Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(20)

She swallowed hard. “How did you know I was carded?”

“Like I said, no one cuts line like that without training.” He held out his hand. “Please?”

She would have claimed not to have it on her, but he’d already seen her reach for her back pocket. Reluctantly, she dug out the red slip.

Callum plucked it out of her hand before she could get up to take it to Rory. He unfolded it, quickly scanning the contents. His auburn eyebrows shot upward.

“Well?” Rory asked him.

Edith’s face burned as Callum gave her a long, considering look. Without a word, he leaned over to pass her card to Wystan. He let out a low whistle as he too read her record.

“My word,” the paramedic said, handing the card along to Blaise. “Talk about fate.”

“No such thing,” Blaise replied as she took it. She paused, her gaze flicking over the card, and her expression changed. “Okay, that’s nearly enough to get even me to believe in destiny.”

Edith pinned her hands between her knees. “What are you all talking about?”

“You,” Blaise said cryptically. She handed the card to Rory. “All right, you win. Don’t rub it in.”

“Win what?” Edith stared round at them all. “What’s going on?”

Rory’s face broke into that broad, boyish grin again, wider than ever, as he read down the list. “Type 2 Firefighter certified, Type 1 Firefighter provisional, Basic Feller provisional…this is a hell of a lot more than ‘a little training,’ Edith. Why on earth are you just a fire watcher?”

She stared at the dirt between her boots, hands gripping each other. For a moment, she was back at another campfire…in the circle but apart, silent and shaking as cruel laughter cut through her…

Something cold and wet nudged her wrist. Edith pulled herself back into the present, to find Fenrir’s copper eyes fixed on hers. The enormous dog rested his head on her knee with a quiet, concerned whine.

She stroked his fur, drawing comfort from his simple animal presence. “Fire watching suits my strengths. Wildland firefighting… didn’t work out.”

Callum stood up abruptly. For a sickening, lurching moment, she thought that he was drawing away in disgust, repelled by her failure—but he stepped aside, revealing Rory. Without exchanging so much as a glance, the two men changed places, as synchronized as ballet dancers.

Rory sank down onto the log next to her. She didn’t dare look at him, but she could feel his body heat against her side.

“Why didn’t it work out?” Rory asked quietly.

She concentrated on Fenrir, working tangles out of his thick black ruff. “I got the basic Type 2 qualification easily—that was just classroom training. But then… I couldn’t get a job. I tried and tried, but the few times I got an interview, they told me I didn’t have enough qualifications.”

She wished that those crew superintendents had just come straight-out and said it: We don’t want someone like you. It would have saved her years of humiliation and heartbreak.

She swallowed the pain in her throat. “I took them literally. I thought that if I got the advanced qualifications, the Type 1 certification and the chainsaw handling, then they’d have to give me a job. So I searched and searched until I finally found a crew willing to take me on as a trainee. They were dubious about it, but there had been some kind of publicity stink about a lack of diversity in the local fire services, so they agreed to try me out. But they let me go before I even got to work a real fire. I couldn’t do the job. I didn’t fit on the team.”

Blaise muttered a vile swearword. “Let me guess. Was this team all men, by any chance?”

“They were, but that wasn’t the problem.” She took a deep breath. “I was the problem.”

Her fingers twisted in Fenrir’s fur. The big black dog didn’t flinch. He just leaned into her hand, silently supportive.

I’m autistic.

She tried to shape the words, but they hooked into her throat and refused to come out. She couldn’t bear to have them look at her like her old crew had done, like some kind of alien inexplicably beamed into their midst. Or, even worse, with the kind, humiliating pity of her own parents. As if she wasn’t really a whole person. As if she was broken.

“Bullshit,” Rory said.

Her whole body jerked, startled by his ferocity. Before she could stop herself, she looked into his eyes. They blazed molten gold, brighter than wildfire, filled with fury.

Not directed at her… but for her.

“You are not the problem.” His Scottish burr had morphed into a feral growl, on the verge of a snarl. “Whoever told you that was a lying asswipe, and he’d better pray I never catch up with him. You’re not only competent, you’re exceptional. Just look at that line you cut, all on your own.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I could only do that because I was on my own. I—I don’t work well with others. In drills, when we practiced, I would just freeze up.”

She could still hear the way her squad boss had hurled orders at her like rocks. On and on, a barrage of conflicting demands, until she was disorientated and panicking, not knowing where to go or what to do first.

“Bullshit,” Rory said again, even more fiercely. “You responded today without hesitation, didn’t you? I bet you didn’t even think twice about it. You just did it. So congratulations. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve passed with flying colors.”