or whose it was, but it was insistent. Go on. They’re looking to you for answers.
Leave me alone, he told the voice. I don’t have any answers.
Yes, you do. Now get up and open your mouth and they will come.
Jake got up. He was probably crazy. But these guys were looking to him for leadership. He sucked in some air. “George. Mick. Grady. Hunter. Tommy. Rafael. We may have just technically gotten fired by the town, or downgraded to pay point zero or whatever. But we are still a team. We still have a job to do, and that job is to protect Silverlake in the event of disaster. To save lives and property from destruction. Whether or not we get a salary for it is immaterial. It’s who we are; it’s what we do. Paid or not, we are Silverlake Fire and Rescue. Are you with me?”
Only two of the guys, Mick and Old George, nodded reluctantly. The others looked shell-shocked at the concept of working for no salary. He couldn’t totally blame them. But he forged onward.
“This community may seem a little ungrateful right now, but we can’t take that to heart. We have to look at the town budget as just numbers, plain and simple. Numbers are not politics, and numbers are not weapons. Most of all, numbers are not the enemy. Neither is the town council. It’s composed of people, people who are just trying to make the columns add up correctly.
“If they can’t make the numbers work, then we cannot hold that against them. But we, as firefighters, can work.
“We can work in the face of the naysayers and the disrespecters and the haters. We can work as volunteer firefighters, because we love our town; we love this community, and we want to keep our citizens safe. So I ask you again: Are you with me?”
All of the guys nodded this time. “Yeah.”
“A paycheck certainly makes things easier, but it doesn’t change our core identities or values. Neither will getting other jobs during the day. We are all more than friends; we are brothers. And you guys are my heroes. I couldn’t get up in the morning or go to sleep at night without knowing that I can rely on you to have my back and to save my ass—”
“Hear! Hear!” yelled Tommy.
Jake broke off; the atmosphere was thick with emotion. Of course, being guys, they had to dispel it.
“Dang,” said Mick with a smirk. “This is all so touching that I’m gonna have to cry.”
“Shoot, I’m gonna write a poem,” Old George said in a soulful tone.
Hunter clutched his hand to his heart, a big grin on his face.
“Sing, boy, sing!” Tommy said, inciting the dog. Not-Spot thrust his snout into the air and howled.
Jake broke into laughter and flipped all of them off, including the dog, who grinned right along with the rest of them.
Grady flipped him off back. “That’s better.”
Mick shifted his weight and then adjusted himself. “Phew, you were in danger of getting sentimental there, dude.”
“Anything but that. So anyway, guys—”
But Jake’s last words were cut off by the earsplitting fire alarm, and they all sprang into action. It was what they did; it was who they were—paycheck or not.