training wheels. // evan 'buck' buckley

viii. into the fire

finally, after what felt like an eternity, they managed to free the woman. hen and chimney moved quickly to stabilize her and get her onto a stretcher. as the ambulance doors closed, taking the woman to safety, u felt a wave of relief wash over me. but there was no time to rest - the team was already moving on to the next vehicle, where a family was trapped inside.

my heart ached as i watched hen pull a small boy from the backseat, his limp body a stark contrast to the chaos around him. the way hen cradled the child, her face a mask of controlled emotion, spoke volumes about the weight these rescues carried. and yet, they continued, moving from one car to the next, doing what needed to be done.

by the time the scene was cleared and they were back in the truck, i felt drained. the adrenaline that had carried me through the experience was fading, leaving behind a numbness that was hard to shake. the ride back to the firehouse was silent, each member of the team lost in their thoughts, processing what they had just been through.

back at the firehouse, the crew fell into their routines - cleaning equipment, restocking supplies, preparing for whatever the day might bring next. for them, this was just another part of the job, but for me, the images of the accident were still fresh in my mind, replaying over and over.

eddie, ever perceptive, noticed my unease as they gathered in the common room. while the others seemed to have compartmentalized the day’s events, i was clearly struggling. he approached me quietly, his voice soft and understanding. “you okay?”

i nodded, though i wasn’t sure if i believed it myself. “i think so. it’s just… a lot.”

eddie sat down beside me, his expression gentle. “yeah, it is. the first time you see something like that, it hits you hard. it doesn’t get easier, but you learn how to handle it.”

i appreciated his honesty. “how do you deal with it?”

eddie took a moment to think. “i try to focus on the fact that we’re helping people. even when it doesn’t end the way we want, we’re still making a difference. but it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. it means you care, and that’s important.”

his words resonated with me. “thanks, eddie. i needed to hear that.”

he nodded, then glanced around the room. “how about we get out of here for a bit? there’s a coffee shop nearby that’s pretty quiet. it might help clear your head.”

i hesitated, but the idea of stepping away from the firehouse was too appealing to pass up. “yeah, i’d like that.”

we slipped out quietly, leaving the others to their tasks. as we walked down the street, the conversation turned to lighter topics - eddie’s life in el paso, his time in the military, and the challenges of being a single dad. by the time we reached the coffee shop, i felt a little more like myself.

over cups of coffee, the conversation grew more personal. eddie opened up about shannon, and the difficulties they had faced in their marriage. he talked about the pain of losing her, the struggle of raising christopher on his own, and the constant battle to move forward.

“it’s not easy,” he admitted, staring into his coffee. “but chris gives me a reason to keep going. he’s my world, and i have to be strong for him.”

i listened, my heart going out to him. “you’re doing an amazing job, eddie. christopher is lucky to have you.”

eddie smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “thanks. it’s been a rough road, but having this team - having friends like you - makes it a little easier.”

we talked for a while longer, the conversation flowing naturally as we shared more about their lives. by the time we left the coffee shop, i felt a renewed sense of connection to eddie and the rest of the crew. these weren’t just colleagues; they were family.