Let Love Be - Chapter 1

“Yeah, but it’s just so easy picking on you, old man. Plus, there are so many around here to choose from.” I flip him off, mid stride and he just continues watching me run, shit-eating grin spreading his mouth open wide.

I want to hate him. Hell, we all want to hate him, but his jokes are always in jest. As far as probies, probationary firefighters, go, Brody Callahan is an all right kid. At only twenty-four years old, he’s a decade younger than me. With only about two months on the job, I have to admit that the kid knows his shit. Like most of us, he pretty much knew he wanted to be a firefighter from the day he was born. He studied hard and trained even harder, and just this past summer, he graduated at the top of his training class.

Wanting in on all of the action, Brody requested to be placed here at Squad 18, right in the heart of Manhattan. In the twelve years I’ve been part of the FDNY, I’ve seen my fair share of new kids. Brody is by far the biggest wise-ass punk we’ve ever had join our crew.

We loved him instantly.

When I reach eleven miles, and my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest, I hit the power button and Brody tosses my towel back at me. His chest is all puffed with pride.

“What’re you all happy about over there?” I have to angle my neck up to look at him because I’m currently bent over, hands braced against my knees as I try desperately to seem unaffected by his little game.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I made you sprint an extra mile. That ought to help your marathon next month.” He slaps my back and adds, “See? Maybe a vet like you could learn a thing or two from the new guy.”

That gets a more than a chuckle from me. And hell, he’s probably right. It sure as shit isn’t going to hurt my pace.

I glance up at the clock above the door and finish off my bottle of water. “Day tour is about to start. Better get ready so we can relieve the overnighters.”

Standing by the door, Brody props it open with one foot while he extends his hand, allowing me to walk past him. “Age before beauty,” he laughs sarcastically.

“I doubt you’ll be laughing like that with a toilet scrubber in your hands.”

“Ehh, pissing you off is so worth a few weeks of bowl detail.” He takes a few steps ahead of me and pauses at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the showers. Peering over his shoulders, he says, “I’ll race ya, old man!” And then, he’s off, taking the steps two at a time.

Even if I did want to prove a point, there’s no way in hell my rubber band-like legs could possibly do any kind of sprinting. So, instead of accepting his challenge, I make a mental note to pick up a brand new toilet scrubber when we do the daily meal shopping later in the afternoon.

*****

Holding down the button for the PA system, I call out, “Food’s on!”

Mealtime at the firehouse is pretty much like any meal at home. After all, this is our home. We laugh while we eat and catch up on any and everything that’s going on in our real homes – new babies, middle school concerts, high school graduations.

The one thing that’s missing from our meals is usually manners. It’s a first-come-first-served mentality, and since the alarms could go off any minute, you really do need to eat quickly. When the other five men have their plates filled, I scan the room and realize Brody is missing.

“Manny, where’s the kid?”

Around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, Manny mumbles, “Studying, I think.”