All Wrapped Up (A Pine Mountain Novel) (27 page)

“Yeah.”

“Good. Because you’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?” Okay, so it wasn’t smart to pick
a fight with a guy who had just done two rapid-fire shots of whiskey and was the size equivalent of a Sherman tank, but come on. Brennan couldn’t just leave that alone.

But rather than rise to the throw down in Brennan’s voice, Adrian softened both his stance and his tone. “Don’t get your shorts in a knot. I’m trying to help you.”

“It’s not working,” Brennan snapped, feeling like an instant
dick. He amended, “I don’t think anything can help this now.”

“Christ, you are a pain in the ass.” Adrian shook his head, adjusting his black and silver Harley-Davidson baseball hat with one hand. “Did you even read this?”

“I don’t need to read it.” So much for not being a dick. “I lived through it once already.”

As loaded with emotion as Brennan’s words were, his buddy didn’t even blink.
“Well, it looks like your story’s coming back for another round, like it or not. So the question isn’t whether you want people to know it.”

Adrian took the page off the bar, placing it between Brennan’s fingers.

“It’s how you’re going to change things so you can live with them the second time around.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Brennan’s eyes burned as if they’d been hand polished with lighter fluid and set out to dry in the midday sun. He parked himself at the last booth in Scarlett’s All-Night Diner and ordered a Coke, relearning the place with a couple of furtive glances. The restaurant had been standing at the corner of Fairview and Church since Brennan could remember. Between the laid-back
atmosphere that felt like an old pair of jeans, its location two blocks from Station Eight, and the owner-slash-cook’s easy affinity for slinging together some of the most killer food on the eastern seaboard, Scarlett’s was a local favorite among firefighters.

“Well, well. You are a sight, son. I’ll give you that.” A familiar, raspy voice surfaced from two and a half years in Brennan’s memory
banks, and hell if it wasn’t more comforting than anything else.

Damn. He’d missed this place.

Brennan stood, running a hand over his hair to no avail. Nothing short of a shower, a shave, and a hot date with a hairbrush could hide the three hours of sleep he’d put on top of the five-hour, middle of the night drive into town. “You don’t have to pretty it up, Captain.”

Captain Westin smiled,
his light brown eyes crinkling into age lines at the corners. “Well, then. You look like shit, Brennan. But it’s still great to see you.”

He extended his hand, clapping Brennan on the shoulder as they shook, and shock rippled outward from Brennan’s gut. “Thanks. How are things?”

“Ah. Let’s see. My daughter, Zoe, is back in town, heading up a new program with the city. I love the girl, but
she’s giving me more fits than any one man should have.”

The radio clipped to the thick strap on the shoulder of the captain’s uniform let out a crackle and squawk, and he reached up nonchalantly to listen first, then lower the volume. “And Chief Williams is passing a kidney stone over a sudden vacancy at the academy. One of his best instructors just up and ran off with a Vegas showgirl, which
of course is now the problem of every captain in the city.”

“A showgirl, huh? That’s interesting,” Brennan ventured, but he knew both Chief Williams and the way things worked in the FFD well enough to know the score. Shit always rolled downhill in Fairview, and it picked up speed and velocity as it went.

“It’s a train wreck,” Captain Westin corrected, pausing to ask a passing server to fill
the double-sized coffee cup he’d flipped over. “We’re rotating men from all three shifts over there as best we can, but you know how it is. Qualified instructors are hard to come by.”

Although Brennan had had a handful of great instructors at the academy, most guys who knew their shit and were jacked up about being firefighters were . . . well, firefighters. “Well, I know you’re on shift right
now. Thanks for coming to see me.”

Captain Westin nodded, a quick dip of his gray blond head. “I heard your trip into town was a quick one. I’m sorry I missed you at Ellie’s wedding.”

Well, looked like they were going to get right to it, then. “Yeah. I’m sure Alex and Cole mentioned that we, ah, spoke.”

Firefighters might keep their opinions in-house, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have
them. And from Alex’s no-bones-about-it confrontation, he’d looked to have enough for everyone at the station combined.

Westin said, “Two sides to every story. But I’ve told you that before.”

“Yes, sir.” Brennan took a deep breath, and—screw it; Adrian was right. He’d come too far and hurt for too long to do this the wrong way twice. “Thing is, I’m thinking maybe my statute of limitations
has run out on second chances.”

Captain Westin sat back, swirling his spoon through his cup of coffee even though he hadn’t added milk or sugar. “I pulled a copy of the official investigation report and showed it to Donovan and Everett the day after your sister’s wedding.”

Brennan’s glass hit the Formica tabletop with a clunk. “You . . . what?”

“First off, let me assure you that I still
run a tight house with even tighter rules. As captain, it’s up to my discretion to share certain details with my men. I only do so when I deem it necessary, and this situation fit the circumstances.”

“But why would you do that now? It’s been two and a half years.”

“It has,” Captain Westin agreed. “And it’s been a long time since Cole or Alex has brought up what happened that night. But seeing
you again changed that, and as captain of Station Eight, it’s my job to do whatever I need to in order to get my firefighters right. Losing a brother is a hard thing for all of us, Brennan.” He leaned in, his serious-as-hell stare paving the way for the words that followed. “But they didn’t lose one that night. They lost two, and it was far past time for them to know why.”

Brennan tried to swallow,
but nothing got past the grief still lodged in his throat. “I didn’t think it would hurt anybody but me if I took the blame and disappeared.”

“I’ll tell you now what I told you then. Mason’s death was a tragedy, and there is no way around that. He was a good man, and he is sorely missed. But the golden rule is a tricky one when you only take it at face value. You’re a bit overdue to look past
the surface, Brennan.”

All the breath vanished from the room as the sentiment that had pinned Brennan’s self-blame into place for two and a half years suddenly took on new meaning in his mind.

Brennan had left Fairview to take the blame for Mason’s death, but he’d never stopped to think that Cole and Alex wouldn’t want him to. That they’d have his back
if he told them what had happened.

That he’d shut them out instead of letting them help.

“Shit.”

“I see we’re making progress.” Captain Westin chuckled over the rim of his coffee cup, but Brennan shook his head.

“I can’t believe I didn’t get it. It’s been so long.” God, how had he been so blind all this time? And more importantly, why was it all so clear
now
?

No. No way had Ava led him here. She’d wanted a story, plain and simple.

“Brennan.” Captain Westin leaned in, nothing but truth in his eyes. “When I said it’s my job to keep my firefighters straight, I meant all of you. You’ve been carrying around a lot of guilt for the past few years. Now what do you say we put this to bed, once and for all?”

Brennan
nodded, pushing back to toss enough cash for their tab on the table before following Captain Westin out the door and onto Church Street. His boots felt strangely light on the winter-chilled pavement, as if each step was finally taking him back where he belonged.

He hitched for only a second as they rounded the last corner, his breath sticking in his lungs at the sight of the tall, unassuming
building he’d called home for four years. Morning sunlight colored the bricks in shades of red and brown, glinting off the gold-stenciled sign reading F
AIRVIEW
F
IRE
D
EPARTMENT
, S
TATION
E
IGHT
, which stood proudly across the top of the building. The automatic doors on two of the oversized triple bays on the front of the house were closed, but the clang of equipment over concrete and the masculine
laughter that accompanied it were a pure indicator that some things never changed.

Hell. Maybe it
was
too late for this. After all, it wasn’t like he could come back, anyway. Not the way he wanted to. His vertebrae were like an old jigsaw puzzle, all missing pieces and busted edges. Active duty would never happen again, not even with all the forgiveness in Fairview.

Brennan stood, mired in
doubt and cemented to his spot next to Captain Westin on the threshold of Station Eight, when a familiar item in a decidedly unfamiliar spot caught his attention and grabbed on tight.

Hanging directly over the center of the middle bay was a helmet bearing the Fairview Fire Department crest and Station Eight shield, the back edging clearly marked in silver lettering.

I
N
M
EMORY OF
M
ASON
W
ATTS
. F
IREFIGHTER
, B
ROTHER
, F
RIEND
.

Looked like Mason had Brennan’s back too.

“If you need me for anything, I will be in my office,” said Captain Westin as he left Brennan.

He walked to the open bay, inhaling the heavy smell of diesel from the bright red engine and the blue and white ambulance lined up by the automatic door. A handful of guys Brennan didn’t recognize stood in various stages of
hard work, pulling the equipment from Engine Eight’s storage compartments for inventory and safety checks. Each of them wore the standard-issue navy blue firefighter’s pants the captain always insisted on, along with either long-sleeved T-shirts or thermal tops emblazoned with the FFD crest.

“O’Keefe, you slacker. Don’t you have inventory to do in that big old box of yours? Band-Aids to count,
or something?” Alex slung a Scott pack over one shoulder, dodging a friendly shove from Station Eight’s paramedic, Tom O’Keefe, as Cole joined in and said something that made both men laugh.

Their laughter faded in short order the second they saw Brennan standing in the doorway.

Ever the peacekeeper, Cole was the first to recover. “Didn’t think we’d see you again,” he said, not inviting Brennan
in, but not kicking him out either.

Alex knotted his arms over his chest, his expression as closed off as his stance, but Brennan refused to let it rattle him.

“I thought about what you said, and you were right. There’s a lot we never talked about.”

“Yup. There is.” For a minute that went on for an ice age, Cole split his gaze between Brennan and Alex. Finally, he jerked his light brown
head toward the equipment room. “We were just putting this gear away. Why don’t you come on back?”

“I don’t want to get in the way,” Brennan said, hating every ounce of being a bystander.

Cole laughed, shrugging his Scott pack over one arm in a well-practiced lift. “Then don’t. It’s not like you don’t know your way around here.”

O’Keefe took a step back, offering Brennan a deferent nod and
a wide berth so he could follow Cole and Alex to the equipment room off the garage bay. Although the layout was a little different and the names on the individual stalls were more new than familiar, Brennan still knew exactly how many footsteps it would take to get him to the spot that used to house his turnout gear.

Alex dropped his Scott pack to the shelf labeled DONOVAN, the heavy clang of
metal on metal grating the air space between them. “How come you never told us what happened that night?”

“Way to ease into things, Al,” Cole said, but Brennan didn’t flinch or hold back.

“No, he’s right. I should’ve talked to you, and I didn’t. I had good reasons . . . at least, I thought I did. But I was wrong.”

There might be only a single-digit number of things that would put cement
shoes on Alex Donovan’s larger-than-life attitude, but hell if Brennan hadn’t just bull’s-eyed one.

“You were wrong.” Alex stared, and it was all the lead-in Brennan was going to get.

“Yeah.” His back muscles jumped in anticipation, but he smoothed them out with a long draw of air. “At first, I didn’t want to see you because I was too screwed up. Losing Mason and my career and all that surgery.
It was just . . . easier to push everything away. I’m not proud of it, but that’s the truth.”

Cole nodded, sitting down on the wooden bench in front of them and bracing his forearms over his thighs. “Understandable.”

Alex shifted his weight from one heavy-soled work boot to the other, the look on his face reading an unspoken
I guess
. “That was at first. What about after?”

“I didn’t realize
it until recently, but I guess I didn’t come back after that because we always take care of our own. I knew eventually you’d all get each other straightened out, but . . .” Brennan broke off, the words clotting together in his mind.

“You thought you didn’t deserve that too,” Cole finished.

“I felt guilty,” Brennan said, and damn, the admission pulled up on his shoulders as it tumbled from
his mouth. “And then I just wanted to forget.”

Going for full disclosure, Brennan told them how he’d made rescue squad just before the apartment fire, as well as revealing the details about the four months he spent in his post-injury stupor and his twenty-eight days in detox. Just putting his past to words made Brennan feel lighter, the irony of everything he’d tried so hard to avoid growing
stronger with each breath.

The story really was worth telling.

“Jesus, Brennan.” Cole ran a hand over his crew cut, coasting his palm over the back of his neck. “Being hooked on painkillers is no joke. I wish I’d known how bad you needed an ear.”

Shock had Brennan’s head snapping up. “I wouldn’t have talked,” he argued, but Cole parried that with ease.

“It doesn’t matter. I should’ve tried
harder to get you to. After Mason died and you wouldn’t talk to anybody, we all spent a lot of time not knowing what to think. It was easy to jump to conclusions and blame you for walking away. But I should’ve known you wouldn’t just bow out without a reason. I should’ve pushed.”

Alex pressed his lips into a thin line, but he nodded in agreement. “Me too.” He pushed off from the edge of the
equipment stall where he’d been leaning, uncrossing his arms to extend a hand to Brennan. “I’m sorry for what I said at Ellie’s wedding. I knew you didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Mason. Any one of us would’ve led the way to that apartment to try and save that kid, exactly like you did, Brennan. You’ve gotta know that.”

“I do now,” Brennan said, startled to finally discover
that it was true.

“Westin showed us the fire marshal’s report.” Cole stood, repeating the handshake Alex had just shared with Brennan. “It kind of put things in perspective. Although hearing your side of the story has helped a lot more.”