“Why the fuck are you here when she’s leaving tomorrow?”
“Because I’m here,” I grumble. Because if I go home then this is real, and she is leaving, and right now I don’t want that to be fucking true.
“You come straight from shift here? Don’t you think you should be somewhere else? Man the fuck up, Grady. You’ll figure it all out, but just ask her to stay. Or tell her to go, but add that you want to keep this thing going. Something. Anything. Just don’t let her walk out that door without saying a word. Quit being such a goddamn pussy, will you?”
“I’m not being a pussy. I’m being realistic.”
“Realistic? Do you know the odds of being in a plane wreck twice?”
“Can’t be too good considering most never survive the first crash.” I sit on his couch and take the beer he offers me.
“Exactly. And you did survive the first one. So why the hell do you keep thinking you’re going to crash again?”
I sigh and sink into the cushions and rest my neck on the back of the couch. “Spit it out, Grant. I’m not in the mood for one of your lectures so the least you can do is save me the wasted words.”
“I’m a cop.”
“No shit.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“What do you want me to be?” I push his buttons so he stops trying to manipulate mine.
“I want you not to be so stupid and open your ears and listen to me.”
Without looking at him, I raise my hand and gesture a give-it-to-me motion. “I’m a cop. I’m married. I have a kid on the way. Do you see me shying away from Emerson? You bet your ass there are times I’m scared and worry about leaving them behind . . . but this is us, Grady. We’re Malones. This is who we are. We are public servants, and risk comes with the territory. We don’t have a choice in the matter. We were born to do this, but that doesn’t mean we should miss out on our lives because of it.”
“You weren’t there.” My voice is a whisper.
“You’re right. I wasn’t. But that didn’t stop you from falling in love with her.” I chuckle out a nervous laugh. It’s all fun and games until someone brings up the L-word. “You do love her, don’t you?”
“Does it matter?”
Grant leans over and slaps the back of my head like he used to do when we were kids. “Did I not teach you anything?”
I grit my teeth and fight letting my clenched fist fly. “What were you supposed to teach me oh-holier-than-thou one? We aren’t you and Em, so stop making it be that.”
“Then let’s look at Grayson.”
“He’s a single dad,” I refute. “I don’t think we should compare shit to him since I don’t see anyone in his life besides Luke.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, throwing his hand into the air as if he’s fed up with me. “I’m still not sure why you’re here, Grady.”
I look at my oldest brother for the first time and speak the God’s honest truth. “Because it’s easier this way.”
“Easier?” He snorts. “For who? You have seen the calendar, haven’t you?”
“Jesus Christ, can we stop with the goddamn calendar already?”
“Then tell me what or who you were looking at when that photo was taken.”
And here we go again. The same question he’s asked me over and over again during the past few weeks. “I was looking at Dixon. You happy?”
“Yeah. Right.” He shakes his head in frustration. “Okay, if that’s the truth, then let’s call up Mallory. Get her to stop by and have a little no-strings-attached fun.”
I glare at him. Mallory. Known her for years, fucked her many times, but right now, calling her is the absolute last thing I want to do. Not when every time I think of who I want to see, talk to—fuck—I think of Dylan.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I lean forward and put my elbows on my knees and shake my head. “I’m scared, man.”
“Aren’t we all, brother?” He pats me on the back and squeezes my neck. “Aren’t we all?”
The lights are on in the house. Dylan is in there. Her bags are probably packed, and she’s ready to head back to her life, free of fucked-up firefighters.
I sit in the cab of my truck and debate whether or not I can do this. Ask her to stay. Go to work every day and wonder if I’ll be coming back home to her. Put her through the constant state of worry and stress.
Brody’s sad eyes flash through my mind. Shelby and her never-ending mourning.
But does lightning really strike twice?
Does Dylan want more?
Fuck.
I slide out of the truck, grab my workbag, and head into the house. The television’s on. I can hear it from the back door. It’s a low hum, but I realize why it sounds so different. There’s no Dylan singing. No random strums of her guitar. No laughing as she talks to Petunia as if she’s a person. The foreshadowing of what my life is going to hold in the coming months without her.
When I clear the family room, I drop my bag with a thump and that’s when I hear her startled gasp.
Dylan whips her head over to face me, and I can see the tears coursing down her cheeks and the grief in her eyes.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
My thoughts fly as I walk toward her. Did something happen to her family? Her brother? To I don’t know who?
My hands are on her arms, and I bring her into me. She clings to my back as she hiccups out a sob. I don’t know what to say, but I have to say something.
Then I see the television. The images. The running headlines across the bottom. And I get it.
“The city of Boston is in mourning tonight after four firefighters died when the roof of a Boston factory collapsed. Two more are in critical condition.”
Just when I think I can do this, reality slaps me in the face and reminds me why I can’t.
Goodbye, Dylan.