chapter 1
Luca
My name is Luca Madden.
I’m seventeen, a senior in high school, and I’ve known what I wanted to do with my life since I was eight years old.
I want to be a firefighter.
Not just any firefighter, either.
I want to be like my dad.
Jack Madden is captain of the rescue squad at the best damn firehouse in the city. At least, according to him. Though considering the number of people who seem to trust him with their lives, I’m starting to think he might actually be right.
Growing up with a firefighter for a dad is weird.
You spend half your life thinking he’s the coolest person alive and the other half wondering if tonight is going to be the night somebody knocks on your door and tells you he isn’t coming home.
That second part has been getting harder lately.
A lot harder.
Last year, everything kind of crashed down on me at once, and I finally admitted how badly Dad’s job scared me. I’m better than I was. At least, I think I am.
But every time his radio goes off, part of me still freezes.
Pretty ironic considering I’m planning on doing the exact same job.
Then again, nobody ever accused me of being smart.
“Would you stop staring at her like that?”
I looked up.
Dad was standing beside Samira’s hospital bed in his firefighter uniform with the stupidest grin I had ever seen on his face.
In his arms was my brand-new baby sister.
Stella.
She’d been alive for only a few hours and somehow already had everyone wrapped around her tiny little finger.
“I’m not staring,” I said.
“You’ve been staring for five minutes.”
“I’m trying to figure out why newborns look like angry potatoes.”
Samira laughed from the bed.
Dad looked offended on Stella’s behalf.
“She’s beautiful.”
“She’s wrinkly.”
“You were wrinkly.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
Harlow leaned over the side of the bed to get another look at Stella.
“She’s so tiny.”
“She’ll get bigger,” Dad said.
“Obviously.”
Dad raised an eyebrow. “You two really are related.”
I smiled.
Honestly, seeing him holding Stella made something inside me loosen.
Because getting here hadn’t been easy.
Samira had been pregnant at the end of last year.
We’d all gotten excited.
Dad had gotten ridiculously excited.
Then she lost the baby.
I didn’t really know what to say afterward. None of us did. The whole house just felt different for a while, like everybody was trying not to touch the grief sitting right in the middle of the room.
Dad stayed close to Samira.
Harlow cried.
I mostly stayed quiet.
Then, months later, Samira got pregnant again.
Nobody celebrated quite as loudly that time.
We were happy, obviously. But it was different. Every doctor appointment seemed bigger. Every time Samira said she didn’t feel good, Dad looked like somebody had punched him.
And now Stella was here.
Healthy.
Loud.
Perfectly capable of screaming her head off.
Dad stared down at her like she was proof everything could still turn out okay.
I wondered if he had looked at me like that when I was born.
Probably.
Before Mom screwed everything up.
I pushed that thought away.
Dad kissed Stella’s forehead before carefully handing her back to Samira.
“I should stay.”
Samira immediately shook her head.
“You should go back to work.”
“Sam—”
“Jack.”
“They can survive without me.”
“You are the captain.”
“That sounds like their problem.”
I snorted.
Dad pointed at me.
“Stay out of this.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made a sound.”
“That’s not illegal.”
“Yet.”
Samira smiled tiredly. “Go.”
Dad sighed dramatically.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He leaned down, kissed her, then kissed Stella again.
And again.
Samira pushed his face away.
“She is not going anywhere.”
“I know.”
“You’ve kissed her twelve times.”
“Thirteen.”
I laughed.
Dad reached into his pocket and tossed something toward me.
I caught it automatically.
His truck keys.
I stared at them.
Then at him.
“Why do I have these?”
“Take Harlow home when you’re ready.”
I looked back down at the keys.
Dad’s truck.
His enormous, expensive, absolutely-do-not-damage-this-or-you-will-die truck.
“You’re letting me drive it?”
“I’ve let you drive before.”
“With you sitting beside me.”
“And now you get to experience personal growth.”
“By potentially wrecking your truck?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t wreck my truck.”
“Great pep talk.”
Harlow appeared beside me.
“Are we gonna crash?”
I stared at her.
“No.”
She tilted her head.
“You took too long to answer.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Dad laughed.
“Thanks for the support,” I muttered.
He clapped me on the shoulder.
“You’ll be fine.”
Easy for him to say.
The man willingly ran into burning buildings.
Dad headed back to the station, and Harlow and I stayed another half hour with Samira and Stella before Samira finally told us to go home and get some rest.
The second we reached Dad’s truck, Harlow stopped beside the passenger door.
“Can I sit in the front?”
“You always sit in the front.”
“I’m asking because you’re driving.”
I looked at her.
“Get in.”
She grinned.
I helped her climb up, waited until she buckled herself in, then walked around to the driver’s side.
The truck suddenly looked a lot bigger.
I climbed in and adjusted the mirrors even though Dad’s settings were almost perfect for me.
My hands settled on the steering wheel.
Okay.
I could do this.
I had my license.
I had driven plenty of times.
There was absolutely no reason to be nervous.
“You look nervous,” Harlow said.
“I’m not.”
“You’re gripping the steering wheel really hard.”
“Do you want to walk?”
“Nope.”
“Then hush.”
I started the truck.
The engine rumbled beneath us.
Harlow looked delighted.
I backed out slowly, probably slower than any human had ever reversed a vehicle in the history of driving.
“Luca?”
“What?”
“Grandma drives faster than this.”
“Grandma isn’t driving Dad’s truck.”
We made it onto the road.
And after about five minutes, I finally stopped feeling like I was transporting explosives.
Harlow talked almost the entire way home.
Mostly about Stella.
“Do you think she’ll like me?”
“She’s a baby.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“She currently likes eating, sleeping, and screaming.”
“So?”
“So give her a few months before you demand loyalty.”
Harlow crossed her arms.
“I’m going to be her favorite.”
“Good luck. Dad’s already obsessed with her.”
“I’ll beat him.”
I laughed.
By the time I pulled into our driveway, I was actually disappointed the drive was over.
I parked and shut off the engine.
Harlow looked at me.
I looked at her.
“See?”
She grinned.
“No crash.”
“Never doubted me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Get out of the truck.”
The second we opened the front door, Ares came charging toward me.
“Ares—”
Too late.
My dog launched himself at me.
I barely managed to stay upright as he started licking my face.
“Dude!”
Harlow burst out laughing.
Ares dropped back down, tail whipping back and forth, then immediately attacked Harlow with the same amount of enthusiasm.
“At least somebody missed us,” I said.
“I missed you,” Harlow said.
“You were with me.”
“I know.”
We ended up in the living room for a while until Harlow suddenly dropped across the couch like she was dying.
“I’m hungry.”
I looked at her.
“Okay.”
“Feed me.”
“You’re eight, not three.”
“I’m still hungry.”
There was one problem.
I couldn’t cook.
Like, at all.
Dad could cook.
Samira definitely could.
I could burn water.
Luckily, when I opened the refrigerator, I found several containers with instructions taped to them.
Of course.
Samira.
I smiled.
“Looks like your wish has been granted.”
Harlow appeared beside me.
“What is it?”
“I have no idea.”
“You’re supposed to read the label.”
“Oh.”
She gave me a look.
“You’re not very smart.”
“I’m responsible for keeping you alive tonight. Think carefully about how you speak to me.”
She giggled.
I followed Samira’s instructions, heated everything up, and somehow managed not to destroy the kitchen.
A miracle.
We ate at the table, and Harlow practically inhaled her food.
Then, halfway through dinner, she got quiet.
That was never a good sign.
“What?”
She pushed some food around her plate.
“Luca?”
“Yeah?”
“If I called Samira Mom… do you think Mommy would be mad?”
My stomach tightened.
I hated when she called her that.
Mommy.
Not because Harlow was doing anything wrong.
Because our mother had done plenty wrong.
Drugs always came first with her.
Before Dad.
Before me.
Before Harlow.
Eventually, they killed her.
Dad had spent years fighting to protect us from the mess she created.
But Harlow had been younger.
Her memories were different from mine.
I put my fork down.
“I don’t think you should worry about whether she’d be mad.”
Harlow looked at me.
“If you want to call Samira Mom, then call her Mom.”
“But Mommy was our mom.”
“She was.”
I forced myself to keep my voice calm.
“And calling Samira Mom doesn’t erase that.”
Harlow stared at her plate.
“Do you call her Mom?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it would feel weird to me.”
“Oh.”
“But that doesn’t mean it has to feel weird to you.”
She thought about that.
“She takes care of us.”
“Yeah.”
“And she loves us.”
“Definitely.”
“And now Stella is our sister.”
“Unfortunately.”
Harlow kicked me under the table.
“Ow!”
“Don’t say that.”
I laughed.
“I’m kidding.”
She smiled.
A few seconds passed.
Then she looked at me again.
“Movie?”
“Before bed?”
She nodded eagerly.
I stood and grabbed our plates.
“Fine.”
“With popcorn?”
“We just ate.”
“With popcorn?”
I sighed.
“With popcorn.”
She cheered and ran toward the living room.
I watched her go.
Ares immediately chased after her.
For once, the house felt quiet in a good way.
Dad was at work.
Samira was at the hospital with Stella.
Harlow was happy.
And somehow, for tonight at least, everything felt okay.
I knew that wouldn’t last forever.
With my family, it never did.
But I’d learned something over the last year.
Sometimes you just had to enjoy the calm before the next alarm went off.
is this a sequel