CHAPTER 25
Parker’s leg bounced up and down impatiently. The last hour of a ride home always seemed to take the longest. Most of the crew was still passed out, and they all reeked of sweat and smoke. They’d driven all night to get home a day early. Arriving home in the early morning would technically give them an extra day of rest before they had to turn around and head out again. An extra day to spend with their family and friends.
All he wanted to do was take Cassie in his arms and hold her. The fatalities had shaken the team. Many of these guys had been first on the scene in the aftermath of the spring’s tornado, and had experienced loss themselves. But losing one of their own in a fire hit you in a different place. He had a lot to talk about with Cass. But only after he had a hot shower and breakfast with his mom. Pulling out his phone, he shot her a quick text.
P: Almost home. Are you busy?
Mom: So glad! And do you mean alone? Yes :D
He cringed again at the memory of walking in on his mom. At least he could laugh about it now.
P: You’ll be wearing clothes?
Mom: Buttoned up to my neck :D
P: Will you make pancakes?
Mom: I think it’s adorable you still want your mom to cook you breakfast.
P: If I’ve never said so, I love your breakfasts.
He might only have a few good meals before they had to turn around again. The National Interagency Fire Center had upped the preparedness levels to five, which meant there were too many fires and not enough resources to combat them.
The men piled out of the bus the second it stopped in front of the fire station, hurrying to stow their gear and get home. “Hold up guys,” Parker called as they started to disperse. “We’re at level five, so be prepared to head out again after our rest days.”
No one said anything, but he could see the exhaustion on their faces. And he worried about a few of the younger crew. “Anyone who’s not up for it, let me know by tomorrow afternoon so I can change our roster.” He paused, wrestling with what to say next. But then Cassie’s face came to mind. “And if you’re having trouble sleeping or concentrating, I can connect you to someone to talk to. No judgment, no questions asked.”
“Trading Post later?” Tony asked, stopping in front of his truck.
Parker shrugged, unsure if he was ready for a crowd. “I’m gonna stop by my mom’s then head over to Cassie’s. Text me later?”
He secured his pack to the back of his bike and took off down the road. He’d started to ride the Harley more since Cassie had asked for his help fixing up her dad’s Yamaha. Maybe the fact that she’d put up the Ducati for a while was a sign she was starting to slow down a bit. He hoped so.
A quick shower and a long conversation with his mother later, he turned onto the Graces’ drive. Anticipation wound through him. Was she still asleep? Could he slip in and kiss her awake? Would her skin smell like the lavender dryer sheets she used? Would she be naked? Or was that only when she slept with him?
They hadn’t spoken of his outburst in the ensuing days, and he’d purposefully kept their conversations and texts neutral. But now that he was home, they could have a heart to heart. He rolled the bike to a stop in front of the playhouse, excitement dissipating like a puff of smoke.
“What in the hell is this?”
There on the porch of the playhouse, sat Cassie, wrench in hand looking like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. In front of her was her dad’s vintage Yamaha, and next to it, looking decidedly worse for wear, was her Ducati.
“Well?” Anger surged through him. All it took was one look at the Ducati to see that she’d obviously laid it down. She’d fucking destroyed it. His stomach churned. She was lucky to be alive. In quick succession, all the pieces, all the questions that had gone unanswered, dropped into place like bearings in a lock. “When did this happen? Wait.” He held up his hand, hopping off his bike. “That’s why you were limping.”
“I’m fine, Park. That was weeks ago. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Like hell, it is,” he bit out. “First, you keep it from me, then you ask me to fix your dad’s bike? So you can keep going hell for leather and get yourself killed? Are you fucking kidding me?”
He’d never been so angry. Or felt so betrayed.
“Accidents happen Parker. It was an accident, that’s all it was. First and last time.”
“How fast were you going? Fifty? Sixty?”
Her face flushed and she pressed her mouth closed.
“More?” Worry and anger colored his vision. He’d been such an idiot. How had he not seen that she was so close to self-destructing? He scraped a hand over his face, livid. “A hundred? Hundred-twenty? Jesus, Cassie, do you know how dangerous that is? You could have killed yourself. Or someone else.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what’s too dangerous, Parker Hansen.” She tossed down the wrench as she hopped to her feet and ripped off her shirt, stripping down to her sports bra and pointing at her scar. “This. This is dangerous. Taking enemy fire while you’re trying to rescue the wounded is dangerous. Trying to land a broken helicopter with one arm and your co-pilot’s brains in your lap is dangerous.”
Her eyes were bright with anger. “Being clipped into an overloaded aircraft you’re not sure will be able to take off and trying to shoot at the enemy with a hand that’s so bloody you can barely squeeze the trigger? That’s fucking dangerous.”
Her chest heaved from the exertion. “Don’t you ever tell me what I can and can’t do because you’re worried it’s too goddamned dangerous, Parker. Especially when you’re out there risking your life too.”
Bitterness burned the back of his throat. This was not the homecoming or the conversation he’d imagined.
Cassie kicked the wrench across the porch. “I never asked you to worry about me. Just let it go.”
“Let it go?” he roared. “Jesus, Cass. You’re my girlfriend.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing in front of her bikes. “We… I… confessed things.” He stared at her hard. “You know things about me no one does.”
Something must have started to sink in because her eyes grew wide and she looked the tiniest bit guilty. Good. She should feel guilty. “Is this why Travis was so determined to get you on the horses? Because he thought it would help?” Another piece dropped into place. “Wait. Don’t answer. He knew about your wreck, didn’t he?”
He crossed the distance between them, nearly knocking over the Ducati. He would not let her avoid him. This was too important. Too big. “How many near misses is it going to take for you to stop living this way? Have you ever once thought about what it’s like for the rest of us when you’re out there being reckless? Hell, Cass. I already worry every time you’re off for a drill weekend. I don’t want to worry about you every time I turn my back.”
“I never asked you to worry about me.” Her jaw set stubbornly.
“And why wouldn’t I?” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I love you, you nut. What is it going to take to get that through your stupidly thick skull? I. Love. You. So I’m damned well going to worry about you and be in your business. Especially if it means you won’t end up in pieces in a ditch somewhere.”
“Stop it. Just stop it,” she shouted, pushing on his chest, eyes brimming with tears. “How could you possibly want me? Do you even get it? You save people. Every day. I. Kill. Them.” Her voice shook with emotion, low and terrible.
They stood glaring at each other, the gulf between them widening with each moment. A tear escaped down her cheek, and he tracked it down her jaw to the place where it fell to the ground.
“You do understand I’ve killed people? Only I usually refer to them as targets because most of the time I don’t even see them.” Her face screwed up into a bitter sneer. “You know, I wouldn’t want to humanize the enemy or anything.” She laughed harshly. “And I have a box of medals inside thanking me for my trouble.” She waved at the door behind her, then batted at her eye. “Go home, Parker. Find yourself a nice girl. Someone sweet and safe who doesn’t kill people.” She hiccupped. “You deserve some nice girl whose body isn’t riddled with scars inside and out, who will cook for you and keep house and give you babies. Someone you can keep safe. That’s not me.”
He wanted to be sick. What in the hell was he supposed to say? He’d figured she’d probably had to kill people. She was in the military for chrissakes. Rightly or wrongly, he assumed anyone who’d been overseas to Afghanistan or Iraq and had seen combat, had probably killed people. But hearing her say it was a shock.
She stood before him, trembling with emotion and glaring at him with stormy eyes. He wanted desperately to gather her up and kiss her pain away. He reached out, fingers sweeping across her wet cheek. “Sweetheart, I love you. And you’re right, I save people. And sometimes, in the name of protecting yourself or others, you’ve killed people. It doesn’t make you any less in my eyes. It makes you a survivor and one hell of a woman.” His heart hurt, and sweat sprung up on the palms of his hands. “What do I have to do to make you believe you’re it for me?”
He willed her to say something. Anything. And for a second, she looked like she might. She opened her mouth like she was going to answer him, then clamped it shut and looked away. He took a ragged breath, disappointment and heartache crashing over him. “You can keep running if you want, but you’ll never be able to run away from what’s inside you. Nothing you can do will bring back the dead. I know, because I’ve tried. You can keep running Cass, or you can start living, and when you do, I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll be home for a couple of days. Call if you’d like to talk.” Without giving her a chance to respond he made for his bike and rode away.