“Are you avoiding me, McCoy?”
My boots clomp on my wooden porch, and I take a seat beside her on one of the steps. She doesn’t respond, and I don’t push as I look at the progress on the playroom. It isn’t pretty, but it’s a work in progress.
She takes a sip of her coffee, and I bump my knee to hers to prompt a response out of her. “Not avoiding, no.”
“I think you are. I didn’t see you at all yesterday.”
“I was writing.” She says the words but there’s an underlying tone. Something is bugging her.
“And you aren’t talking to me now.”
“I just said three words to you.”
“You know what I mean.” I take a sip of my coffee and turn the handheld radio in my bag down when dispatch begins to chatter. “So are we going to pretend that I didn’t hear you bumping into walls the other night when you brought Wes home. Or giggling.” Or moaning.
“No, it happened. Believe me, it happened,” she murmurs, and a part of me is instantly pissed that Wes Winters was that good she’s still thinking about him.
“That good, huh?” There’s a bite to my tone when there shouldn’t be.
Her laugh is unexpected when it rings out and the self-deprecating sound to it rubs me the wrong way.
“None of your business,” she says with a playful smile that seems more forced than genuine.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” I say, trying to make her feel more at ease when I realize she’s most likely not used to talking to other men about her sex life. At least, I hope she’s not.
She splays her hands over her face for a second and shakes her head to try and clear the confused emotions from her expression. “No. I’m not—that isn’t what—I’ve never done that before. You don’t understand. Just . . . just never mind.”
Well, at least I know Wes isn’t a stallion in the sack.
“You’ve never had a one-night stand?” I try not to sound so surprised, but I don’t think I pull it off.
“No. God. No.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I ask with a partial laugh, trying to figure out how she lives in the Hollywood fast lane and is still so damn innocent.
“Nothing. It was just . . . you know what? It’s super weird discussing this with you.”
At least I called that right—it was embarrassment—not anything else that had her shying away from me.
“Look, there’s no use in regretting it. It was fun. It was one time. It was a way to get your mind off Jett the fuck face and back on you and your needs. There is no shame in it.”
“Says the man who probably lives at the One-Night-Stand Café.”
I pound my hand to my chest as if I’m clutching a dagger. “And she thinks so highly of me.”
“You had another nightmare last night, didn’t you?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“And you’re not answering,” she counters with an impenetrable stare.
I shrug. “Not sure. I was asleep.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Do I ever? No.
“If I did, I don’t remember, so there isn’t much to talk about.”
“You were screaming for an Andrew. I think that was the name.”
No. It’s Drew.
“Huh. That’s weird. I don’t know any Andrews.” I stand abruptly. “I’ve gotta get to the station.”
After I take a few steps, she calls my name. When I turn around, there is a sympathetic look in her eyes and concern on her face. “Don’t think I don’t notice how you always change the subject when it circles back to you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With that, I turn and walk to my truck without looking back.
I’m frozen.
Smoke billows out of the old warehouse, and all I can do is stand and stare. And remember. The crackle of the beams and the whooshing sound they made as they fell from above. The panic in Drew’s screams. The smell of the burning wood and plastic . . . and flesh.
“Goddamn it, Malone!” Dempsey rips the line out of my hands and glares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. The problem is, I fear I have. And it isn’t the first time. “We need you. Either engage or get out of the fucking way,” he growls.
But I don’t move. I feel like I don’t even breathe. The smoke is gray and thick and ashes rain down on everything around us. Embers. Papers, half charred and glowing against the darkened sky, float around me like a ticker tape parade of disaster.
The guys from our engine and Swift City’s are laying down pipe and breaching the building from the west side. A crew is on the front, breaking the windows to control the fire’s fuel. Another crew is putting on their air packs to prepare for a second entry.
And I still stand here, frozen in memory, hearing the PASS sirens going off in my head when there are none sounding off around me. Everyone is moving. No one is stuck in the fire. No one is trapped.
No one is dying.
“Malone! Malone!” I’m yanked from my trance, and Bowman is in my face demanding my attention. “Take command, until the chief comes, will ya?”
“What?” I shake my head, trying to figure out why he’s giving up his command.
“Get to it, Malone.”
And then I get it. He doesn’t trust me. I’m out here, and they’re in there, and he knows I still can’t bring myself to step foot into the beast and get over the past. The fear. The bullshit weighing me down.
He looks at me, eyebrows raised, impatience in his expression. The figurative helping hand extended, yet again.
“Yeah. Sure. I’ve got it.” I jog over to where he stands, momentarily snapped from the living hell in my memory and into the present one. I grab the clipboard and radio from him. “Two-in. Two-out,” I murmur without thinking.
His body jars from the words. From hearing the phrase Drew and I twisted to make our own.
Christ. I just proved his hunch right. That I’m thinking about Drew and what happened instead of the here and now. Instead of doing my job. That the memories are in fact what is holding me back.
He meets my eyes and nods as a slight smile curls his lips. “Two-in. Two-out,” he repeats before jogging toward danger, and as I start the personal accountability record for the guys on scene, I can’t help but think of the last time I went in it was two-in. One-out.
Hours pass.
Each one marked by the charred contents of the building being gone over and over to make sure no hot spots flare up. The scene preserved for the arson detective to investigate the cause of the blaze.
“You want to tell me what happened earlier?”
I look to where Dixon stands with his fire hook prodding something, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. He just keeps looking down, letting me at least keep my pride.
“Nothing did. I froze. It was no big deal.”
“Sounds like burnout to me.”
I don’t flinch at the term now that I know his eyes are studying me. Waiting. Expecting. Questioning. “Nah. I’m good.”
“You think I don’t realize that you haven’t actively participated in a fire since the accident?”
“What do you mean?” Fucking Christ. I roll my shoulders and turn my back to him to investigate a pretend stream of smoke that needs to be stomped out.
“I mean, there’s always a reason, an excuse, or something keeping you from going into the flames. It’s kind of hard to be a firefighter when you’re afraid of fire, don’t you think?”
“I’m not afraid of shit,” I say as I turn back around and force a chuckle. “I had a shitty dream last night about a fire, and it felt like fucking déjà vu standing there. That’s all.”
“Is that what happens every time? Seems like a coincidence to me.”
“Look, Dix, I get your point. I know where you’re going here. The same place the other guys have gone. Were you the one elected this time to broach the subject? If so, thanks but no thanks. I’ll say it again, I’m fine.”
“We all lost him, Grady. You aren’t the only one.”
But I was the one who couldn’t save him! I scream the words in my head but on the outside, I nod while my insides churn with a guilt no one understands. It was my job to watch him and make sure he came out. But he never came out.
“Yeah. I know.”