Chapter 57

Lachlan

By late January, I know exactly how many ways a man can be split in half before breakfast and still keep moving like he isn't.

One half of me belongs to the firehouse, to gear that still smells like smoke and radios that never shut up. The other half belongs here, to a house that never really goes quiet and four kids who all need something at once.

This morning, both halves are pissed at m