Rory (Hope City #7) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,10

planted on his hips, Rory dropped his head and stared at his boots. “This is stupid. I haven’t been out of the Army that long and sure as fuck don’t need to be getting involved right now.”

“The only advice I can give you really has nothing to do with her specifically. You’re trying to get hired as an EMT, and you want to go for paramedic certification, which is going to take time and a lot of concentration. You moved in with your parents to save money. Do you have time in your life for a woman? Especially if there’s a possibility that she’s high-maintenance?” Shrugging, Blay added, “Hell, you’re the only one who can answer that, but just think about it.”

Nodding, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and led their way toward the back to their friends.

That night, he lay in bed on his back, one arm bent at the elbow with his hand under his head. His mind was churning with everything Blay had pointed out, all of it true. He’d only been home a short while, having been honorably discharged from the Army. Blay had already gotten out of the military and was working for the Hope City Fire Department, and Rory jumped at the chance to volunteer. He’d been a combat medic and was now almost finished with the certification for becoming a civilian EMT. The military now provided the necessary training and paperwork so that it was easier to make the transition into civilian emergency services work. Once he had that under his belt, Hope City would hire him, and he’d finally have a paycheck again. His military service would count as part of his required hours of training to become a paramedic, but then he’d have to take more classes, study, and take the national exam, followed by the state licensing certification.

He had a lot of work in front of him to accomplish his goals. Sandy did not strike him as fling material, but he had no time or money for a relationship. Hell, not on my shoestring budget. Rolling over, he looked around the room that he’d grown up in. Their house was large, but with six kids, they’d filled it to the brim. Squarely middle class, he’d lacked for nothing, even if money was occasionally tight.

Blay was right… a relationship wasn’t in the cards at this time, and even if it was, Sandy wouldn’t be the right choice. He’d spent the last week thinking of the gorgeous and funny woman, now hating the idea that there would be nothing more. But after years of giving everything he had to Uncle Sam’s Army, it was time to focus on him.

The fire truck pulled into the Second Battalion Barker Street Station, and Rory climbed down, immediately pulling off his gear. He wiped the sweat from his brow and heaved a sigh. It was time to check the equipment and get ready for the next shift that would be arriving within the hour—and that was if another call didn’t come in. Three automobile accidents, one garage fire, and two emergency calls had kept them busy during the shift.

The station held the massive ladder truck, two fire engines, and two ambulances. The bays were kept clean and all equipment was checked at the end of each run. The firefighters moved about the space, each to their duties, jokes abounding as they worked off the stress.

“McBride!”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw another firefighter walking toward him.

“Chief wants a word.”

He looked upward and saw the Battalion Chief standing on the platform near his office that overlooked the large truck bays. Nodding, he handed the toolbox he had just taken down to clean and check to the other firefighter and jogged to the metal stairs leading to the second floor. This level held the barracks, the kitchen, and break room as well as several administrative offices.

Knocking on the door frame, he waited until he’d been permitted to enter. Chief Marks was generally easygoing, but not having any idea why he was being summoned, Rory wanted to offer every respect.

“Come in, McBride.”

Entering the office, he took in the space with a glance. Shelves lined one wall and windows that overlooked the main bay area filled the opposite wall. The chief’s desk was large but utilitarian grey metal. Chief Marks was in his fifties with thick, grey hair cut close to his head. He had no problem smiling with the firefighters when the time was right but also had