The Firefighter Who Rescues Me

Chapter 18 ♚ Trade School

"Trade school is the best thing that's happened to me," I said in what might be the latest exaggeration. But the night was young, I had an extra pep in my step and it turned out the bar I'd been kicked out from, for tossing a handsy dude over the counter, had forgot all about me. I sat before Alina and Jean, my chest swollen by how pleased I was after two months of kicking ass.

Alina took a swig of her beer before asking, "Better than having an official boyfriend?"

Okay, that deflated my original statement just a tad. I would've much preferred if trade school had happened where I could snuggle up close and personal with my boyfriend. Not a word I'd ever thought I'd need again.

"Aside from Pace," I clarified with the wave of a hand. "I have finally found my calling, which is to be better than men at something I'm not supposed to excel at."

The highest point of my two-months-long classroom training had been the first practical experience. The instructor was one of those old school macho manly men who scoffed at catching whiff of anything feminine in their vicinity, which meant as soon as I stepped into his shop's threshold his asshole-a-meter ran all the way to max and its little arrow pointed directly at me.

In my mind, I went through every exercise Gina had taught me to reduce my stress and anxiety levels, which typically preceded one of those outbursts that had got me fired more times than I could count with one hand. I didn't want to ruin this second chance Lance had given me, so I decided to be the bigger person here.

Until the instructor reached the end of his first lecture, before making us do our first hands-on welding practice. He opened his big, fat mouth and said, "Let's make sure not to weld like little girls, okay?"

And then I showed him how big girls welded. Perfectly straight, with even amounts of material at the right temperature, guaranteeing the structural integrity of the joint.

The other students in the class, most of them fresh out of high school, had never touched a welding torch in their lives. The one guy who had, who was in the class to get a recertification, took one look at my work and declared it to be hot.

Even better was seeing the instructor's jaw drop.

"Sorry," I had said while removing my visor. "What was that you said? To weld like a girl? Because in my experience that's the best way to do it."

The snippy, sexist little comments stopped after that. Then again, it was because he started ignoring my existence altogether. It was beautiful.

"Welding, huh?" Jean mused, nodding to himself. "It's hard work but it can pay well."

The energy coursing through my body propelled me to lean forward, as if about to impart a great secret. "Okay, that's not quite my dream. I want to open my own business, something like papi had back home. A one-stop shop for industrial solutions."

"Whoa," they said in unison.

I had arrived to a destination that was meant to be all along.

The plan some ten years ago or so had been for my sister and I to inherit papi's company. After everything went to shit, I thought I had to learn from Cata and just find a new goal that matched my new life. Which was why, aside from having to pay the bills, I'd gone through every possible job I could. I'd been a cook, a waitress, a hair stylist, had a brief stint at a tattoo and piercing parlor, worked for a landscaping company, an animal shelter, a meat packer, a food delivery service. Construction had been the closest to something that felt truly mine.

Trade school just reminded me of what I'd always wanted.

I drank the rest of my beer in one big gulp and slammed the empty bottle on the table. "I'll buy us another round."