by Jo Davis
Julian grimaced. “Ouch. Even a brother would get a hug.”
“No shit. She just won’t let me close.”
“I hate to say this, but . . . maybe there’s just no spark.”
“No, that’s one thing I’m sure of,” Tommy said firmly. “Seriously, you could power Sugarland for a week with the electricity we got goin’ on when we’re together. It’s not that she doesn’t feel it, but like—like she doesn’t want to feel it, you know? Just because I’m a couple of years younger than her? That’s so wrong.”
“Well, there’s another possibility.” Julian waved a hand at his friend. “Maybe the problem isn’t you at all, but something going on with her. Ever think of that?”
Tommy blinked at him, the light dawning. “I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I think of it first?”
“Because you’re a guy. And in typical guy fashion, you’ve thought of nothing but your wants and needs right from the start. What about what she wants and needs? I grew up with four older sisters. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
Tommy felt his cheeks grow hot. Dammit. “Aw, crap. I’ve really screwed up everything.”
“Not necessarily. Give her time; be there for her. Listen to what she has to say. It’s not a race, so don’t push her away by moving at warp speed.”
“I never thought of it that way before,” he muttered. “Thanks, du—Julian.”
The other man snickered at his self-correction. “There’s hope for you yet, kid.”
“Not a kid.” He sighed, mulling over Julian’s advice. Had he been so self-absorbed he’d missed some serious signals from Shea? Ignored her needs? If so, that was about to change. Maybe there was hope for them after all.
They fell silent and he focused on the problems they faced as they neared their destination. When the building came into view, the collapsed scaffold crumpled against the unfinished side like a pile of pickup sticks, Tommy gave a low whistle.
“We’ve got a worker stuck up there? Fuckin’ A, this is gonna suck.”
The others muttered in agreement, and the tension in the cab became palpable. Zack pulled the quint past the construction fence, well away from danger should the rest of the structure come down. The second he stopped, they jumped from their vehicle, gazes automatically fixed on the wreckage before them. The captain began barking orders.
“Howard, I want you, Salvatore, and Skyler on the roof. Take the ropes and harnesses, and decide who gets to play Spider-Man.”
“I’ll do it,” Tommy volunteered.
Julian looked relieved and Howard said, “You’re in.”
“Marshall, you’ll work the ground with me,” Sean continued, ignoring Eve’s scowl. “There’s no telling what damage, if any, has been done to the framework of the building or whether it’ll shift, so let’s move it!”
Eve stepped forward, voice hard. “I’m just as capable of—”
“Not now, goddammit,” the captain snapped. Then he turned his back on her and keyed his radio, calling the battalion chief to find out his ETA.
Tommy didn’t blame Eve for being pissed. Wasn’t the first time Sean had passed her over for the more strenuous or exciting task. But nobody had time to debate the matter. Tommy helped the lieutenant and Julian with the gear, then followed on their heels. On the way, his gaze fell on two man-sized lumps covered by a black tarp, at least a half-dozen workers standing by, looking on mournfully.
Jesus Christ. How awful to start a workday as normally as any other and have it end in tragedy. He averted his eyes and took in the distance from the roof to the scaffold, concentrating on the job ahead.
This wasn’t going to be easy. Even from here, the piteous cries of the worker drifted to them, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The only thing worse than hearing the man’s panic would be if it abruptly ended, in a bad way.
They rode the construction lift to the roof and set about securing the rope and pulley system to nearby support beams. Tommy quickly shed his heavy fire coat, which did nothing to relieve the stifling July heat, but at least his movements wouldn’t be so restricted. The pants and boots he left on in the interest of time.
He yanked on a pair of gloves, then let Julian help him with one harness; the other, connected to his own, he’d put on the worker as an extra safety measure before they were both lowered to the ground. Ready to go, he sat on the ledge of the roof, bracing himself until the rope was drawn taut.
Julian tried an encouraging smile, but it came out more of a grimace. “Be careful, man. Better you than me.”
“I’m so touched, thanks.”
“All right,” Howard said. “When you’re ready.”
Tommy nodded. “Go.”
As he eased himself over the side, the line remained tight, giving him a sense of relative security. He wasn’t afraid of heights—just the fall and the sudden stop at the end. As long as the equipment did the job, he was good.
He held on to the rope, using his feet to “walk” down the side of the building. Technically he wasn’t really rappelling, since he was being lowered by his teammates, but he figured that was semantics. His ass was dangling more than forty stories above the ground, so what the hell difference did it make what it was called?
Foot by foot, he crept downward. Two stories. Three. Sweat rolled down his spine, and into his eyes. Glancing below, he finally caught sight of the worker clinging to a metal pole a few feet from the side of the building. His hard hat was missing, revealing a balding head. Beefy shoulders, gut riding over his belt. Big sonofabitch, probably outweighed him by fifty pounds or more.
Fantastic.
“Hurry!” the man bellowed, panic cracking his voice. “I can’t hang on much longer!”
“Don’t move!” Which, of course, the man did, becoming more agitated the closer Tommy got.
“I—I can’t help it! I’m slipping!”
“I’m almost there,” he called, hoping he sounded reassuring. “Just a few more seconds, okay? What’s your name?”
“R-Russell.”
“I’m Tommy. Hold tight, Russell. I’m comin’ your way.”
“Oh, God, I’m gonna fall!”
Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. This situation had clusterfuck written all over it. “No, you’re not. Look at me, all right? Focus on me.”
At last, Tommy became level with Russell, quickly assessing his only option. Carefully, he pushed away from the wall with one foot and used the other to test the sturdiness of a crosspole. Gradually, he put all his weight on it, relieved when it held. He needed only one minute more. Maybe luck was on their side.
Bracing one hand on another pole to steady himself, he began to inch toward Russell, talking calmly, crossing the few feet separating them. “Easy does it. I’ve got a harness here with your name on it, connected to mine. Soon as I get you strapped in, we’ll—”
The structure shifted, shuddering under Tommy’s boots. For Russell, that was all she wrote.
The bigger man yelled, eyes rolling, terrified, as he scrambled toward Tommy.
“No! Stay right—”
Tommy barely had a split second to react. Russell launched himself across the remaining distance, forcing Tommy to catch him in an awkward bear hug.
Just as the rest of the scaffold collapsed.
Tommy’s boots slipped and he swung free, toward the side of the building, with 250 pounds of deadweight in his arms. Metal groaned, rained down on them. One rod struck Tommy’s fire hat, sending it flying.
Along for the ride, struggling to retain his hold on his heavy burden, he braced himself for the impact with the side of the building.
Tommy hit the bricks on his right side, pain exploding in his head and shoulder. The world spun crazily, but he held on to Russell. Who clung to him for dear life, screaming like a little girl.
Shut up, jackass! This predicament is partially your fault.
That’s what he wanted to yell at Russell, who was too far gone to care. Just focus on getting him to t
he ground.
From above them, Howard yelled, “Hang on! We’re sending you down!”
They were moving, Tommy realized through the buzzing between his ears. Lower and lower. Peering over Russell’s shoulder, he saw another engine company had arrived, bringing more firefighters from another station as backup. Yellow coats and pants everywhere, rushing toward him.
The ground came up to meet him, and Tommy stood on rubbery knees, releasing his hold on the worker. Several pairs of hands grabbed Russell and led him away. More hands worked at Tommy’s harness, getting him free.
“. . . okay?”
Tommy blinked, trying to find the speaker. “What?”
A hand gripped his shoulder. “I asked, are you okay?”
Eve’s worried face swam in front of him, and he waved her off. “I’m fine. Ready to run laps.”
His grin felt wrong, like his muscles wouldn’t work. He shook off another pair of hands and took a couple of steps so they could see he was perfectly all right.
Tommy’s knees buckled.
The last thing he saw was the captain lunging to catch him.
A crackle on the desktop radio unit interrupted, and as Dora snatched it, Shea braced herself. The paramedics always radioed ahead when they had a bad situation and were bringing in a trauma case.
“Sterling ER, charge nurse Carlisle speaking.” Dora scrabbled for her pad and pen.
Shea waited, dread building, while Dora took down the pertinent information on their incoming patients.
“All right. We’ll be ready.” Replacing the handset, Dora cleared her throat. “That was one of our fire captains. We’ve got four men coming in from a scaffold collapse on a construction site. Three are workers with relatively minor injuries—cuts and bruises, a sprained ankle, and a cracked rib. The fourth man is a firefighter. Got his head busted open rescuing one of the workers, but he’s stable.”
Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and she peered at Dora’s spidery handwriting. At this point no names were taken, so she scanned, trying to locate the age of the firefighter. But the woman scooped up the pad, already in action. “Is he—”
“We need four rooms ready. Round up the others while I drag Brown’s ass from the doctors’ lounge. Get movin’, girl!”
Dora’s most amusing quality was her rough, no-bullshit personality. It was also her most formidable. Shea hurried to prepare for their arrivals, squelching the unease skittering along her nerves. There were plenty of firemen in Sugarland, and the one coming in was stable.
The man was most likely nobody she knew.
Three other nurses helped her make sure the rooms were prepared, the necessary forms and charts on hand. Dr. Brown arrived with the young resident Dr. Freeman, and none too soon.
The first wave began, two men wheeled in on stretchers, one after the other. Anxious, Shea studied each of the firefighters with them, and finally let out a relieved breath. These guys weren’t from Station Five.
Thank God.
Dora and one of the other nurses assisted Brown and Freeman with the two construction workers, taking their vitals and checking their complaints. On the counter near Dora sat the notepad with the victims’ information. Might as well look, put her fears to rest.
Shea took a step toward it, but her attention was diverted by a big construction worker shuffling through the doors, one arm slung over the shoulders of a companion, his fleshy face scrunched in pain.
“Let’s go into room nine,” she said in a calm, soothing tone, gesturing to the next cubicle. “What’s your name?”
“R-Russell Levy. Christ, I think that guy broke one of my ribs.” He panted as his friend led him to the bed, where he sat with a groan.
“I need you to unbutton your shirt so we can have a look.” He struggled with the buttons and his friend pushed his hands aside, finishing for him.
“All right, lie back for me. This side?” She helped him as he nodded, and noted the bruise forming around his torso. He winced as she gently probed the area in question. “Is this where it hurts?”
“Damn!”
She took that as a yes. The rib was likely cracked, but she wasn’t allowed to say so. “How did this happen?”
“Firefighter grabbed me when the rest of the scaffold fell, and squeezed me like a fuckin’ boa constrictor. Kept me from plunging over forty stories.” His eyes widened as he recalled the terrifying experience. “Sweet Jesus, I coulda died! How is the kid, anyways?”
Shea froze. “You mean the firefighter?”
“Yeah. He got the livin’ shit knocked out of him when we hit the side of the building.”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t been brought in yet.” Taking Levy’s wrist to get his pulse, she asked casually, “Do you know his name?”
“He told me, but I was so freakin’ scared I don’t remember what it was. Strong sonofabitch, though.”
Schooling her expression to remain neutral, she eyed the man’s substantial girth. No way could Tommy have held on to this giant. She forced herself to concentrate on caring for the patient, jotting down his vitals, which were fine. Next, she handed his friend a sheaf of forms.
“The doctor will be in soon to take a look, and I’m sure he’ll want a couple of X-rays. You might have to help Mr. Levy fill these out—” A commotion outside broke into her instructions. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Shea stepped into the hallway just in time to see a gurney burst through the double doors, being pushed fast by two firefighters, one holding up an IV bag, and trailed by three more. These men she recognized because she’d met them all before. Among those bringing up the rear was Zack Knight, her best friend’s fiancé. Under different circumstances, she’d smile and say hello.
But her gaze was fixed on the blond-haired man on the gurney, his eyes closed. Eyes she knew were as pale blue as the summer sky. The gauze pad and the hair on the right side of his head were soaked with blood, with more smeared down the side of his face.
Her knees turned to water and she leaned against the desk for support, the breath sucked from her lungs. Captain Sean Tanner’s voice competed with the roaring in her ears.
“Open head wound,” he barked to Dr. Brown, who’d emerged from one of the rooms. “He’s unconscious, but his vitals are stable. He took a blow to the right side of his body, but he sustained no broken bones and there’s no evidence of internal bleeding.”
Shea closed her eyes, and her hands began to shake. Oh, God. Tommy.
“Shea! Need you in here.”
Dr. Brown’s firm order got her moving. Part of her fought the wild urge to run out the door, jump in her car, and high-tail it home to hide. She didn’t want to see Tommy like this. Tommy was strong, sunny, gregarious. Sexy.
The pale man on the bed appeared heartbreakingly young. Vulnerable. Despite the well-defined muscles roping his bare chest and torso, to see him now, nobody would believe he’d used nothing but his upper-body strength to keep a man almost twice his size from plummeting to his death.
Which was precisely what Tommy had done. At great risk to himself.
Working like a well-oiled machine, two of the firefighters, Dr. Brown, Shea, and a tech surrounded Tommy and prepared to move him from the gurney to the hospital stretcher.
“On three,” Dr. Brown said. The move went smoothly, and the doctor glanced at the anxious group of firefighters. “The captain can stay in case I have questions; everyone else, out. Give us some room, please.”
Sometimes Brown stretched the rules when it came to injured men in uniform. Nobody protested.
Zack gave her a slight smile and nod before filing out with the rest. Moving to Tommy’s side, Shea worked with quick efficiency, hooking him up to a blood pressure cuff, pulse oximeter, EKG monitor. Dr. Brown pried open one of his lids, then the other, shining a penlight into his eyes.
“How long has he been out?”
The captain straightened, rubbing his stomach as though to soothe an ache. “Not long, maybe fifteen minutes. We got him here
pretty fast.”
Brown nodded. “Pupils are a bit dilated but reactive to light. I imagine he’ll come around soon,” he announced. He pocketed the light and bent over his patient, prying the gauze from the side of his head. Peering intently, probing, he made a humming noise in his throat. “Can’t stitch that. The wound is too shallow and abraded, skinned more than punctured.”
“He’ll have a mild concussion,” she said. Please let that be all.
Brown grunted in agreement. “Most likely. I’ll feel better once he’s cleared by neurology, awake, and talking. Get these wounds cleaned and dressed while I order a CAT scan.”
“Will do.”
After donning latex gloves, Shea parted the hair above Tommy’s temple and began to clean the area with antiseptic. He moaned and stirred some, starting to come around, which made her dizzy with relief. The noise also brought the captain immediately to his side.
“Skyler? Can you hear me?” Sean leaned over, rugged features lined with concern.
Tommy turned his head toward the man’s voice and groaned something unintelligible.
“Don’t move,” Shea said, carefully turning his head toward her again. He sucked in a sharp breath in response to her ministrations, but held still.
“He’s already coming awake. That’s good.”
“Yes, it is.” She set the bloodied cloth on a tray and grabbed a fresh one. “Okay, it’s clean. Since the bleeding has stopped, I’m not going to try to tape a bandage over it—it wouldn’t stick without shaving his scalp.”
“Like my hair where it is, thanks,” Tommy mumbled.
Shea’s heart leaped and she looked into his face. Slowly, his lashes fluttered open and she found herself staring into unfocused crystal blue eyes. She’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“You’re lucky your brains are still inside your skull, kid,” Sean said, relief stamped on his face.
“Brains. Yeah, brains are good,” Tommy muttered.
The captain’s lips curved into a smile. “Time for a little test. What’s your full name, son?”
