All Wrapped Up (A Pine Mountain Novel) (17 page)

And Brennan was anything but upstanding. He’d killed his best fucking
friend
.

He wasn’t
airing that out to make himself feel better, because he damned sure didn’t deserve to feel anything other than guilty.

“Anyway,” Kat said, breaking the tension-thick silence. “It’s just a thought. Want to try one last round of seated direct-contact acupressure for the road? I’ll even pretend not to hear you complain about my cold hands. How about it?”

Brennan managed a nod, pulling his shirt
over his head to leave him in just his low-slung gym pants. A little extra therapy might get him through the rest of this week feeling less like attic floorboards, and maybe the ease in discomfort would let him stuff his churning feelings about returning to Fairview back where they belonged, under wraps.

“You’re the boss,” he told her, turning away from her to face the window on the far wall.
Brennan sat up as straight as he could, but still his gut knotted, threatening to hunch his spine. Old thoughts burbled up, small scraps of memory knocking hard beneath his ribs. Alex’s cocky, all-American smile as he’d clambered into the back step of Engine Eight with his helmet under one arm, Mason triple-checking his Scott pack while bragging about sweeping their weekly basketball pool. The first
streak of concern when Cole had hollered a gruff
shut up
as the update arrived from dispatch. The hot slash of adrenaline in Brennan’s chest when he’d realized the call was far from routine.

The gravel of Captain Westin’s voice at the scene of the apartment fire as he’d said, “Above all, have each other’s backs.”

The memory surged to the surface, gripping Brennan from blood to bones, and for
a split second, he didn’t fight it. But then the images flashed forward, growing darker, leaving the bitter taste of smoke and screams in his mouth, and damn it, he needed control. He turned to tell Kat to forget the last round of therapy so he could get the hell out of here and breathe, when a very familiar, very feminine gasp interrupted him from behind.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Even in the dead of night, Brennan would recognize Ava’s voice, and it punched all the way through him despite her hushed tone.

“I apologize, our receptionist is at lunch, and I didn’t see any other appointments booked. Can I help you?” Kat asked, stepping from the edge of his peripheral vision behind the therapy table, likely to preserve his privacy by blocking him from view.

Ava renewed
her apology, drawing in an audible breath. “No, I ah . . . no, thank you.”

Her footsteps rushed over the tiled floor, and Brennan knew in that second he could let her retreat. Kat was blocking Ava’s vision, and she might not have even caught a glimpse of his back, considering how quickly she’d stumbled into the therapy center from outside. But something flooded through his chest, outmuscling
the dread of his memories with its certainty.

She’d trusted him with her past, and she’d proven she wasn’t going to run. She was standing right behind him, seeing what no one—not Adrian or Teagan or even his family—had seen for two and a half years.

And Brennan was sick to death of hiding.

“Wait,” he said, turning his chin to look over his shoulder.

“Ava’s with me, Kat. It’s okay if she
sees my scars.”

Chapter Seventeen

Ava stood on the threshold of the Riverside Physical Therapy Center, wishing like mad for the bamboo floor tiles to rumble open and swallow her whole. She’d been a few minutes early on purpose, not wanting Brennan to think she’d had second thoughts like yesterday at the marina. Given the choice between the therapy center and the adjacent pediatrician’s office, figuring out
where Brennan’s appointment was had fallen under the heading of
well, duh
. She’d walked over to sit in the waiting room for a few minutes, not expecting to catch a direct glimpse of the main therapy room from her spot in the reception area.

She definitely hadn’t expected to get an eyeful of the five-inch scar angrily staking claim to the center of Brennan’s lower back, or the streak of vulnerability
on his darkly stubbled face as he’d said she could stay.

Oh God. What had
happened
to him two and a half years ago?

“Well. You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” murmured the painfully adorable blonde standing by the padded examining table. Brennan shrugged, but a smile ticked one corner of his mouth upward, and the woman tipped her head at Ava to reveal a row of tiny silver hoops marching
all the way up her ear. “Come on in, then, Ava. I’m Kat, Brennan’s therapist. We’re not quite done, but if he’s fine with you staying, far be it from me to break up a good party.”

“Oh.” A polite retreat formed on Ava’s tongue, but she caught it just shy of launch. Both Brennan and his therapist were okay with her being there, and despite the initial bolt of shock at seeing the evidence of his
devastating injury, Ava was far from squeamish. Plus, Brennan hadn’t backpedaled when she’d told him about her painful past.

She sure as hell wasn’t going to get all soft over his.

“Okay, sure. Can I do anything to help?” Ava shrugged out of her coat and pushed up the sleeves of her fitted white blouse, giving Brennan a look chock full of
you asked for it
as she crossed the floor to stand
at the foot of the table.

His half smile stayed in place, and he nodded a quick, unreadable greeting at her before turning to glance at a surprised-looking Kat over his shoulder. “Ava helped me with some of the pressure point stuff when I had that spasm last week.”

“Ahhh.” Kat’s elfin features grew amused as she put her hands on Brennan’s back. “Well, it looks as if she’s helping you now too.”

Ava lifted her chin in confusion. “But I’m not doing anything.”

“Au contraire,”
Kat said, and whoa, she had some crazy muscles in her forearms for such a tiny woman. She grinned down at her fingers, moving them slightly. “All this musculature is telling me a different story. See? It’s nice and loose.”

Kat shifted a few more times, her expression unchanging and her hands moving with the rise
and fall of Brennan’s breath. Not wanting to distract either one of them—not to mention being just plain curious as hell—Ava watched quietly as Kat worked. Unlike when Ava had walked in on him last week, Brennan’s posture was fluid and easy, even though his face tightened in obvious discomfort a time or two before Kat finished a few minutes later.

“There.” She stepped back from the table, tucking
a strand of bright pink hair into the mix of gold and light brown behind her heavily pierced ear. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“You don’t have to go easy on me,” Brennan argued with a frown.

Kat met it with a snort that belied her sweetly serene face. “And you don’t have to keep your lunch date waiting. I’ll see you next time.” She gave him only enough time to guide his T-shirt back
over his head before shooing him from his perch on the table.

Guilt flooded through Ava’s belly, and she dug her ballet flats into the floor. “I really don’t mind waiting,” Ava said, but Kat just pegged Brennan with a knowing look before waving both him and Ava off.

“This is the best session you’ve had in the last week and a half. I didn’t go easy on you. You went easy on yourself. Just do
me a favor and think about that homework I gave you. It was great to meet you, Ava.”

She offered a bright good-bye to both of them that sealed the we’re-done-here deal, waving for good measure as she headed toward one of the doors on the far wall. Ava slid a covert look in Brennan’s direction as he grabbed his hoodie from a nearby hook and started walking toward the front door of the building,
and screw it. She might’ve caught him at a vulnerable moment—again—but sugarcoating things had never been her forte.

“You’re kind of two for two in the unusual lunch break department,” she said, infusing her expression with a teasing disdain. “I’m not sure I can top this when it’s my turn to pick.”

His pause took barely a second before he flashed her that sexy little half smile that really
ought to be illegal. “I don’t know. Your holiday pageant recap still sounds pretty exciting.”

Ava fought the thudding ache behind her breastbone at the mention of her latest story. God, there had to be something else out there besides kids who could play “Silent Night” on the recorder, even if that
was
a lovely snapshot of the Christmas season.

Nope. Not going there.
She might have a paltry
two weeks to deliver the slam-bang page-turner that would save her job, but right now, this wasn’t about her. “Nice try,” she said. “But somehow I don’t think that’s the story you’ve got on your mind.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

For a minute, nothing passed between them but footsteps and silence as they bundled up to cross the threshold to the sidewalk outside, and Ava’s cheeks flared with
the rare prickle of a blush. She might not be an expert in decorum, but pushing Brennan into a conversation he didn’t want to have wasn’t on her agenda, no matter how much the sight of his scars—not to mention the look on his face—said he had a story to tell.

Only this time, he didn’t dodge the question. “Before I moved to Pine Mountain, I was a firefighter in Fairview. I spent almost four years
on engine at Station Eight.”

“I thought you might have been a firefighter,” she said, falling into step next to him. There was no point in skirting the topic, and Brennan wasn’t stupid. He had to know she’d made that connection when she’d prepared for their interview last week, even if he’d flat-out refused to answer her questions about it. “You were so gung ho about going to the fire academy
after that summer on Sapphire Island.”

“Yeah. Being a firefighter turned out to be nothing like I’d imagined, that’s for sure.” His expression grew wistful, but he wore enough of a smile that Ava bit.

“So the job was harder than you thought it would be?”

His smile morphed into a chuckle, albeit short lived. “Every single day. But being in an engine company was better than I imagined too.”

“Sounds like an interesting mix,” Ava said, following Brennan’s lead as he paused at a small intersection to look for passing cars.

“If by interesting, you mean it kicked every part of my ass while simultaneously showing me exactly where I belonged, then yeah. I’d say that’s pretty accurate. But being a firefighter isn’t a job. It’s a lifestyle, and there are no half measures. You’re either
in or you’re not.”

“That makes sense.” After all, she couldn’t imagine being a firefighter was a paper-pushing nine to five. Not that Ava had any experience with that kind of job either. “It must be tough to get used to the intensity, though, even for the best firefighters.”

They crossed the street, their feet keeping comfortable time on the asphalt as Brennan seemed to think about his answer.
“I guess it was hard to adjust at first. But to be honest, even though we kept regular hours at the academy, being on shift at Station Eight wasn’t always insane.”

“So how does it work, with the schedule and everything? I mean, is there a night shift and a day shift, or do you switch, like doctors in an emergency department?” Ava asked, her curiosity snapping through her like a live wire. She’d
learned ages ago that making assumptions that hung on face value—or worse yet, stereotypes—was dangerous territory. Better to just voice the questions and get the truth.

And Brennan didn’t disappoint. “Scheduling usually depends on the size of the company. Fairview’s a pretty big city, so in our house we had three shifts, which rotated. Most of us did twenty-four hours on, forty-eight off.”

“Whoa.” Ava blinked in surprise. “You worked for twenty-four hours straight, every shift?”

This time, he laughed. “Well, yeah, but the calls aren’t constant, so in that way, I guess it is kind of like a hospital. The fire station has bunks and a kitchen, and we basically live there while we’re on shift. Sometimes it’s dead, sometimes we’re slammed. Even then, most of our calls are incidents other
than fires or false alarms.”

“Incidents other than fires?” Ava slowed in front of the tiny strip mall restaurant tucked between the Riverside pharmacy and a hardware store, gesturing to the red and white awning in a nonverbal
is this it?

He nodded, pulling the door open and ushering her through with a gentle hand on her back. The flow of their movements around each other was as effortless
as the conversation, and it only made Ava’s interest burn more brightly.

“Sure. You name it, we’ve probably seen it. Downed power lines, people stuck in flash floods, pileups on the freeway . . . and before you ask, yes. I’ve even saved a kitten from a tree.”

Ava’s laugh escaped in a quick burst. “You have not!” So much for ditching assumptions.

“Cross my heart,” Brennan promised, motioning
an imaginary X over the front of his sweatshirt with one finger. “I think it was maybe the third call I ever went out on. Rookie always draws the short straw. The cat was fine and the owner was grateful, but let’s just say I’m glad we wear gloves.”

His seamless use of the present tense yanked at both Ava’s attention and her heartstrings, but she stuffed it down. Brennan’s crooked little half
smile, paired with the total lack of visible tension across the back of his shoulders, spoke of his comfort level with the conversation. If he could handle it, then so could she.

“I bet.” Ava inhaled the enticing scent of freshly baked pizza, heading for an unoccupied table by the open kitchen. They took a few minutes to get situated in the small booth toward the back of the mostly empty restaurant,
but her menu lay unopened on the polished wood table between them.

“It sounds like you saw a lot while you were there.”

“Yeah. Station Eight houses a fire engine, a rescue squad, and an ambulance. Everyone responds to fire calls, but squad goes out on most of the other nine-one-one calls in our jurisdiction, too. For things like car accidents or other non-fire emergencies, a lot of times engine
is on scene to assist.”

“Okay, you’re losing me,” she said, trying to organize the information in her brain. “The ambulance, I’ve got, and I’m pretty sure I’m straight on the engine and the fire calls. But what’s the deal with the rescue squad?”

Brennan laced his fingers together, dark eyes glinting warmly as he leaned in toward her. “The training for squad is more specialized, and not every
house has one. They don’t just go out on fire calls. They go out on
every
call. Hazmat, building collapses, water rescue. They do it all.”

“And you guys sign up for this?” Ava asked, only partly kidding. But God, hazmat and building collapses? Even without the fires, it sounded top-shelf crazy.

“Squad’s extremely elite. Guys don’t just sign up for it. They bust ass, sometimes for years, just
to be considered. I told you, it’s a lifestyle, not a job.”

She considered that for a minute. “So it’s like Special Forces in the military?”

“That’s a loose interpretation,” he said, nodding slowly. “But you’ve got the right idea.”

“Were you on the rescue squad, then?”

Brennan’s slight flinch told Ava he was grateful for the waitress’s timing as she arrived with two glasses of water and
her order pad at the ready. After turning Brennan’s request for iced tea and a sausage and mushroom calzone into a double order, Ava let loose with the apology on her tongue.

“I don’t mean to be nosy or put you on the spot. The idea of a rescue squad is just pretty fascinating. But we don’t have to talk about it.” She bit her lip in an effort to keep her churning thoughts limited to the space
in her head, but Brennan caught her gaze and held tight.

“It’s okay.” His voice was quiet but full of honesty as he said, “The answer to your question is actually yes and no. Yes, I was technically a member of squad when I got hurt. But no. Nobody knew it but me.”

 

 

Brennan sat, stone still and shocked as shit as he realized the words he’d kept on a two-and-a-half-year lockdown had
actually come out of his mouth. He’d never told anyone about the short-lived conversation he and Captain Westin had shared just minutes before Station Eight’s overhead system blared out the automated request for engine, squad, and paramedics to respond to that apartment fire. It hadn’t been a secret that Brennan’s dedication had pushed him to want to transition to squad, but he’d been passed over
once before for a firefighter with more seniority. So when the second opportunity had opened up, he’d kept his transfer request on the down-low.

The unfiltered high of making squad had lasted seventeen minutes. The bone-ripping pain and guilt that had come after? Yeah, that was going to last forever.

“Nobody knew but you?” Ava looked at him, the shadow of confusion in her wide, green eyes
totally at odds with the bright overhead lighting and cheery Christmas music filtering through the restaurant. It had been frighteningly effortless to tell her the logistics of being a firefighter, the obvious interest on her pretty face sparking his deep-seated nostalgia for the career he’d loved.

This part? Not so much.

“No.” Brennan cleared his throat, but still the words scratched out
of his windpipe like sandpaper. “I found out I’d made squad just before I got hurt, so none of the guys on engine knew.”