“Our appointment is at the fire station?” I ask when he parks his truck beside the building.
“Yep.”
“All you had to do was ask me to come with you.”
“And miss out on the satisfaction of messing with that fucker? No way,” he says with a grin.
“Enjoying playing the game a little too much?”
“Of course I am. I’ve got the girl, don’t I?” He hops out of the truck without another word and slams the door shut.
His words surprise me so much it takes me a few seconds to realize he probably didn’t mean them how I took them. I need to get a grip. On my heart, my thoughts, and my libido.
As we walk up the pathway, I stare at the brick building for a moment, so many memories rushing back. A stark reminder of the disdain I’ve been conditioned to have for this profession and all the baggage that comes with it. I’m reminded of how I used to get so excited when my mom took Damon and me to the station to pick our dad up from a three-day shift because we’d missed him so much. The car ride would be a flurry of cut-off sentences as we tried to fill him in on everything he’d missed.
Then goosebumps prickle my skin as I remember how fiercely we’d avoid that very same firehouse after he left us. How we’d drive the long way around the block so we didn’t have to pass the one thing my dad loved more than us. His job. His fire family. The attention from other women his uniform brought him.
“You okay?” Grady asks, pulling me from the memories and back to reality.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Ready to show me your fire pole, Malone?”
“I already pet your kitty, so I guess my pole is the next best place to start.”
“You’re sick.” I laugh.
“And you love it.”
Yes, I do. And that may be a problem.
“So that’s everything.” He shrugs as he enters the bay where two engines wait in limbo. There’s a smile on his face and an ease to him I haven’t seen before.
“You really love what you do, don’t you?”
There’s a brief flash of something in his eyes that passes before I can catch it, but he nods. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to be.” He says it with such conviction that I believe it. “A wise person once told me, it isn’t something you do, it’s something you are.”
I smile. “Whoever said that must be brilliant.” I reach for his arm on reflex and then pull back, uncertain of his status with the guys here and how my being here might reflect on him.
“And pretty.” Sigh. And now he turns on the charm. “The other day, you took the time to show me what you do. I thought I’d show you what I do before my shift starts.”
“Thank you.” The gesture touches me unexpectedly. Maybe it’s the fact he cares. Maybe it’s just because it’s the first time I’ve stepped into a station since my dad left, and it hasn’t been as traumatic as I expected. Actually, it’s been quite the opposite.
“Hey, Malone? You ready to pose for the camera, pretty boy?” a voice calls out from the other side of the bay, and Grady’s demeanor changes so swiftly it’s as if someone flipped a switch.
“I told you, Veego. I’m not doing it. Get off my case, will ya?”
“We can’t do it without you, man. Then why is she—oh, sorry. You’re not Marcy,” Veego says when I turn to face him as he walks into view and does a double take.
“Not Marcy,” I say with a chuckle, although I’m suddenly wondering who Marcy is and why she would be with Grady.
“She’s a photographer,” Grady mutters under his breath as if he already knew where my thoughts went.
Veego bears down on us. He’s short and broad and has a smile that would light up a room. “Sorry, Grady. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“Dylan McCoy.” I reach my hand out and shake his while he stares at me for a beat longer than normal.
“Ah, the roommate.”
“Yes, the roommate.”
“Are you going to convince him to do the calendar?” he asks, which earns him a glare from Grady.
“What calendar?” I glance from Veego to Grady and then back to Veego, ignoring Grady’s warning look.
“We’re doing a—”
“Drop it,” Grady says, but Veego keeps going.
“—Sunnyville fireman calendar shoot. The beefcake kind,” he says with a wink, and the flush to his cheeks makes me smile. Marcy’s relevance to the conversation suddenly makes sense. “It’s to raise money for the fireman’s widow fund. Pretty-boy Malone here refuses to be the month of August when he’s the best looking of the ugly lot of us. Too bad that shiner will be gone by the time we shoot the photos though or else I’m sure that would just add to his bad-boy vibe the ladies will get all wet over—”
“It’s a dead issue,” Grady says again, cutting me off when I begin to speak. “Is that what Bowie called me in early for? To have a meeting on this bullshit?”
I may be confused as to what he’s referring to, but I see the panic flicker through Veego’s eyes just as easily as Grady does. Whatever Grady is referring to has nothing to do with the calendar and everything to do with something that’s brought an unwelcome chill to the conversation.
“Fuck this,” Grady says as he shakes his head. “Not now. Of all times, not now.”
I’m in the dark as to what’s going on, but the emotion that flows in the look the two men share is overwhelming. One defiant, and the other resolute.
“Grady . . .”
“C’mon, Dylan.”
“You can’t hide forever, Malone.” Veego’s voice is full of compassion, and a part of me feels like I should shrink into the shadows and give them privacy.
“I’m not hiding from shit. I’m walking Dylan to my truck. Figure out how not to make this happen or else I’m heading home with her.”
They glare at each other again.
“See you in a few,” Veego says, grief I don’t understand heavy in his voice. He turns to me. “Nice to meet you, Dylan.”
Grady is silent as we head out of the bay and toward the parking lot. I’m not sure what to say, I’m not even sure what just transpired, and yet, I feel on edge as I figure out how to handle this.
“I might be overstepping . . . but why are you so upset about the calendar?” I realize the answer the minute the question passes over my lips—his burns.
“There’s no way I’m going to stand there and let people stare at me. The calendar idea is crap.”
“Crap?” I push, not caring that I have no right to. “It’s for the widows’ fund. I’d think you’d be willing to help. When is the last time a firefighter died in the line of duty before Drew?”
“Christ, I don’t know.”
“Then wouldn’t the majority of the proceeds go to Shelby and Brody? Why won’t you participate?”
If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now. “Stay out of it, Dylan.”
“What’s the big deal? You said it yourself. You’re vain. Let them take a picture of all your hard work. You have an incredible body. Sell some calendars. Help Shelby and Brody. I don’t know what your hang up is,” I say, knowing very well what it is but not caring as I shamelessly use his guilt to help him get over his own insecurities.
“No one wants to look at me, I can assure you of that.”
“I do.”
“Save it.”
“Save what?” I scoff. “Do you know how often I sit in the house when you’re out working on the playroom and stare at you?” I love the shocked look on his face and laugh. “What? A girl needs inspiration while she’s writing songs.”
“Don’t do this . . .” He shakes his head, confusion welling in his eyes.
“Do what? Tell you that the camera is going to love you? That it’s going to be looking at your front and not your back, so what’s the big deal? And if it were snapping a picture of your back, you know what it would show? A man who went to hell and back to try to save his friend. I don’t know a single person who would think otherwise.”
“First the guys, and now you? You were the one person I didn’t have to worry about piling on with the bullshit.”
I can see the bluster in his bravado and know he’s afraid to see himself as he looks now. He’s afraid to document it for everyone else to see.
“The guys just want what’s best for you, like I do.”
“Like you do?” His voice rises in pitch as he takes a step toward me, shoulders squared. “What do you think this is? We screwed so that gives you the right to tell me what to do?
His words are sharp, but the fear in his eyes is sharper. There’s something more here. There’s something he isn’t talking about.
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“That’s who I am, Dylan. An asshole. If you’ve got a problem, feel free to stay with someone else. I’m sure Jett’s ready to whisk you back home and start right where you left off.” The minute the words are out, he hangs his head and scrunches his face. He groans before looking up and meeting my eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. There’s just . . . there are other things going on here besides the calendar.”
The phone call from the other night when I was making the cannoli comes to mind. The one about a meeting on Thursday, which is apparently a lot more important than it sounded.
I scramble with what to say. With how to dissipate his anger, his fear, his irritation, all of which I helped cause.
Humor. Humor always works best.
“Is this our first fight as a couple?” I ask, a ghost of a smile on my lips and a plea for forgiveness in my eyes.
He struggles with the shift in gears before saying, “Yep. Jett’s leaving, and we’re already breaking up.” His smile is half-hearted, but his expression says he’s still upset.
I wish I knew about what.
“Well, shit.” I put my hands on my hips. “I think we’ve got this all backward.”
A little more sincerity edges his smile now. “Mmm. We had make-up sex before the fight.”
“We did.” Is it weird that he understands where I’m going with this conversation without any further explanation? Is it weird that it gives me hope?
We stare at each other, smiles soft and apologies unspoken but accepted.
“You should get going. My shift’s about to start.” I’m taken by surprise when he holds his keys out to me. A man and his truck are a sacred thing. “I’ll call you tomorrow to pick me up if that’s okay. If not, I’ll have one of the guys drop me home.”
“I’ll come get you. No biggie.” I open the driver’s side door, climb behind the wheel, and then look at him. He still seems unsettled, and I wish I could help with whatever is bothering him. “You know I’m here for you if you need me, right?”
“Yeah.” He nods ever so slightly and looks at his boots for a second before looking up to me. His aqua eyes a sea of discord. “I do. Thanks.”
And with that, Grady walks into the fire station with what looks like the weight of the world on his shoulders and a tiny piece of my heart in his pocket.