Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (12 page)

The next is at 4:20.

There’s stuff I need to say. Please be awake.

The last is at 4:44.

I’ll wait to hear from you . . . please Trisha.

I set the phone back on the side table and curl up under my covers. My mind is a whirling dervish, so I focus to calm myself and make a plan. I can’t face Joe again until I’ve figured some stuff out. After considering different scenarios I finally decide that I have to speak to Chief first. I can’t go back out and be part of the team after what I overheard yesterday without facing what was said about me head-on. I have to take care of this situation before I do anything else.

And however that conversation goes will undoubtedly have a big impact on my situation with Joe.

As I think I run my fingers over my lips, which still feel swollen with his kisses and it stirs me up. What would’ve happened if the station alarm hadn’t gone off? How far would we have gone?

Something occurs to me and I scoot out of bed and open the bottom drawer of the dresser. I pull out the spiral bound book and run my hand over the front: Van Nuys Department, Administrative Rules and Regulations. Climbing back onto the bed, I open the cover and lean back against the wall.

It only takes a few seconds of skimming through the table of contents to find the section I was looking for.

Section 1—Rule Violations

29. Sexual fraternization between members is expressly prohibited.

It’s not that I’m surprised to read the warning. I’ve read it before. But last time it was of no consequence to me. I was a married woman with absolutely no interest in anyone on my team. Seemingly overnight, everything has changed.

I’m too nervous to eat, so I get dressed and pick up my phone to text Joe.

I need to decide what to do about the situation with the guys yesterday. I’m going to go talk to the chief.

After I hit send, I purposely set the phone down on my dresser, and step out of my room without it. I can’t talk to him right now. My space is on the opposite side of the building from the guys’ quarters, and sometimes I resent the isolation, but right now I’m grateful for it.

I know Chief is usually in his office at this time in the morning so it’s time to deal with this head on.

His door is half open and I knock on the door jamb.

“Hey McNeill, what’s up?”

“Got a minute, Chief?”

“Sure.” He pushes away from his computer.

“Mind if I close the door?”

His eyebrows raise but he gestures his approval, so I gently shut it.

“What’s up?”

My hands are already twisting together and I look down to gather my courage. “There was an incident in the day room yesterday I need to tell you about.”

“Okay. Have a seat,” he says.

I lower myself into the chair and grasp my knees to keep my nervous hands still.

“I was in the hallway posting the visitor schedule on the board and I overheard a conversation about me, and it was really ugly, sir.”

“I see. Can you tell me what was said?”

I nod and swallow hard. “I was referred to as a bitch, and a man–eater.”

“That’s wrong and I’m not minimizing your feelings about this, but I have to ask . . . you know how the guys are, right? They give each other shit all the time.”

“But they do that to each other, face-to-face, not shit on someone who isn’t there. On top of that there was something else said that really hurt me personally . . .”

“You mean something worse than bitch and man-eater?” he asks, seeming very uneasy.

I nod. “They said that I made my husband gay.” I avert my gaze again.

“Damn,” he mutters.

“I had no idea how they really felt about me, but it makes me wonder if they’d have my back if we were on a call and things went south. Did you see that article the
L.A. Times
did earlier this year about hostility toward women in the firefighting profession? It sure explains why we’re still only three percent of the force.”

“I did,” he sighs, shaking his head.

He swivels his chair sideways as he studies the wall. I’ve seen him do this before when considering a difficult issue, so I know to just be patient as he chews on the end of his glasses and rubs his hands over his eyes.

“Who was it?”

“Bradley, Scott, and Joe.”

Chief’s gaze jerks over to mine, and his eyes narrow. “Joe?” He appears particularly displeased to hear his lieutenant mentioned.

“Well they were taunting Joe about being nice to me, but he didn’t stop or correct them when they talked serious shit about me.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, McNeill. Are they aware you overheard all of this?”

I feel my cheeks heat up. “Joe is aware. He saw that I was there just as they finished talking about me. I don’t think Scott and Bradley had any idea.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought this to my attention. That isn’t anything we tolerate here. I’m going to call them in. Are you okay with that?”

I nod. I know in my gut that their reaction to being called out on what they said will have a huge influence in my decision whether to stay or go.

After he puts the call out for the three men, it only takes a couple of minutes for Bobo to show up, with Scott right behind him. I don’t make eye contact with them as they take their seats. When Joe walks through the door it takes everything I have not to look at him and there’s a scramble since the room is short a chair, but he insists on standing.

Chief motions for him to close the door, then clears his throat.

“I called you here for a serious matter. McNeill overheard an extremely offensive conversation about her between you knuckleheads yesterday and is questioning if she still belongs in our department.”

“What?” Scott sounds shocked.
What an actor that one is.

“You heard me, Gallagher.”

“But—” Bobo starts, but Chief holds up his hand to still him.

Joe remains eerily silent and my gaze runs along the floor to see his polished boots and the bottom edge of the dark slacks of his uniform. Just knowing he’s so close is making my palms sweat and my heart skip.

“This is exactly why my dad says women have no business being firefighters. They’re too damn sensitive,” Scott says.

The bonehead’s dad was a career Battalion Chief and he’s always quoting him like he’s the Dali Lama of firefighting. My fingers curl into fists.

“You’re not helping your case here, Gallagher. It’s not about someone being over-sensitive. This is beyond the shit you give each other hanging out between calls. Saying offensive things about one of your team behind their back is not just against regulations, it’s damn wrong. Is she supposed to believe you have her back after you’ve talked smack about her?”

“Chief, it wasn’t that bad,” Bobo argues.

“Yes, it was,” Joe says, “and I regret that I didn’t defend her.”

My breath hitches, and I look up at him. His arms are folded over his chest and his jaw has sharp angles as he watches Chief.

Chief gives him a long stare. “I’m disappointed you didn’t, too.”

“We were joking,” Scott remarks.

“Do you think it was funny calling me a man-eating bitch who turned her husband gay?” I say with gritted teeth.

He fights back a smile and I want to knee him in the balls and say I was joking about that, too.

“How would either of you feel if you heard me talking serious shit about you and your wives behind your backs?”

The tips of Scott’s ears turn bright red. “I wouldn’t like it,” he admits.

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Chief replies

Bobo drops his head. Maybe he realizes that keeping his mouth shut is the best plan at this point.

“Are we going to be suspended or something?” Scott asks.

“I’m thinking about it,” Chief warns. “I want to keep McNeill on our squad, but that’s going to be her decision.”

“Why don’t you guys start by apologizing to her?” Joe suggests before he turns to me, and our gazes lock. “I, for one, am very sorry, Trisha. I wish I’d defended you. It wasn’t right.”

With a cautious, neutral expression I nod at him. His gaze never wavers as if he’s looking into my head to try to figure me out. He also has the look of someone who never thought he’d be in this position.

Bobo turns toward me. “I’m sorry, McNeill. I didn’t really mean what I said. You’re not the easiest person, but you’re not a bitch.”

“Okay. I don’t deny that.”

“And I wouldn’t want you to leave.”

He seems sincere and it gives me comfort.

Scott lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry too, and I won’t call you T. Rex anymore.”

“I don’t mind T. Rex, Gallagher, just not bitch.”

“Understood.”

“And do you really think I made my husband gay?”

His head drops down and his cheeks color as he shakes his head. “That was a stupid thing to say . . . a cheap shot. No, I know it doesn’t work like that.”

I feel relieved, which is ridiculous, but that was the comment which stung the most. “Okay,” I say.

“All right, you guys are dismissed. McNeill still can decide to take this to a higher level. She also has to decide if she wants to stay here with us, or ask for a transfer. I’ll follow up with you when decisions are made. Meanwhile, I don’t want any more of this kind of crap from you.”

“Got it, Chief,” Bobo responds.

“Okay, get back to work. And Joe, I want to talk to you in a minute.”

Joe’s expression is completely neutral as he nods, leaving the office and closing the door without looking at me.

Chief studies me. “Well, I’m sorry that happened, McNeill. I think we still have a long way to go with the women in our force.”

“I don’t want special treatment, Chief. I just want to be treated fairly. If they have an issue with me, just talk to me face-to-face.”

“Yes, of course.” He straightens the pad he’s just made notes on. “So what do you think? Do you want some time to decide if you’re going to make a formal complaint?”

“No. This is finished, and I want to stay.”

He nods. “Good, good. Let me know if anything else comes up.”

“Will do. Thanks, Chief.”

Reaching over, he pats me on the shoulder, and it makes me smile. “Send Murphy in on your way out,” he says.

“Sure thing.”

When I open the door, Joe is leaning against the hallway wall, all long and commanding in his black uniform and gleaming badge. Our eyes meet and his expression is somber, I have no idea what to say to him, so I say what I know I can. “Chief is ready for you.”

He nods, walks past me, and steps inside—the door closing firmly behind him.

Chapter 11:
Burning Man

I like people too much, or not at all. ~ Sylvia Plath

Although I can’t help but be on the lookout for Joe, our paths never directly cross the rest of the day. We go out on separate calls, and I have a station tour to give while he has a presentation on smoke detectors. He’s missing at dinner and by the time I get in my bunk I’m thinking that the kiss with him last night was just a dream.

That feeling continues the following day as I head home. I don’t see his bike in the driveway, and as the hours continue with no sign of him I start to wonder if he’s gone to visit the muffin lady, Nicole. Just the idea of it makes me queasy which pisses me off.

Is he mad at me for talking to Chief? Why, oh why, did I have to get the hots for this man?
I sense I have nothing but a long tortured road of frustration ahead of me when all I want is to be kissed like that again.

That evening I head over to my parents’ place. At least things are starting to feel more normal at our weekly dinner. As it was Mike almost never came with me, but now that I’m getting used to my new Mike-less life, everyone’s not being so careful and polite with me anymore.

It’s much easier being my usual Trish McNeill bitchy self when they aren’t all being so sickly sweet to me.

Besides, tonight Patrick has brought his wacko girlfriend, Skye, to dinner, and that chick is all the entertainment we need. She’s such a fruit loop. I used to worry that she was going to get Paddie to drink her Kool-Aid and then he’d run off and join a cult with her. But as the months have passed, the worry has faded. She seems harmless. The good thing is that she’s loosened him up without making him a fruit loop too.

They join us right when we’re about to sit down to eat, and all of our mouths drop open when we get a good look at them. Paddie may not have drunk the cherry Kool-Aid but it looks like he took a bath in it.

I lean back in my chair. “Dude! What the hell happened to you? You’re beet red.”

“I’m sunburnt,” he answers, wincing as he sits down.

“No shit,” I say and Dad scowls at me. “You’ve got those white circle raccoon eyes from your glasses.”

He makes a face at me. I guess he didn’t need to be reminded of that. I love taunting Patrick . . . it’s kind of our special brother-sister bonding thing.

“Did you forget your sunscreen? You know how sensitive our Irish skin is,” Ma asks.

He lets out a long sigh. “It wasn’t waterproof.”

“ . . . and they kept hosing us down to cool us off,” Skye says.

Dad presses his hand over his forehead and groans.

Elle leans forward with a curious expression. “If you don’t mind my asking, why is your skin so shiny?”

I nod at Elle. “Right? I swear I can see my reflection in his face.”

Paddie gives Skye an exasperated look. “I told you we shouldn’t have come tonight.”

She ignores him and turns to Elle. “I applied coconut oil to his skin. It’s very soothing, actually great for a myriad of afflictions.”

I lean forward and sniff. “You do smell like a coconut!”

Paul leans over and sniffs too. “He does.”

Patrick ignores us, and starts eating his salad.

“So how was Burning Man?” Elle asks.

Skye sighs and gets a dreamy expression on her face. She looks positively beatific. “It was amazing. Life changing.”

“Did it change
your
life, Paddie?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No, but I was only there a day, Skye was there all week.”

“What exactly happens there?” asks Paul.

“It’s a gathering of people focused on every form of creative expression. All week long we express ourselves, create amazing art and music, and then we destroy it all by setting it on fire.”