Branded: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

the shit kicked out of you for jinxing it all.
“I’m surprised Dylan let you off the leash long enough to work an extra shift. I thought you were too good for that now.”
We all love teasing him about what a pussy-whipped bastard he is now. It’s all in good fun, of course, but that woman has him wrapped around her finger and he clearly loves every second of it.
“Sit and spin.” He raises his middle finger.
“You’d like that too much. I think I’ll pass.”
The crew we have here is much like a family, because we tend to spend more time with them than our actual families at times, and being thrown into life-or-death scenarios with only your coworkers to count on seems to build trust faster than anything I’ve encountered in my life.
I’d lay down my life for any of the men in this room, and I know they’d do the same for me.
“Did you all hear they are wanting to do a big write-up on the firehouse for the five-year anniversary of the LA Wildfires?” Grady asks.
“Why the fuck would they want to do that? No one wants to remember that shit. I did the one ridiculous interview right afterward, and I said I’d never do it again.”
Everyone around the table chimes in and appears to agree with me. It seems everyone is turning them down.
“I agree with you, Isaac, but you know how the media can be sometimes. The darker, the sadder, the better.”
“I don’t want to be part of it. We don’t do this job to be praised. We do it to save lives. If you’re in it for the accolades, my respect is gone,” I say generally.
“You sound like my damn brother,” Grady groans. “But you’re right. It’s not right. Not at all.”
That time in our lives was hard for all of us to process when we were finally able to come home. We were exhausted, of course, and on top of that, we were mentally shaken from the amount of death and destruction we were forced to face.
We all had blisters and deep marks on our faces from having to wear our masks for so many hours straight. I still have a small scar along my temple from it.
In the grand scheme, we were able to come home afterward and not face the long-lasting damage that comes with losing everything, and sometimes I do feel guilty for that, especially when all I have is a fucking scar.
People lost everything.
Reliving that pain isn’t something anyone should have to go through for a fucking newspaper article.
Ever.

Chapter 4
Sawyer
How can there be so many different kinds of apples? Are they really that different?
Granny Smith. Red Delicious. Pink Ladies.
It’s just ridiculous, honestly. Some things in life should just be simple, and the rows upon rows of fruit, staring at me in the produce section of the grocery story, are anything but simple.
“I suppose I’ll choose you, Red Delicious,” I say under my breath, selecting a few bright red apples and placing them in my cart.
The rest of the section is easier to navigate, but I pause when I see a small, perfectly shaped pineapple on a display table and I stop in my tracks.
It’s so silly, the things that trigger memories, both good and bad. It could be a song, a breeze, or even a damn pineapple.
My brother’s favorite.
I take a breath, try to focus on the good memories I have of him, and continue on with my shopping.
I’m exploring the fresh bread in the bakery when I familiar voice sounds from behind me.
“You don’t have to flirt with every man you see, Grams.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Isaac walking, pushing a grocery cart while an elderly woman rides in a motorized chair beside him.
“Why yes I do. I’m not getting any younger. I have to shoot my shot every chance I get.”
“Shoot your shot?” He laughs. “Where did you hear that?”
It’s so difficult not to eavesdrop, because it’s not every day you see a hulk of a man helping a very small old lady grocery shop.
He’s casual today, in a simple tee and blue jeans. His hair is mussed up in that I just rolled out of bed way that works so well for some men. He looks so good it hurts.
I make my bread selection then push my cart forward, trying to sneak away without him seeing me, but my name on his lips stops me.
“Sawyer?”
I turn slowly then try to act surprised to see him, like I had not been staring at him only moments before.
“Isaac?”
“I’m starting to think you’re the one doing the stalking here.” He tilts his head just a bit and gives me that sideways grin.
“I was about to say the same thing to you.”
I’m suddenly very aware of the cool air from the A/C on my heated skin.
Maybe the maxi dress was a bad idea.
“Doing some grocery shopping?” He shoves his hands into his pockets.
“That is what supermarkets are for.” I smile so he knows I’m teasing.
“Fair enough.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
He motions over his shoulder to the older woman in the motorized chair, who is chatting away with one of the store clerks a few feet back.
“I bring my grandmother grocery shopping once a week. That’s her over there. She doesn’t meet a stranger, so she is chatting away.”
“That’s really sweet of you.”
“It’s the least I can do. She’s a handful sometimes, but she’s the best.”
As if she can sense she is being discussed, his grandmother comes toward us and stops just beside her grandson.
“That Paul is always such a sweetheart.” She reaches out and pats Isaac on the arm.
She is so small with crisp, snow-white hair and glasses. She is wearing an all baby blue tracksuit and black tennis shoes. She’s completely adorable.
“You just like flirting with him.”
“I do. I do.” Her eyes move to me. “Hello, there. It seems my grandson has forgotten his manners.” She reaches out to shake my