Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series)

by Samantha Christy

  I nod sadly. “His name is Joseph Malone, but his parents called him Joey.”

  Denver looks surprised. “How do you know that? Isn’t he a bit young to tell you?”

  “He’s fifteen months old,” I say. “Bass told me that a family from a neighboring unit came to check on him last night. They knew the parents, but not well enough to know any other relatives. The police are trying to track them down.”

  “So where is he now?”

  “They said they were keeping him overnight for observation, and also to allow time for a relative to come forth.”

  “He’s here, in the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to go see him before I leave. Hopefully, the discharge nurse can find out where he is. The pediatric floor, I assume. Poor kid. He’s awfully young to be joining our club,” he says.

  “Club?”

  “The orphan club. At least you and I were older and had time with our parents.”

  “Technically, I’m not an orphan.”

  He questions me with his eyes.

  “As far as I know, my biological father is still alive. I told you I was adopted, didn’t I?”

  “Joelle did.” He pats the bed next to him. “Do you want to tell me about it? I didn’t want to pry.”

  I sit down next to him and he holds my hand. “Ironically, I was left at a fire station when I was eleven months old.”

  “A fire station? Really?”

  I nod. “My father left a note saying that he tried, but raising a baby alone was too hard for him. He said my mother had died in childbirth. He said my name was Sara Grace, but he didn’t reveal my last name.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he says.

  “No need to be. I had great parents. As far as I’m concerned, they are my only parents. And I guess I have to respect my biological father for doing what he did. I mean, things could have turned out much worse for me if he’d kept me. He could have been a drug addict. He could have abused me because he was so frustrated. He could have left me somewhere that wasn’t as safe as a fire station.”

  “So you’ve never tried to find him?”

  I shake my head confidently. “I never felt the need.”

  “And your parents kept your name.”

  “They did. They told me that man gave them the greatest gift they’d ever received, and they didn’t want to spoil the miracle by renaming me.”

  “Your parents sound like good people.”

  “They were. You’d have gotten along great with them. My dad loved watching old movies about firefighters. His favorite one was The Towering Inferno. I’ll bet he would have called you Steve McQueen.”

  Denver laughs.

  “They wanted to adopt more kids, you know, but they just became too old and nobody would allow it.”

  “Well, as far as I’m concerned, they are my heroes,” he says. “If it weren’t for them, I never would have met you.”

  “And if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here,” I say. “You’re a hero so many times over. You saved me. You saved Joey. You’ve saved so many others.”

  “I’m no hero,” he says. “I’m just doing my job, Sara. Anybody would do the same.”

  “No, anybody wouldn’t. It takes a special person to do what you do.”

  A nurse walks in with a folder. “I have your discharge papers, Mr. Andrews.”

  Denver listens intently to her instructions about not playing sports, doing any heavy lifting, or basically anything that would jostle his brain. Then he sweet-talks her into getting him the room number of the little boy, which would never be given out to anyone—but since Denver is the reason Joey is alive, I guess they made an exception.

  Someone comes in the room with a wheelchair.

  Denver looks at it. “Uh, no.”

  “It’s protocol,” the orderly says. “Just doing my job, sir.”

  “Come on, big boy—humor them,” I say.

  “But we’re going to see the kid.”

  “So we’ll turn around and come right back in.”

  Denver rolls his eyes and then sits in the wheelchair. “Is this how it’s going to be? You telling me what to do?” he says with a snarky rise of his brow.

  “You two married?” the guy asks.

  “No,” I say.

  “Engaged?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, sir,” he says to Denver as he wheels him out into the hallway. “I suggest you get used to it now. In my experience, the key to a great relationship is that the woman is always right. Always.”

  Denver laughs, looking at the orderly who’s barely more than a kid. “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen. But my parents have been married for thirty years, and my grandparents—fifty-five.”

  “Sounds like you’re going to make some lucky girl very happy one day,” I say.

  “I hope so,” he says.

  The orderly rolls Denver outside the main doors of the hospital. Then he salutes him. “I heard what you did, sir. I truly admire you. I hope to be a firefighter myself one day. I took the exam last year. Haven’t got the call yet.”

  “It can take years for them to get to you,” Denver says. “Don’t lose hope. FDNY needs good people like you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  As soon as the orderly leaves, Denver picks up his duffel bag and turns right back around, leading us through the hospital doors.

  “I just need to make a stop,” he says, walking into the gift shop on the first floor. He takes a few minutes, looking around at all the choices. He finally picks something out. “This is perfect.”

  We go up the elevator to pediatrics on the third floor. I’m glad I brought Denver an FDNY t-shirt to wear; it makes him look more official, like we’re not here to kidnap anyone.

  As it turns out, however, I didn’t need to worry at all. As soon as we turn the corner, five nurses and a few others start clapping. One of them steps forward. “We heard what you did for Joey. Your nurse told us you’d be coming to see him.”

  Denver looks embarrassed by the attention. “Anyone would have done the same. I’m just sorry about his parents. Have the authorities found his next of kin?”

  The woman shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. A social worker has been assigned to his case. She may be able to tell you more, she’s in with him now.”

  We’re directed down the hall to Joey’s room. We look inside and see him sitting in a hospital bed that looks like a crib. He’s playing with a stuffed animal. When he sees us walk into the room, he looks scared.

  Denver immediately walks to the side of the bed. “Hey, Joey. I brought something for you.” He puts the soft fire truck down next to the boy. “I know all of this is scary for you and I’m sorry.” Denver turns to the social worker. “Can he understand me? Does he know what’s happened? I don’t have any kids, so I’m not sure what I should say.”

  “You’re doing just fine,” she says. “He’s only fifteen months old, but he understands simple commands. Your tone of voice is probably more important than what you actually say. He’s scared because at this point, we’re all strangers to him. So don’t be offended, he’s bound to be stand-offish with people, especially men.”

  I watch as Joey assesses the stuffed fire truck. He looks at it, maybe not knowing if it’s okay to touch it.

  “Go ahead,” Denver says. “It’s a fire truck. Do you know what kind of sound a fire truck makes? It sounds like this—” He makes his best siren noises as he pretends to drive the truck around the bed.

  Denver continues to do this for a few minutes and then the boy reaches out and takes the toy from him, mimicking his motions of driving it around. He even makes a high-pitched sound like a siren.

  “That’s right,” Denver says. “Maybe one day, you can drive a real fire truck. I can tell you’re going to be very strong.”

  While Denver and Joey play with the truck, I pull the social worker aside. “What will happen to him?”

  “As it turns out,
there is a friend of the family who takes in foster kids. We’re putting through the paperwork now. It will be nice to place him somewhere with people who know him.”

  “You haven’t found any family yet?”

  She shakes her head. “Not yet. We’ll keep trying.”

  “What happens if you can’t find anyone?”

  “He’ll be placed in a long-term foster home.”

  “The friend of the family isn’t that?”

  “No. They take emergency cases like Joey until we can find a more permanent placement.”

  “I feel so bad for him.” I look over at the sad little boy and see myself, wondering what could possibly be going through his mind. I pray that he’s still young enough that he won’t remember anything. “Please let us know if there is anything we can do. I’m happy to contribute monetarily for his needs.”

  The social worker puts a kind hand on my arm. “You are a dear.” She glances over at Joey. “Oh, wow, would you look at that.”

  My jaw drops in surprise when I see Joey holding up his arms to Denver. Denver looks at the social worker, who nods her head encouragingly. Then Denver picks up the boy.

  Once Joey is in Denver’s arms, he points to his new toy. “Tuck,” he says.

  “That’s right,” Denver tells him. “You’re a smart little guy, aren’t you?”

  A half-hour later, Denver and I walk out of the hospital with the social worker’s business card. She told us she would be happy to keep us updated on the case.

  “That was incredible,” Denver says. “It was almost like … You don’t think he remembers me from the fire, do you? That’s not possible, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I didn’t remember you from my accident, yet I felt an instant connection with you. And I painted the eyes. Obviously, my sub-conscious remembered you. Maybe his does, too.”

  “Poor kid,” he says, looking back at the hospital when we reach the street corner.

  I grab his hand. “You and I turned out okay. Joey will, too.”

  He nods. “I really hope so.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I put down my phone, having recorded a bit of Aspen as she played the piano. She’s very good.

  She sits down next to me, nodding to my phone. “You take a lot of videos. I saw you recording earlier today when I first got here.”

  When Aspen arrived home this afternoon, I finally understood what it truly means to have a sibling. The look on her face when she walked through the door and saw her brother, alive and well, is something I always want to remember. I think I might even want to paint it someday. After she wrapped him in her arms, I didn’t think she was ever going to let him go.

  “People think I’m strange,” I tell her, fiddling with my phone. “But I just want to remember everything.”

  She smiles in understanding. “Of course you do. After what you went through, it’s perfectly understandable.”

  I look over at Denver and Sawyer as they’re discussing tonight’s baseball game. Denver couldn’t go, but we did watch it on TV after he napped all afternoon.

  “I never want to forget him,” I say. “I know it’s silly and maybe even a little paranoid of me to want to record so many things, but the doctors really scared me when they told me how careful I needed to be, especially the first year after my accident. They said if I got another head injury, even a small one, it could be catastrophic. And then after what happened to him yesterday.” Denver catches me watching him and gives me a wink. “I just … I just love him so much.”

  Aspen wraps an arm around me. “We’re going to be sisters one day.”

  I’m surprised by her presumption.

  “Oh, please,” she says, laughing at my expression. “Everyone can see my brother is head-over-heels for you. The two of you are perfect for each other.”

  I see Denver pinch the bridge of his nose, and I wonder if his head is hurting.

  “I think Denver and I should head on up,” I say. “He’s under doctor’s orders to get a lot of rest.”

  Aspen stands up with me. “I’m glad you’re here for him. And I want you to know you can stay as long as you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  I give her a hug and then convince Denver to call it a night.

  When we get to our bedroom, he sits on the bed and looks up at me while I take off my jewelry. I walk over to him and he pulls me into his arms as I gaze down on him.

  “I’m not all that tired,” he says. “I’ve done nothing but sleep for the past thirty-six hours, you know.”

  “You want to play cards?” I ask. “Go Fish maybe?”

  He shakes his head.

  “How about I put on some music? I hear the Beach Boys are good for healing TBIs.”

  He laughs. “I heard that, too. But no, that’s not what I was thinking,” he says with a sultry grin.

  I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not serious. Denver, the doctor said you need to rest.”

  “He said after the first twenty-four hours I could start easing back into my daily activities.” He shimmies against my leg and I can feel him getting hard. “You are definitely one of my favorite daily activities.”

  I look at the bed, longing to be with him, but not wanting to hurt him. “I don’t know.”

  “Listen,” he says. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll just lie back and take it easy and let you have your way with me.”

  A slow smile creeps up my face at the thought of it.

  “God, I love your smile,” he says.

  I reach around him and pull off his shirt. Then I kiss him passionately. How I missed having him in my arms last night. He doesn’t know it, but at the hospital last night, I crawled in bed next to him just to have him near me. I couldn’t stand being in the same room with him and not touching him. I only went back to the cot after a nurse kicked me out.

  After only weeks of being together, I’m already finding it hard to sleep alone when he’s on shift. When he’s not in my bed, it’s like a piece of me is missing.

  He tries to remove my shirt. “Nope,” I say, stopping him. “You’re not doing any of the work here.”

  He scoots back on the bed and lays his head on a pillow. “Are you saying I just get to sit back and watch?”

  I start unbuttoning my blouse. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Damn … this is definitely something we should record.”

  I blush. “You want to record us having sex?”

  “Well, I was talking about the strip-tease I thought you were going to do, but, yeah, sure—why not?”

  “I’m not making a sex tape with you, Denver.”

  He looks up at me with innocent Bambi eyes.

  I can’t believe I’m even contemplating it. But a little voice in the back of my head is telling me to do it—so I’ll never forget.

  I shake my head at myself, not quite believing what I’m about to say.

  “Okay, fine, but if I look all awkward and jiggly, I’m deleting it.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re never awkward or jiggly. You’re perfect.”

  I think about the limp I still have and then I reach up and run a finger across the scar on my neck, grateful that I have a man who accepts me with all my faults.

  I remove his pants and then quickly set my phone up against the mirror on the dresser, not really caring all that much if the bed is perfectly centered in the frame. Then I step off to the side, purposefully taking myself out of the picture as I remove my clothing in a dreadful attempt at a strip-tease.

  I’m all too aware that in a minute, I’ll be part of the recording. Denver, on the other hand, looks like he forgets all about it as soon as my top hits the floor. His thick penis stands at full attention as if it’s watching me with eyes of its own.

  Once I’m completely naked, and thoroughly embarrassed, I crawl onto the bed and straddle him. His hands cup my breasts as his erection dances beneath me. He tries to sit up, but I gently push him back. “Lie down, firefighter—thi
s one’s on me.”

  I lean over him, putting one of my breasts to his lips. He takes my nipple into his mouth and I moan at the sensation. He grabs my hips and moves me back and forth, causing more delicious friction between us. He works his fingers underneath me, toying with my clit. Then he slips a finger inside me.

  “God, Sara. You are so wet.”

  His sexy words have me reeling. I can’t wait another minute to feel him inside me. I hastily grab a condom from the nightstand and put it on him, thinking I do it so expertly I’ve probably done it before, but never any time that I can recall. I momentarily get distracted by a past I can’t remember. But then I focus on Denver and know none of that matters.

  As I sink down onto him, his eyes lock with mine. We move together in perfect symphony, making love to each other with our eyes as well as our bodies. We don’t need words to express how we feel about each other. We never have.

  When I feel myself getting close, I sit up and ride him faster, needing that little something extra to push me over. Denver knows what I need. He puts a finger on my clit, circling it around and around until my insides coil tightly and I spasm around him.

  “Sara … unnnnngh,” he murmurs as he explodes inside me.

  I still myself on him as we finish our orgasms in tandem. Then I collapse down onto his chest, only now remembering his injury. I look up and carefully touch his head. “Are you okay?”

  “You’re here.” He brushes a sweaty piece of hair from my forehead. “I’m more than okay when I’m with you,” he says. “In fact, I’ve never been better.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief even though I know that’s not true.

  He frames my face with his hands, running his thumbs along my lips. “Move in with me,” he says.

  I cock my head to the side. “I already live with you—kind of.”

  “Move in with me permanently. Let’s get a place together.”

  “Is that the head injury talking?” I say jokingly. “Are you even going to remember this conversation tomorrow?”

  He nods to the dresser. “If I don’t, you can show me the proof.”

  I quickly sit up and cover my face with my hands. I had all but forgotten about the video as soon as I climbed into bed and saw the way he was looking at me. “Oh, God. I can’t believe we did that.”