Rory (Hope City #7) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,2

the shelf above and his boots on the bottom, he was ready for the next call out. Glancing at the clock, he smiled. My shift is almost over.

“Heading to the Cock as soon as the next shift comes on. You coming?” Terry asked.

“Right now, nothing sounds better than a cold beer.”

2

Rory cast his gaze upward at the sign hanging over the doorway. A rooster, carved in wood, nestled inside a Celtic circle, proclaimed The Celtic Cock Pub. As heavy as the sign was, he was surprised to see it swinging slightly as a wind blew down the street. “Looks like a storm might be coming,” he commented as he followed his friends inside.

“Then all the better to be off that fuckin’ shift and into a warm pub,” Terry said. He turned toward Rory and grinned smugly. “Bet you hated the twenty-four shift.”

“Considering I just got out of the Army where every day was a twenty-four-hour shift, seven days a week, can’t say it was the worst thing I ever did.”

Terry offered a chin lift in response, but Rory detected a slight smirk. Terry was a good guy from all accounts, and as a firefighter trainer, he was excellent. But Rory got the feeling that Terry liked one-upping everyone. Being the newest kid on the block, he kept his mouth shut, fought the desire to roll his eyes, and made his way inside the warm interior.

The Celtic Cock wasn’t fancy, but what it did, it did well. Large space on the inside. Plenty of room for friends to gather, standing around or sitting at high-topped tables. Exposed brick on one side, heavy paneling on the back, and a huge, mirrored bar gave off the vibe that everyone was welcome and strangers would soon find new friends. Run by Torin and Maeve Flanigan, the siblings had inherited the pub from their grandfather, improving it while staying true to its history. Far enough off the beaten tourist path near the Inner Harbor, it was one of the favorite haunts of the local police and firefighters.

There were plenty of familiar faces considering not only were his two older brothers detectives for the Hope City Police Department but most of his friends worked for the force or fire and rescue. He remembered hearing his father talk about stopping off at the Celtic Cock after work, and it felt good to continue the tradition.

“Rory!”

Hearing his name, he turned toward the voice and spied a familiar grin. “Blay,” he greeted the firefighter and one of his best friends. He still had trouble remembering to call him Blay. His name was Blayze, but since he’d become a firefighter, he went by Blay, figuring the last thing he needed was to have to deal with constant jokes about his name.

Blay was standing with Bill Norton, another firefighter in their battalion. Walking over, they shook hands, making small talk as he grabbed a beer, offering a chin lift to Maeve.

“Heard you were at the fire on Bridgewater,” Bill said.

Nodding, Rory replied, “Fuckin’ disaster. Took out two townhomes and damaged the third.”

“Families get out?” Blay asked, his brow lowered.

Rory nodded before taking a long swig of beer. “Yeah. One of the moms couldn’t find her youngest. Two-year-old. Unit Three was in, and Mackowski came out holding him. Don’t mind telling you that’s the worst feeling, knowing a kid was inside.”

“Fire, families, confusion—worst combination,” Bill commented, taking a large swig from his beer before sweeping his gaze over the room.

The bar was crowded with first responders, many from his battalion. Having only been back in town for a month since leaving the Army, there were still many he hadn’t met. But the camaraderie was much like what he’d felt in the military. His shift had ended in the early evening, and the bar was beginning to fill with others coming in as their day’s work was completed.

Bill lifted his hand and waved toward the other end of the bar. Turning, Rory glanced toward the door, seeing two women enter, one waving back toward Bill. Both women were attractive, but only one snagged his complete attention. Her hair was pale blonde and thick as it waved over her shoulders. She was petite, on the verge of being tiny, and as the two women pushed their way through the crowd toward them, he lost sight of her.

Craning around, he finally caught sight of her blonde hair as she popped between two people, leading her friend to the bar. Up close, he realized just how