The Firefighter Became a Billionaire... and He’s Had Enough!

Chapter 004

"Derek." Brett's voice was stripped down to essentials, no greeting, no preamble. The voice he used when things were bad. "You're seeing the news?"

"I'm looking at it now." Derek’s eyes stayed glued to the TV. The flames cast a red glow in his pupils.

"Our neighbor county, Los Vangees, is gone. The fire’s jumped multiple ridges and is sweeping into residential areas and resorts. The state’s activated cross-county mutual aid."

Derek straightened. "What does that mean for us?"

“We deploy at 0200. All available personnel.”

A pause. "It's bad, Derek, some even say this is the worst wildfire in history. They've already got casualties."

Another pause, heavier than the first. "Say goodbye to your family. Properly."

Heavy, deep breaths echoed there. They both understood what that meant.

The call ended.

Derek stood still for a moment, phone in his hand.

He wanted to leave. Now.

Yet after three years under the same roof, some stubborn part of him still believed Erin deserved a few parting words. Not because he still loved her, but... three years of marriage should have ended with something more than a closed door.

When he looked up, Erin and Nick had already changed the TV channel. They sat together on the couch, close and comfortable, like a picture of the family Derek had never truly belonged to.

He opened his mouth.

Erin looked over, disgust tightened her face, "Why the hell are you still here?"

The words died in his throat.

In the end, he just walked to the bedroom and pulled his duffel bag from the top shelf of the closet.

Derek packed in eleven minutes.

He had lived in this house for three years. He had painted two of the walls himself, assembled the furniture with a YouTube tutorial and no help. He had hung the curtains, fixed the leaking tap under the kitchen sink twice, re-grouted the bathroom tiles one weekend when Erin had a conference in Denver.

Eleven minutes was all it took.

One duffel bag. Clothes, his spare boots, his grandfather's watch from the nightstand drawer, a paperback he hadn't finished. He stood in the middle of the bedroom and looked around for anything he'd missed.

Then there was nothing. Everything else, the furniture, the art on the walls, the good knives in the kitchen was hers. Had always been hers. He saw that clearly now, the way you see a room differently once you've decided to leave it.

He zipped the bag.

In the living room, Erin was laughing again. The sound followed him down the hallway, light and unbothered, the laugh of someone whose evening had not been meaningfully disrupted.

Derek paused at the key rack by the front door. His key to the door was on the second hook, the one he'd installed himself because the original rack only had one. He removed the key from his ring and placed it on the narrow shelf below.

Then he walked out.

He did not look back.

The fire station was twenty minutes away. When the cab pulled up to the station, Brett was outside checking the trucks with two junior crew members. He looked up, saw Derek climbing out with a duffel bag, and went very still.

Derek crossed the lot before Brett could say anything. "I'm here. I'm good to go."

Brett looked hard at Derek and then at the bag. Then at Derek's face. Then at the bag again.

“Why did you pack all your things?” he asked with concern.

Derek managed a faint smile. “Thought I’d save Erin the trouble of clearing them out if I don’t make it back.”

The joke landed badly.

Brett had been a firefighter for nineteen years. He knew the difference between gallows humor and a man trying to hide an open wound.

He also knew when not to press.

After a long moment, he placed one hand on Derek’s shoulder.

"Get your gear on," he said quietly. "We roll at 0200."

Derek nodded and turned for the locker room.

Before he’d taken three steps, a short, burly man blocked his way.

"Well, well. So you finally show up, Moss" Christian Browning's voice had a particular quality, like something expensive that had gone slightly off. 

Everyone knew Christian was a nepo baby whose family had bought him the deputy chief position. When the position first became vacant, Derek had been the clear favorite. He had the experience, the record, and the respect of nearly every firefighter under the roof. By every reasonable measure, the promotion should have been his, until Christian’s family pulled strings and threw enough money around.

Christian also knew exactly what the others thought. The uniform might have given him authority, but Derek was still the man they trusted. And as long as Derek remained around, Christian could never feel secure. That was why he had spent years trying to undermine Derek. Whenever a mission was especially dangerous, Derek’s crew was always the first one assigned, while Christian and his own men conveniently remained behind at the station. This time was no different.

"You do understand this isn’t a routine deployment, don’t you?" Christian continued, a very apparent fake smile on his lips. "Los Vangees is a different animal. Command structure, terrain, resources, nothing like working your home district." 

He paused to let that settle. "A man who's distracted out there... emotionally compromised, let's say... that's a liability. If you make any mistake or disobey orders, you will face suspension upon return."

"But that is of course, if you survive." He maliciously adding.

"Cut the crap, Christian!" Brett's voice came from the doorway, flat and cold as concrete. "We have twenty-three minutes to deployment. If your gear isn't checked and your team isn't briefed, you can explain that to the incident commander in Los Vangees."

Christian visibly flinched. Then, embarrassed by his own reaction, he shot Derek a venomous glare and thrust out the assignment sheet. “Good luck in the worst sector, Moss.”

Derek took the paper. One glance told him he had been sent straight to the deadliest section of the fire line.

Then, to Christian’s surprise, he smiled.

The truth was, Derek would have chosen the same assignment anyway, even without Christian’s petty interference.

After watching his marriage collapse around him all evening, Derek really needed something real to fight.

At least this fire was honest. It destroyed without pretending to love you.

“Psycho,” Christian muttered, clearly failing to get the reaction he wanted. He could do nothing but turn and stalk away.

Derek suited up quickly. Around him, his fellow firefighters moved with quiet, practiced efficiency, checking hoses, oxygen tanks, thermal cameras, and radio equipment. No one said much. Everyone understood what waited beyond the county line.

At 0200, the engines rolled out of the station one after another, their lights cutting through the empty road. In the distance, the horizon burned a deep, violent orange, like a wound torn across the night sky.

Behind Derek lay the life he had failed to save. Ahead of him, an entire county was on fire.

For the first time that night, he knew exactly what to do.

He was going to walk into that fire.