by Jo Davis
Grace laughed with her sister, the familiar banter comforting, unconditional love grounding her, steady and solid. She studied Kat for a few seconds, the mirth fading. “Sis?”
“Hmm?”
“How do you know you’re in love with him, not just with the idea of being in love?”
Kat sobered, too, and looked her straight in the eye. “That one’s easy. You’ll know when you mess around until he walks away, and takes your heart with him.”
Julian parked down the road from Howard and Kat’s new place as directed, dread curdling in his gut. He didn’t give a fuck what any fancy intervention book claimed. An intensely private man like Sean would feel embarrassed and betrayed, and no amount of hand-holding or singing “Kumbaya” was going to send him skipping off to rehab with a tearful promise to get sober. Julian had told them as much during their planning session.
His opinion hadn’t been welcome.
After the captain heard what they had to say, God help them all in the face of his white-hot anger, then the glacial freeze that would make A-shift about as much fun as boot camp in Siberia. One boot in particular was about to kick their collective asses. Of course, he could be wrong. But he didn’t think so.
Kat opened the front door before Julian could even knock, and showed him inside. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, giving him a brief hug. “The others are in the living room. They’re just waiting on Howard and Sean.”
“What did Six-Pack end up telling him about where they were going?” he asked as he stepped inside. One key to a successful intervention, they’d learned, was the importance of keeping the plans a secret and handling the situation with delicacy. Sort of like defusing a bomb without knowing which color wire to snip first, if you ask me. Which nobody did.
The normally bubbly blonde was about as serious as he’d ever seen her. “Howard didn’t have the heart to lie to Sean, so he told him they were coming over here and that he’d have to trust him.”
And if this didn’t go well, that would probably be the last time Sean ever did, but he refrained from saying so. Just barely. He trailed Kat into the living room, waved, and returned the hellos from Eve, Zack, Tommy, Clay Montana, here to represent both B- and C-shifts, and Chief Bentley Mitchell. Julian had worried that the chief’s presence would make this seem to Sean more like an official warning from the fire department rather than the giant group lovefest it was supposed to be, but everyone else felt he needed to know he had the chief’s support.
Bentley was more than a boss to Sean; he was a father figure, a good friend. They’d known each other for the better part of twenty years, and the chief had been there right alongside Howard, literally holding Sean up, when his wife and children died. Despite Julian’s initial misgivings, he had to concede now that the day had come, he felt better having the older man present. Nobody respected the chief more than Sean.
“I’m going to make myself scarce,” Kat said, patting Julian’s arm. “Can I get you anything first, water or soda?”
“Nothing, thanks.” This wasn’t a social visit. He hoped like hell they wouldn’t be entrenched here long enough to need refreshments.
“Okay. If you guys need anything, let me know.” Kat turned to leave, then hesitated, looking back at him with a slight frown. “Julian?”
“Yes?”
The oddest expression settled on her face and she opened her mouth to say something. Changing her mind, however, she shook her head. “Forget it. It’s none of my business.”
Well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was bothering her. “Let me guess—if I break Grace’s heart, you have a fishing pole and you know how to use it.” He enjoyed watching her face turn beet red.
“Does everybody at the station know that story?”
“Yep. Sorry, but it’s a classic.” And boy had Six-Pack learned his lesson about even breathing in another woman’s direction.
“Just so you know, I’ve been practicing my swing.”
“I’ll remember that,” he promised, struggling not to grin.
After she disappeared to another part of the house and he took a seat on a folding chair, his amusement fled. He doubted it would matter that they’d kept the size of the group within the parameters suggested by the experts. They’d planned for weeks, right down to the meticulous details of making a reservation at a treatment facility and covering his absence. No, those were the sorts of things a man appreciated down the road. Miles down.
Two car doors slammed outside and all conversation died. Julian glanced at each of the others, the wariness in the room warring with hope, some fidgeting, some checking their pockets subconsciously and fingering the letters they’d written to read aloud. If Sean stayed long enough to hear them.
The two men came in the front door, Sean in the lead. Obviously not yet having a clue, he strode into the living room with a half smile. His face was gaunt, collarbones too pronounced through his dark T-shirt, jeans loose on his hips. He settled his John Deere baseball cap back on his head, and Julian noted how much the gray at his temples had begun to spread into the brown strands. He appeared exhausted, worn, but not in bad spirits.
“Hey, guys. Where’s the snacks and beer? Was I supposed to bring something?”
A round of murmured greetings ensued. Bentley rose and shook his hand, then resumed his seat, prompting the other men to follow suit. Eve hung back until last, giving Sean a fierce hug when her turn came. His arms came around her slim shoulders and his bottle green eyes closed for a few seconds, as though that embrace were a life preserver in a storm. When Eve let go, Julian wondered whether anyone else caught Sean’s reluctance to relinquish his hold—or the flash of longing on his face, quickly squelched.
“This isn’t that kind of get-together. Why don’t you have a seat, buddy,” Howard said, clasping his friend’s shoulder gently. A firm order, not a request.
“Oh. Okay.” He took the empty seat next to Bentley and his gaze traveled around the circle. “Where’s everybody’s cars?”
“Most are at the neighbor’s house down the road, son,” the chief said in a low voice.
“But . . . why?” he asked in confusion.
Howard took the last vacant seat on the other side of his friend. Since they’d voted him spokesperson, he went first. “Sean, it’s important for you to understand we’re here because we love you. We—”
“Oh, my God,” Sean whispered, his face white. “You’re all . . . Th-this is an ambush.”
Julian winced at his choice of words, knowing he’d feel the same way if the tables were turned. Seeing the captain’s confusion morph to shock, the lost look in his eyes, made his heart bleed for the guy.
“No, we’re not here to attack you,” Howard continued, his voice calm, steady, as he went through the introduction he’d rehearsed. “Every single person in this room is here because they love you and they care what happens to you. Because we care, we can’t sit back any longer and watch you slowly kill yourself with alcohol. Your problems are too big to handle alone, and that’s why we’re here. We know your drinking stems from grief and that made it understandable at first, certainly not unexpected or surprising. But we’re all guilty of letting you struggle for far too long without stepping forward to lend a real hand to a friend and leader we value.”
“Value? I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” he rasped, fists clenching in his lap. Denial and misery oozed from every pore, and twin flags of red on his cheeks betrayed his humiliation.
He looked like a cornered wolf, Julian thought. Feral, ready to tear out the throats of his tormentors.
Howard shook his head, undeterred from finishing his statement. “We’re here for you, but something else you need to understand is that besides hurting your health, your problem is starting to affect those around you. We’re scared, Sean. Watching you self-destruct is making us all feel helpless. It’s like you’re on the top floor of a burning high-rise and there’s no way to get to you. Only there is a way, if you’ll let
us.”
“You’re full of shit,” Sean hissed, desperate. “I have never, ever been drunk on duty! How can you claim what I do on my personal time is affecting anyone else?”
“We’re getting to that now. For over a year, we’ve all seen frightening changes in you, both physically and emotionally. You don’t see them, but we do. Look at these people, Sean.” He waited a few beats while the captain scanned the faces present, wild-eyed. “These are good folks. You know that because, except for the chief, you hired most of them. These are your friends, the people who’ve stuck by you through every type of bad shit imaginable. Do you honestly believe they’d come here like this to jerk you around? To participate in something so dead serious if it weren’t absolutely necessary?”
Sean swallowed hard. “No,” he answered, his voice barely audible. “But I can handle this on my own. I can.”
“Before you make that decision—and regardless of how it appears, it is your decision—you’re going to listen to what your friends have to say. They’ve all gone to a great deal of effort to put their thoughts in writing; they’re completely sincere, and as tough as it will be, we’d like for you to listen with an open mind. Can you do that?”
Clearly past speech, Sean nodded. At his affirmation, everyone pulled out their papers. From the captain’s expression, you’d have thought they’d brandished rifles instead. All the poor guy needed to complete the picture was a blindfold and a cigarette.
At that very moment, any remaining anger Julian might’ve been nursing toward his captain turned to ash. The inescapable truth was, this man wasn’t in control of his life. His engines had failed and he was caught in a death spiral, plummeting toward the earth. And he had to be stopped before he took out not only himself but all the innocents on the ground below.
Bentley, to Sean’s right, went first, his part being the shortest. He spoke of his great respect for Sean, but also his concerns. His worry for his firefighters and the lives hanging in the balance during every call, at Sean’s command. He had complete faith the captain would recover, if he truly devoted himself. Being ensconced at the city offices, he didn’t have close-up and personal day-to-day concerns, but the others had plenty.
One by one, each of them reiterated what Bentley said, adding their own experiences with Sean over the past year. They told different anecdotes, but the theme was the same—their captain wasn’t the same kind, patient, and happy person he’d been before. That man had disappeared and in his place was a rude, surly stranger who didn’t seem to value their efforts or their friendship, one who was wasting away before their eyes. Reading his own letter was the hardest thing Julian had ever done.
Howard went last. “I miss you,” he began simply, and let the quiet statement hang as the paper shook in his hands.
Sean rested his elbows on his spread knees and hung his head, face hidden. Clear droplets plopped to the hardwood floor between his feet.
Howard saw, and his voice quavered. “All I want to say is, you’ve been my best friend for almost half my life. You’ve been there for me more times than I can count, whether laughing together or when everything was going straight to hell. You’re the brother I always wished for, and you ought to know by now I’d do anything to make you whole again. Let me, us, help you.”
Several heartbeats passed. “How?”
“I’ve made you a reservation at a really nice facility in Nashville,” Howard said, hope shining in his eyes. “They’ll counsel you, help you get sober, get your life back. This place is on our insurance plan, the station is covered, and I’ve packed a bag. All you have to do is get in the car with me and go.”
Julian waited, tense, unsure about all his dire predictions. So far, this had gone better than he’d thought. No vile spewing of temper, no lashing out. Just one broken man facing the music in front of his friends, trapped and floundering.
After what seemed an eternity, Sean raised his head, wiped his face. “No.”
Everyone froze except Howard, who looked like his best friend had just pulled a gun and shot him at point-blank range. Somehow, he found his voice. “What?”
“I said no.” Sean stood, swaying a bit, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll do this myself or not at all. I don’t need strangers poking in my head, telling me what I ought to feel and how to live my life. I’m going home.”
Howard pushed to his feet. “Sean, please—”
“Hear me, and respect my wishes, old friend,” he said softly. “I appreciate what you and what everyone else has done, and I heard what you have to say. I listened. I want you all to know this means a lot to me, but I’m leaving. I’ll deal with my problems my own way, in my own time. I’ll see you all at work and . . . thank you.”
With that, he strode out. The front door shut with an ominous click and everyone stared at one another, stunned and unsure what to say. Julian noted the devastation on Howard’s face and was compelled to say something to make him feel better.
“Six-Pack, listen,” he began. “This went so much smoother than I thought it would. I believe he really did listen like he said—I just don’t think he’s ready to face getting help. But you know what? I bet once he lets all of this digest, he will. You’ll see.” Others chimed in their agreement.
Howard stared at him for a long moment before heaving a tired breath. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am.”
“The question is, will he seek treatment before he hurts himself or someone else?”
Nobody had an answer for that one.
“I’d better go after him, get him home,” Howard said, running a hand through his short, spiky hair. “If he’s still listening, I’ll work on him.”
The others stood, as well, the mood a little shell-shocked. Julian felt as if his brain were made of raw hamburger, his emotions treading the razor’s edge. There was only one thing he could think of that would come close to easing the pain of this afternoon.
Grace’s beautiful smile.
With her serene face in mind, he excused himself. Once out on the road, he let the horses run on his way to one last stop before he saw Grace, willing the tension from his neck and shoulders. Everyone had their baggage, some more than others, but Julian had to concede that Sean’s horrible loss and subsequent fall made his own problems pale in comparison.
And, unlike Sean, tonight he would be in the company of a lovely, delightful, challenging woman.
Julian, for the first time in a long damned while, had absolutely no complaints.
9
Julian parked in a lot beside W. H. Vines and whistled softly. Even when they’d lived in San Antonio, the Vines family hadn’t laid claim to this level of wealth, at least as far as his memory served. As a teenage boy hired to mow their expansive lawn that fateful summer, he remembered being awed at their upper-middle-class minimansion. But Warren’s old company building in downtown San Antonio had been crumbling, somewhat run-down.
This building, situated in an area of new development near the river, was nothing short of palatial. Rolling landscaped hills surrounded the property, a jewel green carpet leading to the broad double glass doors. Jesus, they’d come up in the world.
Probably by stomping right over the backs of anyone standing in their way.
Julian sat for a few moments, palms gripping the steering wheel, breath hitching with the force of rage he thought he’d mastered long ago. Cool it. He needed to wind down a little if he hoped to confront Warren, get the answers he sought.
One thing Julian was dead certain of: The man knew the truth about the day that had ruined Julian’s life—and he’d threatened Mama to keep it buried.
“I’m coming, you sonofabitch.”
In all honesty, this confrontation had been simmering since he’d recovered from the shock of seeing Derek with Grace at the restaurant. Derek may have committed the horrible act so many years ago, but Warren was the real power in the family. He’d made sure his son walked away scot-free, and Julian had fallen into a downward s
piral that almost killed him.
But I’m not a helpless kid anymore, someone he and his sleazy son can treat like garbage. I survived, and it’s time they know it.
Whatever Warren had to say, Julian would at least get closure.
He got out of the car and jogged up the wide steps. In the lobby, he inquired about which floor housed Warren’s office. “I’m an old friend from San Antonio,” he said, flashing his most engaging smile.
Eyeing him, the reluctant receptionist picked up her phone. “Name, please?”
“Julian Salvatore.” Let the old bastard chew on that.
The woman spoke briefly to someone, then hung up and gave him a slight nod. “Mr. Vines will see you as soon as he’s available.”
A tiny jolt of anticipation made his pulse leap. He hadn’t expected gaining admittance to be so simple. Moments later, he stepped off the elevator into another reception area, belatedly wondering whether he should have let someone know he was coming here. Unease crept along his skin, but his need to see this through was greater.
After giving his name to the second receptionist, he took a seat in a fat leather chair and forced himself not to fidget. He wished he hadn’t had to give his name and lose the element of surprise. He would’ve loved to see Warren’s unguarded expression when he realized who Julian was. But this seemed the most likely—and safest—place to catch the man.
The receptionist’s phone buzzed several minutes later. She picked up the handset, gave an affirmative answer, and hung up, looking at Julian. “Mr. Vines said to send you in. Take this hallway behind me, last door on your left.”
He sprang to his feet. “Thank you.”
As he hurried down the corridor, Julian wasn’t aware of holding his breath until the door opened. Whatever he’d been expecting, the sophisticated, petite beauty with the dark blond hair took him by surprise.
“Mrs. Vines, it’s been a long time,” he said, aware of her big, dark-haired husband looming behind his desk.
