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  Fear of Getting Burned

  (Eternal Flame Book 1)

  Peter Styles

  Important information…

  This book, “Fear of Getting Burned” is the first book in the Eternal Flame Series. However, this book and every other book in the series (more books coming soon!) can be read as a stand-alone. Thus, it is not required to read the first book to understand the second (as so on). Each book can be read by itself.

  Contents

  Important information…

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Preview (Eternal Flame Book 2): Up In Flames

  Chapter One

  “Kyle, are you listening to me?”

  I jerked my head up at my friend and coworker, Juan Diaz. I hunched my shoulders in apology. “Ah, no. I’m sorry, man. I was distracted.”

  He shook his head, rolling his eyes and looking exceptionally annoyed. “Of course you were. This is why I don’t have a smart phone, man. It destroys social interaction. You’re more attached to a screen than the people around you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, dude. What were you saying?”

  Diaz huffed a little, but he said, “Last night. That fire. It was fucked up, man. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Molotov cocktail fire before. It’s just crazy that that could happen here and now, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I frowned. I’d been trying not to think about the previous night much. It’s not like I was afraid of fire—being a firefighter, it’s kind of hard to be afraid of the very thing you’re dedicating your life to dealing with—but arson still freaked me out. I’d seen burn victims, people in chronic condition because of smoke inhalation, and entire lifetimes of precious artifacts completely destroyed by fire. I’d never been able to wrap my brain around the idea of someone doing something so heinous on purpose. “Any word on why it happened?”

  “Who knows at this point?” Diaz sighed. “’Could be racial, political, revenge… There are a lot of reasons people want to kill and destroy each other, you know. I heard that the guy who lives there is some weird, uptight German dude. Maybe he was attacked by, like, anti-Nazis. That would be a fun change of pace, huh?”

  “We have incredibly different definitions of fun,” I said, looking back down to my phone, “but sure.”

  “Yeah, okay, not exactly fun like ‘ha ha, yipee’ fun, but better than the alternative. The biggest problem is that people forget that even Nazis have neighbors. They go to take out a racist and end up with an entire neighborhood in flames.”

  “Yeah,” I said dryly, “those arsonists sure don’t think things through as much as I’d like.”

  I could feel him surveying me. Finally, Diaz gave a heavy sigh and said, “Okay, man, I’ll bite. What are you looking at right now that’s so much more important than what I have to say?”

  “Everything’s more important than what you have to say,” I told him with a smirk, but when he looked irritated, I gave him a small shrug of apology. “Okay, if I tell you, you have to promise not to be mad.”

  “Well, that’s comforting.”

  “Just look.” I handed him my phone.

  As expected, I was met with an eye roll and a groan. “Are you seriously still looking for a dog?”

  “Yeah, so? I want a dog.”

  “You can’t have a dog,” he said seriously. “Think about it. You’re living in the fire house half the time, and the other half, you’re in that shitty little apartment where you get your electricity cut off half the time because you can’t remember to pay bills for shit. Who would take care of it for you? You don’t have the time or the space for any other living creatures, much less a dog.”

  “Well, you see,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted, “that’s the beauty of this idea, because in this case, I wouldn’t be the only one looking after it, and it wouldn’t be holed up in my crappy little apartment all the time.”

  “And why’s that?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was being deliberately obtuse or if he was trying to mess with me, so I sat down beside him and jabbed my finger at the screen. “Look at what kind of dog it is.”

  “No!” he whined. He tossed my phone back to me. “Come on, dude. You really think the Chief is going to let you get a Dalmatian?”

  “Why not? They’re in fire houses literally all over the country. They’re practically the official mascot of firefighters,” I pointed out. “And they’re super useful, too.”

  “How’s that?” Diaz asked, crossing his arms and sounding skeptical.

  “Their sense of smell,” I explained. “And you can train them to find and retrieve stuff. Plus, it would help when we’re giving presentations to a bunch of bored teenagers. Even teens love dogs.”

  “I like to think that my sparkling wit is enough to keep them engaged.”

  “Yeah, I know you like to think that,” I said, “but do you actually, seriously believe it?”

  He thought for a second. “What about my devilish good looks?”

  “That takes care of ninety percent of teen girls and about ten percent of teen boys,” I said seriously. I gave him a look up and down. “And that’s being generous.”

  His jaw dropped in an imitation of angry shock. “How dare you?!” he said dramatically, putting a hand to his chest and pulling a horrified expression.

  I just rolled my eyes. Diaz was a good-looking guy, with arms like tree trunks and deep caramel skin, but he wasn’t as universally attractive as he thought he was. After all, I didn’t find him attractive—but maybe that was because I’d actually taken the time to talk to him.

  “Come on, man. Are you seriously telling me you wouldn’t like to see a little puppy running around here, frolicking and being adorable?” I asked.

  He handed my phone back to me, wrinkling his nose. “If I wanted to hear the little pitter patter of feet, don’t you think I’d have started a family by now?”

  “That would necessitate you knowing someone who would want to mate with you.”

  “Asshole.” He leaned back, kicking his feet up on his bunk. “If you really want a pet so bad, maybe you should start small, you know? Get a gold fish or something. It seems a little early to jump straight to a dog.”

  “But you guys would be helping me look after it,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, sure. Good luck getting the rest of the guys to sign up for that.”

  He wasn’t completely wrong about that. Most of our coworkers agreed to be firefighters because, frankly, it was the only thing they could commit to. At the fire house, they didn’t have to worry about wives or girlfriends or kids, and they didn’t have time for any of those things, either. The most any of the guys on my shift did was go out and pick up men or women at bars and seduce them with their muscles. Our work wasn’t easy, by any means, but it was perfect for men who were terrified of commitment.

  Unfortunately for me, that wasn’t who I was.

  “Maybe you should find something else to do,” Diaz suggested gently after a few minutes of disappointed silence. “I mean, if you really want someone to settle down with and take care of, why don’t you try, like, dating someone? You know, find something that can feed itself and whose shit you won’t have to scoop up.”

  The idea was an intriguing one, to be sure. I had always loved the i
dea of having a family. All I’d ever wanted while growing up in the middle of a desolate trailer park was a husband, two kids, a pet, a yard, and a white picket fence. As I grew older, though, I realized that not everybody got to have that. In fact, as I came to discover, it was surprisingly difficult to get to that point. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound cavalier and careless. The look on Diaz’s face told me I was failing, but I continued. “Besides, I can just choose to go adopt a dog. I can’t adopt a boyfriend.”

  “No. But you can hire one for a night.” He laughed when I threw my pillow at him.

  “Seriously, man. I’ve always wanted a dog, and I really think it would be good for the department. Fire houses all over the country wouldn’t have dogs if they weren’t good for something, right? I mean, don’t they, like, pull people out of burning buildings?”

  “We don’t need dogs for that. That’s what we’re here for.”

  “Yeah, but the dogs could help.”

  Diaz sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was getting tired of fighting with me. That was how I won most of our arguments—wearing him down until he gave in. “Fine, man. You want a dog? Try to get one. Hell, ask the Chief for the go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when he slaps you down.”

  I looked back down to my phone, where the image of the Dalmatian puppy with its wide eyes and all-black tail stared back at me. I’d never been allowed to have a pet growing up. We didn’t even have room for the tiniest fish, let alone a dog, but I’d always wanted one. They were supposed to be man’s best friend, after all.

  Sometimes, I felt like I could really use more of those.

  Especially when Reggie came swaggering into the room, kicking his boots into Diaz’s corner and flopping down onto his bunk with a grunt. He mussed his hair and looked at the two of us with a superior smirk. “What’re you gay faggots talking about?” he asked, his voice full of mockery.

  Diaz and I exchanged glances. “Isn’t that a little redundant?” I asked. “I mean, ‘gay faggots’?”

  “Yeah,” Diaz agreed. “Just choose one or the other. That would be like me calling you an idiotic moron. It’s pointless.”

  Reggie curled a lip. “Whatever. Why does it matter?”

  Diaz shrugged. “It doesn’t,” he explained, “except that you’re the one who said it. You should have a handle on what you’re talking about, you know? It’s basic English.”

  “Like you’d know anything about English,” Reggie snorted. When neither of us responded, he turned to Diaz, adding, “Because—“

  “—because I’m Mexican,” Diaz said, sounding unimpressed. “Yeah, somehow I managed to parse that.”

  “Yeah, sick burn, Reggie,” I muttered, turning to my phone.

  Reggie scowled, but he dropped the issue. Instead, he said, “Hey, you guys remember that fire from last night? That was fucking crazy.”

  Diaz gave me a look that seemed to say I told you so. “Yeah,” he said, “we were just talking about that. I’ve been here for two years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen an arson like that, you know? The place went up like fucking kindling. I mean, who does shit like that?”

  “Arsonists?” I guessed. Both of them ignored me.

  “The examiner stopped over there today,” Reggie said. “Sounds like they’re not sure if it actually went down the way the guy said it did.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. They’re not buying the whole Molotov cocktail thing.” Reggie shrugged. “Not that I blame them. It sounds like bullshit. I mean, a fire like that in Fairgrove? When the fuck does that happen?”

  “Just because it hasn’t happened before, that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t now,” I said. “People can be nasty, and there’s been some really heavy shit going on lately. It kind of seems like if something like that was going to happen, now would be the time.” When the two of them looked unconvinced, I added, “I mean, what other explanation is there? It’s not like the dude started it himself.”

  “They’re not sure of that,” Reggie said. “They think he might have.”

  I frowned. “But why? Who burns down their own house?”

  “Someone going after insurance money, you doofus,” Diaz pointed out. He grinned. “Are you actually such a boy scout that you forgot people sometimes destroy their own places?”

  I turned back to my phone without another word. They continued talking; I could tell Reggie was dead set on believing that it had been done by the homeowner, and Diaz—ever the conspiracy theorist—joined in with gusto. But it didn’t make any sense to me. Or maybe, as they’d implied, I just couldn’t imagine someone actually doing something so wrong and lying about it like that.

  The Chief wandered in, looking exhausted as usual. I watched covertly as he had a quiet conversation with Diaz. He looked even more haggard than usual, if that was even possible. The Chief was the type to enjoy a liquid lunch more often than not, and occasionally a liquid breakfast and dinner to go with it. He had hangdog eyes with deep purple half-moons under them, and his wrinkled skin hung like it was trying to escape from the rest of his body. This, as Diaz had pointed out, was the guy I needed to convince if I wanted to get a dog for the fire house. I considered inviting him out for a drink, but the thought of what it would do to his already half-destroyed liver weighed too heavily on my conscience.

  “Hey, Chief,” I piped up. He looked at me, and he seemed so tired and irritable, I almost wimped out, but I pushed through. No time like the present, I guess. “What would you say to getting a dog to have around the station?”

  His expression didn’t change. That didn’t mean much; his face almost never moved. “A dog?”

  “Yeah. Like a Dalmatian.” When Reggie laughed, I glared at him. “They’re a staple in fire houses. They make great mascots. They help with teaching kids and all that. And I’m sure we could train it to do little stuff for us here and there. Plus, it would be a great morale booster.”

  Diaz rolled his eyes and looked embarrassed to know me. Reggie sniggered. The Chief just blinked. He watched me, his eyes the only part of him that moved. I wondered for a second if he’d spaced out, but I reminded myself that that’s just the way he was; his brain seemed to move about five times slower than the average human’s.

  “A dog,” he said again. The only difference was in the inflection.

  I swallowed. In spite of the fact that he looked like a sloth turned into a man, the Chief intimidated me. I’d seen him pick up three loads of gear and a hose by himself, which was definitely no small feat. He was slow, but he was strong, and though I’d never seen him angry, I’d heard it wasn’t a pretty sight. “Yes, sir,” I managed to respond.

  The Chief blinked at me again. After another moment, he nodded his head slowly. “Okay,” he drawled. “Why not.”

  “Really?” I could feel myself beaming. I would have hugged him if I didn’t think he’d fire me for it. “Wow, thanks, Chief!”

  “I’m not taking care of it,” he added. “But if you and the other guys want to walk and feed it and all that shit, I say go ahead. No skin off my behind.”

  “Of course. Thank you so much, Chief. I’ll train it and everything. It won’t be a problem at all,” I assured him.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but that was one of the biggest lies I would ever tell in my life.

  Chapter Two

  When we went to pick up the puppy, I should have known something was wrong right away. Not only had I found the puppy on Craigslist, but when Diaz and I arrived at the small ranch house, the woman who answered the door looked wide-eyed and practically delirious. “Oh!” She seemed surprised when she opened the door, as if she had thought she’d just imagined the bell ringing. “Are you here about the dog?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Diaz said, giving me a side-eyed glance.

  The woman looked beyond relieved. She swept a curled lock of hair out of her face and smiled. “Oh, good,” she breathed. “Perfect timing. My kids aren’t home yet.” She waved us inside hurriedly. “Please, c
ome in. You said you’re local firemen?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. I could almost hear Diaz rolling his eyes, but I didn’t pay him any mind; I had somewhat old-fashioned manners, but I enjoyed them. “We really appreciate you trusting us with the puppy, and for such a low price. I’m sure it’s not easy to part with an animal like that.”

  She laughed. There was a hysterical edge to it. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s no problem for me,” she explained. “But I have triplet eight-year-olds who have gotten beyond attached. They wanted to keep the entire litter.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “Do you realize how many puppies are in a litter?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Neither did I.” She righted family photos and knick knacks as we walked through the hall to the living room. “Apparently, Dalmatians average around eight, but I guess ours is special.” She spat the word out.

  “Why?” Diaz joked. “Were there ninety-nine puppies?”

  The woman turned her wild-eyed stare on him, and he fell silent. “Twelve,” she said, her voice grave. “Twelve puppies. Fourteen dogs all together. And of course, my idiot husband didn’t think we needed to get our dogs fixed, because ‘wouldn’t it be so much fun to have a litter of puppies?’” She shook her head. “Of course he thinks that. He’s not the one home with them all day. My house has turned into a puppy pad emporium.” She sighed. “And then he demanded we keep them for at least six months, you know, to ‘keep the family together.’ Moron.” She took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to me. She looked moderately more sane. “I’m sorry. It’s been… trying. And my daughters wheedled their way into keeping two of the puppies. They keep trying to make it three—one for each of them—and their father is too close to giving in.” She gripped my shoulder way too hard. “You two are an absolute godsend.” The crazy smile returned, and she added, “And don’t worry—all the dogs are fixed now.”

  “Oh, good,” I said. Diaz looked alarmed, but I swatted him on the arm and gave him a hard look. We were strong men, dammit. We weren’t about to be cowed by some nut case who seemed to be teetering on the edge of a Dalmatian-based agenda that could rival Cruella de Vil’s.