Poking around at the pile of mashed potatoes and chicken on my plate, I just can't work up any appetite for even a single bite. It's not the color, I've smothered it all in a pretty decent gravy. But all I’ve been able to accomplish since taking it all out of the pan is push it around on my plate like a five year old kid with his peas, building potato castles that get destroyed a moment later as the whole mess dissolves in the gravy.

“Face it, you idiot,” I mutter to myself, picking up my drink and looking at the water swirling around in my glass, “you know you fucked up.”

It's true. About a half hour ago I watched Chrissy get into Justin Cassady's car and the two of them drive off towards town, I'm sure to go to the Lakeville Days Social.

Cassady, of all people? I mean, the guy’s handsome enough in a regular guy sort of way, even if he is a little too perfect in my opinion. I mean seriously, men shouldn’t have dental caps and worry about laugh lines.

But more importantly though, Justin’s a flaming douchebag. Even before I got burned, Justin’s the kind of guy that I found infuriatingly annoying. He’s the kind that’ll brag all day about his gym lifts or his new diet or his new car, but when it comes time to actually put all that shit to good use, he fades to the background, only to show up at the end trying to get his share of the glory.

Firefighters are different. We go in when guys like Justin are running out. And while I told Gerald I’m not a firefighter any longer, there’s still a little bit of me that feels that way.

At least Chrissy was up front with me about it, coming by this morning to talk with me. It pissed me off, not because she was trying to cast blame or to make me feel like shit for being her boyfriend and not taking her… if anything Chrissy did everything in her power to say otherwise. And she made it clear that this ‘date’ with Justin isn’t a date, it’s an escort to the Lakeville Days Social.

But it still tears me apart, because I’m my own worst judge, jury, and executioner. And I’m guilty as hell in the crime of being a bad boyfriend and a sniveling coward. Chrissy’s laid herself on the line, she’s had the guts to not only see me but to make friends with perhaps the other most misunderstood person in all of Lakeville. Actually, her social circle seems to be the Lakeville Weirdos when you include Willow. And I can’t even go into town as her date.

I shiver at the idea of going into town though, of seeing the stares and hearing the whispers. Sure, there’ll be people who talk to me. Dirk, for one. Not Willow, apparently she’s out of town for work. A few others might approach and be polite, but they’ll be the ones who just stare at my scars, and they’ll be the ones that Bobbi and her harpies will dig their claws into as soon as they can.

I sigh, picking up my plate and scraping it into a glass bowl to put in the fridge for later when my phone rings. I pick it up eagerly, maybe it’s Chrissy calling to tell me Lakeville Days sucks and she’s coming home. But it’s a Chicago area code, I don’t know the number. For some reason though, I still answer. “Hello?”

“Well there Benson, it’s been too long since I heard that voice,” a sultry Hispanic accented voice says. “How’re you doing, Probie?”

It’s the last word that seals it for me, and I grin despite my bad mood. “Guerrero?”

“The one and only,” she replies, laughing. “Bet you didn’t even know I had your number.”

“Actually I didn’t. How’re you doing? Uh, congratulations. Gerald told me,” I reply, sitting down in my kitchen chair. “Lieutenant now. Hope you’re kicking ass and taking names still?”

“You know I am,” Guerrero replies. “Actually, that’s why I called. I’ve got a Probie that I was thinking… well, I could use your advice.”

“My advice?” I ask, surprised. “I’m surprised, but listening. What could a vet like you need from a washed up retiree like me?”

“This kid… he’s a lot like you, Hosebed,” Guerrero says, using the nickname that the guys used in the hospital after my accident. It was a reference to her passing remark about breaking me in on the hosebed of a truck, but soon she was the only one still using it. “Stupid brave.”

“Emphasis on the stupid I assume?” I ask. “Doesn’t listen to his lieutenant, except when he’s getting his ass chewed out?”

“Not to mention devastatingly handsome and able to snag more ass than the entire Bulls’ starting lineup,” Guerrero replies. “Remind you of anyone?”

“I was never that handsome,” I reply, reaching up and rubbing the scars on the side of my face. “Probably less so now.”

“Bullshit… I saw the portrait that artist painted of you. Gerald took a pic with his phone before talking with her. You might not win any modeling contracts anymore, but I am pretty damn sure you’ve made at least one young woman’s heart beat a little faster. I can tell why, too.”

“Hey, you weren’t supposed to sneak peeks,” I laugh, feeling the old nostalgia wash over me. “Okay Guerrero, what do you think I can do to help?”

“A little advice, mostly. Dan, this kid… he’s either going to become a hero or end up like you, I swear it. Third option of course is that he’s going to piss off the wrong Lieutenant or Captain or some Deputy Chief and he’ll end up slinging beers at a firefighter bar because he won’t get off of Probie. Now, I’ve tried the normal shit, busting his chops, working him hard… but he’s like you. Knows his shit, and knows he knows his shit. How can I rein him in some? How would you have reined in yourself?”

I think, humming for a minute as I do just to let Guerrero know I’m still on the line. “Honestly? Not too much you can do,” I reply. “I mean, you could tried the old scared straight tactic… I’m sure the department’s got pictures of me in the hospital somewhere. Unless Pretty Boy wants to end up looking like last week’s pizza or worse, he needs to work as a team player.”

“Yeah… already tried that,” she admits. “Sorry, but I did at least not show your face.”

“You could try that,” I mention, then sigh. “No… Guerrero, there might not be stopping this kid until he gets older, and even then you can only pray they’re going to get some wisdom to temper that guts. In the meantime, I’d keep him close, try to get some sense in that kid and just… fuck it Guerrero. You know that people like that, they’re going to do what they feel is right come hell or high water.”

“Okay, I will,” Guerrero says, her voice going soft. “Can I ask you something then, Dan? What stopped you, after the fire? You could have come back, the company would have welcomed you with open arms.”

I don’t know what to say, and sit back, not knowing what to say. I feel like I should be angry, but she’s so earnest, so unlike the confident Guerrero that I knew, it stuns me. The silence stretches out, and Guerrero clears her throat, afraid I’ve been pissed off. “Anyway Dan, I didn’t mean to upset you. Just… it’s be nice if you stopped by sometime. Forty Eight wasn’t the same without you.”

“Thanks, Guerrero. Uh… I might have something I need to do,” I reply, a thought forming in my head. “If you want, talk with Gerald. He’ll give you my address, you could use a trip to a lake I’m sure.”

We hang up, and I go into my bathroom, seeing the filthy mirror above my sink. I never clean it, I so rarely look in the reflective surface. I thought about removing it long ago, but it is helpful to have something for patching cuts in those hard to see places. Still, my mirror is so dirty and soap scaled I can’t see my ugly visage most days.

Looking in my shower I grab a washcloth and dampen it before wiping at the glass. It takes a minute, but eventually it’s clean, and I look at myself. I’m shirtless, and I force myself to see from my shoulders up, the bands of scar tissue that lump and twist. My face, the ear that’s barely recognizable and the way my hair doesn’t grow right there… for six years I’ve been disgusted by it.

“You failed,” I whisper, looking in the eyes of the failure and the coward in the mirror. “You let that little boy die. If you’d been smarter, if you’d been better… it should have been you that died, not him.”

Maybe… but you dishonor the little boy by living this half life, a new inner voice that sounds like Chrissy says in my head. You make his death meaningless by living this way.

“What can I do, then?” I whisper, running a hand through my hair. “They’ll laugh.”

I told you, I don’t care about them… I care about you. Live, Dan. Live. Find the courage you lost.

I swallow, my eyes burning as I can’t look at myself any more and I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut. I don’t know if I can find the courage to be the man I was before… but maybe for one night, maybe I can find the courage to at least be with my girlfriend.

I head to my closet, and take out my only nice clothes I have. I guess Chrissy will have to be content with me wearing the same jacket and tie as our first ‘date.’

Either way, I’m heading in.