Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (11 page)

He pushes me back. “Just kidding.”

We’re about to go inside the station when I notice two of our guys standing on the edge of the lot—Bobo and Scott, and both of them should shut their gaping big mouths or they may start catching flies.

It’s the look in Bobo’s eyes in particular that make me feel like I’ve done something wrong and just got caught. I guess they aren’t used to me being so carefree. I glance back to see if Joe is wondering the same thing but he’s holding open the door for me, and seems focused on something happening inside. I sweep past him, and he follows right behind me.

It’s not until late in the afternoon that I’m reminded of that brief moment in the parking lot, with Joe and I laughing while the guys looked on. I’m in the hallway posting the notice of the firehouse visitor schedule when I hear my name in the day room. I step up just outside the door, debating whether I should go inside and face the music or not.

“So what’s with you and T. Rex?” Bobo asks Joe in a taunting voice.

I have a partial view of the room from my position in the hall and I can see Joe’s expression tighten.

“What do you mean?” Joe answers.

“Is something going on? You looked kind of cozy this morning.”

What an asshole.
I’m tempted to step in and tell him off.

Joe gives him a pissed off look.

“You know she’s letting me park my rig on her land, right? Don’t make anything more out of it than that.”

“So you’re just being nice to her because of that?” Scott asks. “Cause it seems like you’re spending more time with her than you need to.”

Joe folds his arms over his chest. “Is that so? Why are you so interested? Do you think it’s any of your business?”

Scott shrugs. “We guys have to look out for each other and she’s a bitch, a carnivore of the male kind. Look what she did to her husband . . . she made him gay. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Joe replies with a condescending tone.

“Uh huh,” Bobo says tauntingly.

I hold my breath waiting for Joe to defend me for asshole’s comment.
I made my husband gay?
I’m going to make Scott a ball-less eunuch if he doesn’t shut the fuck up.
Why isn’t Joe standing up for me?
A horrible feeling is creeping up my spine.

Joe’s irritation is written all over his face. “Oh for fucks sake, has it occurred to you geniuses that Chief may have asked me to look out for her? She’s been through a rough time. Or did you forget that? It’s the same thing I’d do for any of you.”

. . . the same thing I’d do for any of you . . .

“Well that makes sense,” Bobo says. “You feel sorry for her. I mean why else would you spend time with T. Rex?”

I see Joe flinch, but it’s so slight that I can’t be sure. What I do know for sure is that he doesn’t disagree with him and my cheeks sting like I’ve just been slapped. I was just about to charge in and go off on the assholes, but his pity suddenly deflated me.

“So there you go, you don’t need to worry about how I’m spending my time.”

“Okay. Good to know you’d never get involved with her. Gotta say dude, I’d be afraid she’d eat you alive.”

“We’ve got your back, Joe. We’ll make sure you don’t get T. Rexed.”

“No need guys. It’s not going to happen.”

The conversation moves to another topic, but for some damn reason my legs won’t move. I’ve got my left shoulder pressed against the wall to hold me up, and my shaky right hand pressed over my mouth. If this is just another small death, then why does it feel so damn huge? What I just lost must not have been much according to Joe’s account, but for me at this point in my downfall, it feels like everything.

It’s at that very moment that Joe happens to look out the door where I’ve stepped out of the hall shadow. The moment our gazes meet, he knows I heard their revealing discussion, and his eyes shadow over with shame.

The betrayal feels huge to me, not just from my team, but most of all from a man I’d come to trust and thought was my friend. Feeling bile creep up my throat, I swallow it back as I turn and rush down the hall.

I hear heavy footsteps behind me as I fish my room key out of my pocket. Once it’s in my grasp, I sprint down the last hallway, get the door open, and slip inside just in time to close and lock the door.

A second later I hear the knob being worked. I’ve never been so grateful for a lock. He twists it a few more attempts before it stills, and then there’s a soft knock on the door and a muffled voice.

“Trisha, are you okay?”

I blink away tears as I take several steps back, until my legs make contact with my bunk mattress. I sink down, grab my pillow, and pull it to my chest.

He knocks again and the tears flow faster. “Go away,” I whisper so softly I can barely hear my words.

As if he heard me, everything goes silent other than my occasional sniffle. I know I need to stop. I’ve got that Irish skin that gets pink and blotchy when I cry. I can hide in my room during dinner, but how am I going to look if we get a call?

I’m focused on willing myself to stop crying, when I hear a key slip in the lock and the door edges open. Joe slips inside and pushes the door closed behind him. Chief has copies of all our keys in his office. He must have gotten it there.

He studies my blotchy face, tears and all. “Trisha,” he whispers, looking defeated. Why would he feel defeated? He certainly fared better than I did in that stunning character assassination I overheard.

I avert my gaze and curl over my pillow. I don’t want him here.

“Please leave.”

“I can’t,” he says in an uneven voice.

“I don’t want you in here. Can you imagine what they’d say about me if they knew you were here?”

“I don’t care,” he says.

“Well I do. I’m the one that got slaughtered out there. Thanks for standing up for me. I thought you were my friend. I trusted you.”

“Please,” he begs.

“I thought you were my friend,” I repeat as I press my face into my hands.

“They threw me off guard, and I didn’t know what to do. Our friendship is private, between you and me. It’s none of their business and I don’t want either of us to be teased about it.”

“What friendship?”

“Trisha . . . please don’t.”

“You mean T. Rex, the man-eating bitch?”

“Oh fuck,” he groans.

“Don’t worry. You can keep your rig on my land. I’m not that horrible, I swear.”

He steps back and puts his hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to go talk to them. I need to fix this.”

“It’s too late for that. Besides, it’s my turn to talk, but I’ll be talking to Chief about changing stations. I can’t stay here now. Everyone hates me.”

“No!” he exclaims before pacing the room. “You’re being dramatic. Can’t you see that? The guys talk shit about each other all day long. You know that. Why did you think you’d be spared?”

“This felt like a lot more than that, Joe. Especially when you didn’t come to my defense.”

“I really fucked this up, didn’t I?”

I just stare at him. What does he expect me to say?
It’s okay, Joe. Don’t worry about It . . .
Well, that’s not going to happen.

I pull my pillow closer into my chest. “Can I ask you one thing?”

“Anything,” he replies, seeming hopeful.

“Do
you
also think I turned my husband gay?” I know the look on my face is pathetic, but I have no way to hide my pain. This one is a sharp knife dangling over my heart.

“No! Jesus, Trish. That’s crazy talk.”

“Believe me, I’ve laid awake at night worrying about that very thing.”

“Just take my word on this . . . you’re wrong. A woman like you inspires a man, not turns him.”

As much as I like hearing those words they’re a little too late for me to not question his sincerity. “Thanks Joe, but I really think it would be best for you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving. Not until I can make this right.”

Putting his fingers under my chin, he raises it so we’re eye to eye.

I shake my head. “There’s no making this right. What’s done is done. I need to step away before my spirit takes another hit.” I lift my arm up and wipe my tears across my sleeve.

“No . . . no . . . no,” he chants as he pulls me up off the bed into a tight hug against his chest. I squirm and try to extricate myself but he’s not yielding.

“I thought you were my friend,” I say again, but this time in a painful whisper.

“Please stop saying that. I
am
your friend. There’s so much I haven’t even said to you yet. This can’t be it for us.” He slowly cups his large hand over my head and then combs his fingers through my hair and down my back. He does this over and over until I start to calm and melt into his chest.

I should stop him. I have no idea why he’s doing this.
Is he trying to torture me?
Despite my trepidation, I’ve lost the will to resist. It just feels so damn good to be touched and held.

My eyes are pressed shut as I remind myself that this may be the last time we’ll be this close again. Suddenly I realize that his lips are pressed against my forehead.

My eyes pop open. “What—”

“Shhh,” he whispers as he kisses me just above the eyebrows and then my temple. His lips are so warm, and I’m intoxicated just to have him holding me like he’ll never let me go.

My brain and reason are battling with my heart. “But . . .” I murmur as I try to push him away so he can explain what’s going on in his head.

“Shhh,” he says again as he kisses my cheek and then the tip of my nose.

My legs wobble underneath me and his grip around my waist tightens.

“Oh God,” I groan the moment I realize that he isn’t just trying to soothe me . . . he’s trying to tell me something without words.

He pulls back just slightly and my gaze settles on his lips, which I didn’t notice were so perfect until now. I brush my fingertips down his chin.

“
This
is right,” he whispers. He drags his nose along my jaw until his lips press against my other temple.

“It’s not right . . . not when I feel like our friendship is broken,” I say despite the fact that he’s stroking the back of my neck and it’s making me want more. This guy doesn’t play fair.

“Broken?” he whispers. “Remember, I’ve got a tool box. I can fix anything. Please, Trisha.”

When I comprehend the desperation in his voice, and look in his eyes I lose all reason. I have no idea why but the room appears to be brighter. I fall into his gaze, and it suddenly seems like anything is possible.

And that’s when he kisses me.

His lips to my lips . . . honey sliding off a spoon as his sweetness fills me. I have a vague sense of my fingers gripping his shoulders and then getting tangled up in his hair as his lips consume me. I’ve never been kissed like this—a delicate twisting up of tenderness and a rough bass beat claiming me, as my heart pounds under his touch.

He steps back against the wall and pulls me to him, yet giving me berth to escape if I need to. Escape is the furthest thing from my mind. Each kiss and caress teaches me something about him, and I fold each detail up and tuck it in my heart for safekeeping. What I love best is how he cradles my face and whispers my name like it’s sacred before he kisses me again and again.

Is this what it feels like to be reborn? This man had broken me completely, and in our resurrection, brought me back someplace new.

My knees are starting to buckle when suddenly the sound of the station alarm tone alerts us to the here and now. We listen carefully to the sequence, as he tightens his arms around me.

“Damn,” he groans. “I’m on this one.”

I nod, relieved that it’s him and not me. I’m not sure I could be focused enough. “Go,” I urge.

“I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” I whisper as irrational images of him trapped in a burning building plague me.

He takes my face in his hands. “Trisha . . . I’ll be back.”

I nod, crack open the door to make sure the hall is clear, and push him out the door.

“Be safe,” I whisper.

He nods with a stoic expression and charges down the hall.

Chapter 10:
The Dali Lama of Fire Fighting

It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends. ~J.K. Rowling

It’s a long night as I lie awake and wait for their return. This night could be any night at the station, but for me it’s unlike any other. I feel desperately alive and it makes me want to do crazy things.

I want to climb onto the roof of our station and stand on the buildings edge, my jacket over my p.j.’s, rustling like a cape in the wind. From that vantage point I could see the truck as it ambled back home, the men weary from whatever crisis they faced. Joe would look up and see me cast in silver from the moonlight, and I would have all the answers I needed in his soulful gaze.

But with each hour passing the magic of his kisses fade and instead the reality of our situation takes over my spirit. Nothing has changed about the words that were said about me in the day room. Am I being overly dramatic? I don’t think so. Am I being influenced by the blog of female firefighters I follow when women share stories about how they are treated as lower class citizens in their stations? I can put up with the guys taunting about stupid shit, but they crossed a line this time. I’m going to have to talk to Chief and make some hard decisions about my standing with our team.

As for Joe, there’s no question that I’m infatuated with him. I still have a drunken hangover from his glorious kisses. But what can we be to each other? We’re both dealing with a lot of relationship baggage. I’m not divorced yet and it doesn’t sound like he is either, but much more than that there are rules about fraternization in the firehouse. What a mess. We can’t be kissing in hallways or sneaking off to my private room.

Instead I finally fall asleep some time past three and wake up at 6:15 to my alarm.
Screw the gym
, I groan. I reach over and pick up my phone. There are three texts, all from Joe.

The first was sent just past four.

We’re heading back. Can I come see you?