Light My Fire
: Chapter 37

I am in the break room at the clinic where I am interning, desperately paging through my notebook. I know I wrote this down. I looked it up two nights ago. I knew we were scheduled to do this surgery today and I wanted to be fully prepared. But now I can’t replace my notes.

I slam the front of my notebook shut and look at it.

No. Fuck.

This is my red notebook. I took those notes in my green notebook. Which means my green notebook is still at home.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

And try very hard not to let my thoughts go to this is what you get when you stay up too late at night texting your three boyfriends instead of getting your stuff ready for the next morning.

It’s always been my routine to get everything ready and laid out and quick to grab—clothes, books, lunch, whatever kind of jacket I might need for the day, an umbrella if the forecast says it might rain. I fully prepare the night before, so in the morning I don’t have to rush around and risk forgetting something.

But it seems since I’ve moved to Chicago that I’m a new person.

You are a new person.

I can’t avoid that thought.

And it’s true that I feel different in so many ways.

I also know that all of that has to do with the guys I’m dating.

But what I can also attribute to those three is my disorganization this entire week.

I’ve been at my internship for only two weeks.

The first week, everything went pretty well. My nerves about the internship made me plan ahead, and be strict with Wyatt, Jackson, and Luke when I said I needed to go home early or not get together.

But they are very hard to resist.

This past weekend when we all hung out together and I tried to leave on Sunday early in the afternoon, they talked me into staying. Four different times. I’d given in every time. Happily, I’ll admit. It’s not like they forced me to stay.

But I ended up getting home far later on Sunday night than I intended. I hadn’t gotten to some of the notes I’d meant to review, and hadn’t slept as long as I wanted to.

I’ve felt behind all week now.

They’ve been texting and calling, just checking in, being sweet. They’ve each asked me when they can see me, but they have taken my repeated “not tonight” answer in stride.

I’m trying to have a sensible routine. During the week, I go home after work, work out, eat dinner, and spend time reviewing procedures and diagnoses I know are coming into the clinic the next day, so I feel prepared. Then I try to go to bed at a decent time.

I want to do well at this internship. Not only because, for my entire life, I have prided myself on being an excellent student, but because I would really love a job offer at the end of this internship. I want to stay in Chicago.

In large part because of the three men who keep texting me and distracting me when I really need to be paying attention to work.

My phone buzzes as if I summoned one of them.

And honestly, just because it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, I can’t guess which one it is. I hear from all three of them at all times of the day.

And if I wasn’t a little sleep deprived and incredibly stressed, I would replace that very sweet.

Now, though, as I am taking a quick break and trying to look something up that I need for my job, I’m very tempted to ignore the message.

In the end, I can’t. I swipe across the screen and open the message from Jackson.

He attached a photo of him and the German Shepherd I assume is Bruce.

I can’t help but smile at it.

My gorgeous, sweet boyfriend who has the personality of a golden retriever, has his arm around a German Shepherd who looks as thrilled to have met Jackson as Jackson is to have met Bruce.

Thank God Jackson has started the SAR training program.

One thing that has saved me a little this week is Luke and Wyatt’s work schedule.

They, of course, have had work shifts over the past two weeks, and their shifts are long and can be very intense. The hours following a shift they often need to sleep and decompress.

But then they’re off for forty-eight hours.

And then they are blowing up my phone, wanting to see me, sending me flowers and warm cookies at night. And selfies and cute videos. Things that make me miss them and really want to see them.

At least they have each other.

Last night the three of them went out together without me. Which I thought was great. I figured that would entertain them all and distract them from me not being there.

Instead, it made the texts and videos three times extra tempting.

They sent me selfies, a text they wrote together, and a video begging me to come to the bar and meet them.

I actually put my shoes on before I realized it was a bad idea.

I text Jackson back.

God, I want to hear all about his day, the training, Bruce. Jackson is so into this and I love it. I love seeing him get invested and excited about building something he’s proud of and passionate about. The training program and the facility he’s building are going to be amazing.

He sends me a line of heart eyed emojis.

And see? That’s sweet.

It’s also a little frustrating. Because they all three ask me that. Which is lovely. Nice. I believe they all really want to know.

But then I end up texting them all the same thing.

One night I cut and pasted the same message to all three of them.

And I felt guilty as hell after I sent it. Who cuts and pastes their interactions with their boyfriend?

A girl with three boyfriends and a very busy work schedule.

But not having a lot of time or mental energy is no excuse.

I’m not being a very good girlfriend to any of them.

Multiplying the guilt and the missing them—and the phone calls and texts and dates that have been put off—by three is just a lot.

And it’s starting to make me feel really bad.

“There you are! Need you out here,” Tammy, the vet tech, says, poking her head into the break room. “You know, where the animals are?”

Tammy doesn’t like me.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m coming.”

I stash the notebook in my bag and shove my phone into my pocket.

For the next two hours, I’m busy helping give shots to a new litter of kittens, doing a dental exam on a Great Dane, helping remove stitches, helping put stitches in, and listening as one of the doctors has to deliver news about cancer in a couple’s ten-year-old poodle, then listen to a family worry about affording the diabetes medication for their miniature Schnauzer.

By the time I am walking a little girl and her newly adopted cat back to the front, I am feeling the emotional toll. I know this is part of the job and I am prepared for it. But I also know that veterinarians have some of the highest job stress of any profession.

I’m saying goodbye to Haley and her cat Snickers when something on the television in the corner of the waiting room catches my attention. I look up at the screen.

There are firetrucks lining what looks to be the street outside of a warehouse. There are police cars and other emergency vehicles as well. The banner across the bottom of the screen says there was a bomb found in the warehouse.

My heart feels like it turns over in my chest. I look at the receptionist, Kelsey. “Can you turn that up?” I ask.

“Sure.” She points the remote at the screen and the sound comes up. I listen for a moment, getting caught up on the story. Apparently, a disgruntled ex-employee planted the bomb. The bomb squad is working on it now. The guy is in custody.

But of course, no one is talking about the firefighters. And no one is saying the name Wyatt Doherty or Luke Moody.

I pull out my phone and send a text to Jackson.

His response comes quickly, thank god.

My heart jumps into my throat.

No bubbles pop up showing that he’s typing. A second later my phone rings.

I answer it, feeling like I can’t breathe. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Jackson says. “Okay, yes, they are there. But like I said, they don’t go in unless they’re needed. If there’s a fire or something else they’re trained for.”

I’m staring at the TV, mesmerized by the flashing lights.

“Brooke.”

I close my eyes and concentrate on Jackson’s voice. “Yeah.”

“This is their job. They are highly trained and very good at it.” He’s quiet for a second, then says, “This is part of the deal, sweetheart.”

I know he means part of the deal being involved with Wyatt and Luke.

“Don’t you worry?” I ask.

“Of course I do. If I think about it too hard. But I just can’t. When you go to work, we can’t think about dog bites. You’re a professional. It’s your job and somebody has to do it.” He pauses, then says, “They live for this, sweetheart. They love it. They’re heroes. But they’re smart and they’re careful. And they’re there together. They have each other’s backs. Our job is to be supportive and make sure they work out and get enough sleep and that they don’t think about and worry about us when they’re in there.”

I’ve got it. He’s warning me not to freak out about this. That might be distracting for Wyatt and Luke in the future, when they need to be fully focused on what they’re doing.

“Okay.” I take a breath. “You’re right. They’re the best at this. Chicago is lucky to have them. They need to be there. And you and I need to just give them lots to live for that will keep them careful and smart.”

“That’s my girl.” I can hear the smile in Jackson’s voice.

I take another deep breath, letting the words I said really sink in. I swallow. “So… I’ll just wait and hear from them later.”

“They’ll text afterwards. They know that we see this shit on TV. They always text their family and friends when it’s over.”

I blow out a breath. “Okay.”

Tammy comes out into the waiting room, obviously looking for me. She glares at me when she sees me on the phone.

I sigh. “I have to get back to work.”

“I can text you after they text me. But I’m sure they’ll text you too.”

“I won’t see it for a while. I’ll be working. How about this? Call me if it’s anything… bad,” I say, hating that. “And call the clinic. Ask for me. I can’t have my phone on all the time.”

“Understood. But it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna get a bunch of texts, I promise.”

My heart is racing. No matter how this turns out—and I’m sure Jackson is right that it will be fine—I’m going to want to see the guys tonight. I’m going to want to see for myself that they’re fine. I’m going to want to put my hands on them, hug them, kiss them, hear their voices.

I’ve missed them anyway, and this makes it even worse. Which means that I won’t get my reviews done tonight, and I’ll feel less prepared tomorrow. At least tomorrow is Saturday, and the clinic is only open for half the day.

But I’m also going to be distracted for the rest of today.

This sucks.

I’m really going to need to adjust to this if I’m going to be involved with Wyatt and Luke.

“Hey, could you maybe somehow turn it into a group text?” I ask Jackson. “All the different texts are really overwhelming. Maybe you could just text them now in a group text and say hey let us know how you are.”

He’s quiet for a second, then he says, “Sure. Of course. Sounds good.”

No, it sounds like I don’t have enough time to get texts from my boyfriends, who are right now at a warehouse with a bomb inside.

That would be stressful even if it was only one boyfriend. This is doubly hard.

Fuck, I know this is their job. And what I’m doing right now is my job. Yes, this will get a little easier and I hope I won’t have Tammy glaring at me all day every day, but this is still how this is going to be—I’ll be busy at work, taking care of sick and injured animals whose families love them very much and are worried and upset. My job deserved my full attention. I’m not able to be texting all day with my boyfriends. While they’re doing their very dangerous jobs.

None of this has really hit me before now.

This is a lot.

And I have three people to worry about, not just one. When they’re out of town. When they’re sick. When they’re sad.

I feel the stress, and what almost feels like panic, start creeping up my throat.

You are just overwhelmed by work. You’re fine. Stop this.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” I say to Jackson.

“Yeah. Of course,” Jackson says.

“Bye.” I disconnect, very aware of the fact that neither of us said I love you.

“Are you okay?” Kelsey asks.

I glance back at the television. “Not really. My boyfriend is a firefighter.”

Her eyes widen, and she looks at the television as well. “Oh. Wow. I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

I know. “Yeah. And his job stresses me out.”

“I’m waiting,” Tammy snaps.

And my job stresses me out.

“I’m coming. Sorry.” I take a second to completely shut my phone off, even though it makes my heart drop into my stomach. Then I tuck it into my pocket and head to the exam room.