Chapter 13
Thick clouds of smoke billowed from the roof of the small white clapboard house on Kedron Street.
Stan charged up the porch steps, adrenaline and fear pumping hard through his veins. He heard no wail of approaching sirens, no shouts from other firefighters arriving on the scene.
He was on his own.
After pausing to secure his helmet over his hood, he rammed his shoulder against the front door, forcing it open with a loud, splintering crack!
Barreling across the threshold, he was assaulted by the scorching blast of an inferno that knocked him backward. Gasping sharply, he dropped to his knees.
The living room was engulfed in thick black smoke. Flames danced up the walls and swept across the ceiling.
Breathing hard behind his oxygen mask, Stan lifted his head and peered through the curtain of smoke.
That was when he saw them.
Two bodies seated side by side on the old sofa. Unconscious, eyes closed, heads resting limply against each other’s.
The moment Stan recognized the middle-aged couple, his heart rushed into his throat. Lunging to his feet, he forced his way through the acrid smoke, heedless of the searing flames and plaster falling from the ceiling.
Reaching the sofa, he crouched down before the couple, his panicked gaze shooting from one to the other.
“Mama!” he called out hoarsely. “Dad!”
Neither stirred.
Choking back blind terror, Stan reached toward his mother with the intent of tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her outside to safety.
But before he could grab her, she suddenly disintegrated to ashes.
He recoiled in shocked horror, watching as his father also turned into a charred corpse.
“NO!” Stan shouted, a sound of raw anguish. “Please God, nooo!”
Hearing a loud roar overhead, he looked up quickly.
The roof was collapsing!
As a fiery beam plummeted toward him, he opened his mouth and screamed—
Stan bolted upright in bed, lungs burning, chest heaving violently as he fought to catch his breath.
After several frantic seconds, he glanced down at himself. Instead of wearing his heavy turnout coat and bunker trousers, he had on black shorts and an old T-shirt dampened with clammy sweat. When he looked up at the dark ceiling and saw that it was very much intact, he exhaled a ragged breath and dragged trembling hands over his face.
Jesus.
He’d been dreaming about his dead parents again.
Grief and nausea churned in his stomach, curdling the digested remains of the chili he’d cooked for dinner.
He tossed the covers aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stood and staggered into the bathroom. Twisting on the sink faucet, he splashed cold water onto his face.
Shivering uncontrollably, he gripped the edges of the counter and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the horrific image of his parents’ charred corpses. But it was seared into his conscience as indelibly as if someone had taken a branding iron to his brain.
It had been eighteen years since his parents died in a house fire. Stan and his older brother, Sterling, had been away that fateful summer, visiting their grandmother in Savannah. One devastating phone call from home had turned their lives upside down, and they’d never been the same again.
Swiping water from his face, Stan tossed aside the hand towel and trudged out of the bathroom. Since he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anytime soon—not without Prissy’s warm body to curl up with—he left the bedroom and made his way through the dark, silent house to the kitchen.
Crossing to the refrigerator, he grabbed a frosty beer, popped the top and downed half the can in one swallow.
Still feeling disoriented, he stumbled over to the table and collapsed into the nearest chair.
For the past five months, he’d been tormented by nightmares. Vivid, harrowing nightmares that ended with him perishing in the same inferno that had claimed the lives of his parents.
Although some rational part of his brain told him there was no correlation between his dreams and reality, he couldn’t shake the growing premonition that something terrible was going to happen to him.
And soon.
God help me, Stan thought bleakly, dropping his face into his open palm and closing his eyes. The nightmares had taken a devastating toll on his mind and body, leaving him mentally and physically drained.
“Dad?”
Startled, Stan jerked his head up to watch as Manning cautiously entered the kitchen, eyeing him worriedly.
“Are you okay, Dad?”
“I’m fine.” Stan’s voice was a hoarse rasp, as if he’d just battled a four-alarm fire without wearing an airpack. “What’re you still doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Manning mumbled, joining him at the table.
Stan smiled wanly. “Miss your mom, huh?”
“No,” Manning said swiftly.
At Stan’s knowing look, a sheepish grin tugged at his son’s mouth. “Maybe just a little,” he admitted.
Stan chuckled. “Mama’s boy.”
Manning blushed. “Hey, I’m not used to her being gone. Even though she only goes out of town once or twice a year, it sucks when she’s not here.”
“I know.” Stan took a long pull on his beer. “If it makes you feel any better, I miss her, too.”
“I can tell.” Manning regarded him sympathetically. “You seem kinda lost without her.”
Stan chuckled quietly. “There’s probably some truth to that.”
Manning nodded slowly. “So you and Ma…you’re okay?”
“Of course.” Stan searched his son’s face. “Why? Were you worried about us?”
“Nah. Not at all.” Manning grinned, visibly relieved, then pushed back his chair and stood. “I think I’ll have some more chili.”
Stan cocked a brow at him. “It’s after midnight.”
The boy shrugged. “It’s not like I have to get up for school in the morning. Besides, we’re talking about your award-winning chili,” he said, referring to Stan’s first place victory at the fire department’s annual chili cookoff that summer. “So I can eat it anytime.”
“Hmm.” Stan watched as his son shuffled to the refrigerator and opened the door. Raising his beer to his mouth, Stan ventured casually, “Is there something you wanna tell me about you and Caitlyn?”
Manning froze.
Calmly setting down his drink, Stan waited.
After several moments, Manning closed the fridge and turned with obvious reluctance to face Stan.
They stared at each other.
“Should I repeat the question?”
Manning swallowed nervously. “No.”
“Then answer me.”
The boy shifted from one bare foot to another. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” he mumbled.
“Why don’t you start with the truth?” Stan suggested.
Manning dropped his gaze to the floor, then drew a deep breath as if to shore up his courage. “The other night, Caitlyn came to my room—”
“She climbed up the ladder?”
Manning paused a beat. “The trellis.”
“What?”
“Caitlyn says it’s called a trellis.”
“I don’t give a damn what she called it. What the hell was she doing sneaking up to your room in the middle of the night?”
When Manning looked at him as if the answer should be obvious, Stan scowled. “Damn it, Manny. Didn’t we just talk about this? What part of ‘you’re not ready to start having sex’ did you not understand?”
“What was I supposed to do, Dad?” the boy countered, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “She was there…in my room…naked.”
Stan swore under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I knew that girl was trouble. Did you at least use a condom?”
“Of course.”
“You’d better have,” Stan growled. “The last thing you need is to become a father at fourteen.” At the stricken look Manning gave him, Stan shook his head in angry disbelief. “That didn’t even occur to you, did it? While you were getting it on with Caitlyn—with me and your mother right downstairs—not once did you stop to consider the ramifications of what you were doing, did you?”
When Manning’s eyes shifted guiltily away, Stan snorted in disgust. “So much for all those talks we’ve had.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“You should be. I’m really disappointed in you, Manny. I expected better of you.”
The boy, to his credit, looked suitably ashamed. “Are you gonna tell Ma?”
Stan scowled blackly. “I don’t know.”
Although he hated the thought of keeping such a secret from Prissy, he knew she’d be heartbroken if she found out that her baby boy had lost his virginity.
Shaking his head, Stan downed the rest of his beer, then shoved to his feet and stalked to the trash bin to throw away the empty can.
As he approached Manning, the kid looked ready to bolt.
Stan frowned. “Look, son, I haven’t forgotten what it was like to be your age. Your body’s changing, your hormones are running amok and you’re horny as hell. Which is exactly why you have no business becoming sexually active. You’re not mature enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into. And you need to realize that women aren’t as casual about sex as men are. They get emotionally attached after sleeping with a guy. So while you might be ready to move on by next week, I guarantee you that Caitlyn will feel differently.”
Manning looked skeptical. “But she’s a junior, and she can have any dude at school she wants.”
“Yeah, and the dude she wants is you.”
Manning said nothing, his brows furrowed as he absorbed his father’s words.
As Stan observed him, he was suddenly reminded that Manning was the same age he’d been when his parents died. In that moment, he tried to imagine not being there to watch Manning graduate from high school, land his first job out of college, get married and become a father. The thought of missing all of those milestones was so inconceivable that it nearly brought him to his knees with despair.
“I need you to make wise choices, son,” Stan said, his voice laced with sudden urgency. “I need you to be responsible.”
“I know,” Manning mumbled.
“No, I don’t think you really do.” Stan reached out and gripped the boy’s shoulder. “If anything happens to me, you’ll become the man of the house. So you know what that means? It means you’ll need to man up, like your name says, and take care of your mother and your younger brothers. Do you understand that?”
“What’re you talking about, Dad?” Manning whispered, staring at him. “What’s gonna happen to you?”
Seeing the stricken expression on his son’s face, Stan realized that he’d frightened him, which was the last thing he’d intended to do.
Overcome with emotion, he hauled Manning roughly into his arms. “I love you,” he choked out hoarsely. “Love you so damn much, son.”
“I love you too, Dad,” Manning whispered.
Stan clung to him for as long as he could, then kissed the top of the boy’s head and drew away, blinking back tears that were mirrored in Manning’s eyes.
Mustering a shaky smile, Stan patted his son’s cheek and said gruffly, “See what happens when your mom’s not around? I get all girly and sentimental.”
Manning grinned crookedly.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, they glanced around just as Montana, Magnum, Maddox and Mason appeared in the doorway.
Stan eyed them expectantly. “What’s up, fellas?”
The brothers exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Monty explained.
“Wind’s blowing too hard,” Magnum muttered.
“Not really tired,” Maddox added.
Only Mason was brave enough to confess the truth. “I miss Ma,” he complained.
The others looked at one another, then burst out laughing.