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 watching the news?”

"I'm looking at it now." Derek’s eyes stayed glued to the TV. The wildfire footage flickered across the screen, orange flames reflected faintly in his eyes.

"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. Everyone who’s available.”

Brett went quiet for a second. “It’s bad, Derek. Some people are already calling it the worst wildfire this state has ever seen. They've already got casualties."

Then came another pause, longer this time. "If there’s anyone you need to say goodbye to, do it properly.”

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

The call ended.

Derek stood there with the phone still in his hand.

He wanted to leave immediately.

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 Mike 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?"

Whatever Derek had been about to say disappeared.

He stared at her for a moment, then turned away.

Without another word, he walked into the bedroom and pulled his duffel bag down 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. By the time Derek’s cab pulled into the lot, Brett was already outside with two younger firefighters, going over one of the engines.

Brett glanced toward the arriving car. He saw Derek climb out carrying a duffel bag, then he's expression changed.

Derek crossed the lot before Brett could say anything. "I'm here. 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. “Figured I’d save Erin the trouble of throwing it out if I don’t come back.”

The joke landed badly.

After nineteen years as a fire captain, Brett could tell when a joke was just a joke, and when it was the only thing keeping a man from falling apart.

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 headed inside.

Derek suited up quickly. Around him, his fellow firefighters moved with quiet, practiced efficiency, checking hoses, oxygen tanks, thermal cameras, and radio equipment.

Nobody wasted words. Everyone understood what was waiting on the other side of the county line.

At 0200 sharp, the bay doors opened.

One by one, the engines pulled out into the darkness, red lights flashing across empty streets. 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.