The Fireman Who Loved Me

by Jennifer Bernard

  “I hate you, Greg,” she said, giving him a big hug. “And thanks for your advice.”

  Back in her cubicle, the phone squatted on her desk like an evil black toad. She jammed it into her drawer so she wouldn’t have to look at it. Where was Brody? What had happened to him? Maybe she should call him back, instead of waiting. But bugging him was pointless. He’d call her when he could. She should trust him. Have a little faith. Too bad Everett had crushed the faith right out of her. But Brody was so different from Everett—loyal, straightforward, honest.

  If only he would call.

  Haskell left his AA meeting feeling unusually optimistic. He didn’t often speak at the meetings. But today, in the sunny community hall where he’d spent Friday nights and most lunch hours for the last three years, he’d gotten to his feet and talked about Melissa. How she’d lent him her car, and what a huge step that was. Years ago, when she’d still been in college, he’d given her a car so she could drive to her journalism classes. But then he’d gotten drunk, “borrowed” it, and wrecked it. He’d felt so awful that he’d gotten drunk again, started a bar brawl, and wound up in jail. She’d had to take the bus to bail him out.

  So cars were a sore point, and it meant so much that Melissa had let him take her car without any nasty comments about the past. He’d shared this with the group, and had received genuine smiles of gladness. These people cared about him. His mother cared about him. Captain Brody cared about him. And maybe . . . just maybe his daughter did too.

  Whistling, he drove back up Brody’s driveway. He loved the days he worked at Brody’s house. The hours passed so pleasantly, with just the right amount of conversation—not much. Of course he knew that Brody and Melissa had something going on, but he and Brody never discussed that. If asked, Haskell would have said Brody would make a fine son-in-law, but no one was asking him. He kept his own counsel and focused on the job. He’d finished the wiring, and now he was helping Brody with other odds and ends. This afternoon they planned to tackle the kitchen cabinets.

  He got out of Melissa’s car, checked it over to make sure he’d done no inadvertent damage, and strolled past the Airstream toward the house. He saw Brody moving around in the trailer. Must be finishing his lunch. No problem; he’d go ahead and get all the tools together for their afternoon’s work. Save time. He opened the door and stopped in shock.

  A pregnant woman sat perched on a bucket of spackle. She was gorgeous. Long hair streaked with blond, tanned skin, sexy outfit. Kinda like Bo Derek or Cheryl Tiegs, one of those old-time calendar girls.

  “Oh!” She started to get to her feet.

  “Please don’t,” he said quickly. “I’m here to work.”

  “You’re helping Harry out?”

  “Yeah. Wiring and other stuff.”

  “Good thing you’re here then. Any chance you can get that fridge hooked up? Harry said the kitchen’s not done, but it’d be nice to at least have some Cokes around. Or beer, for you hardworking guys.” A tentative smile accompanied this last comment, but Haskell ignored it.

  “You’re . . . staying here?” This came out in a tone that seemed to offend her.

  “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

  “Nothing. Surprised, is all.”

  “Really? Didn’t you know Harry was married?”

  Haskell gave her a narrow stare. Brody didn’t talk much about his personal life, but he would have known if the captain was married. “Married to you?”

  “Yeah, nosy. Married to me. So I suggest you take a look at that refrigerator. It’d be nice to have it working before the baby comes. And we’ll definitely need a washer and dryer too. I’ll start making a list.”

  Haskell did not like her. Not one bit. And right now, he didn’t like Brody much either. Without comment, he turned on his heel and walked back out to Melissa’s car.

  “Hey! Come back here!” she called, but he ignored her and got into the car. It wasn’t his business, but he wasn’t about to let his daughter get blindsided. He’d done enough damage to her over the years. The last thing Melissa needed was to get hurt again. He headed for Channel Six.

  “Are you trying to ruin everything?” In the station parking garage, Melissa whirled away from her father. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt, Mel.”

  “Too late. This hurts.”

  “I thought you should know. I better go now.”

  Melissa ignored him. Part of her knew she was being unfair. It wasn’t his fault a pregnant woman claiming to be Brody’s wife was staying at his house. It wasn’t his fault she felt like a neutron bomb had just dropped on her. But she couldn’t look at him.

  “Maybe there’s a good explanation.”

  “I don’t know, Melissa. She wanted me to get the fridge going, and the washer-dryer. Said she needed them for the baby. She’s sticking around. And she’s definitely pregnant.”

  Melissa had the childish impulse to cover her ears and yell, “Lalala.”

  “I’m real sorry. Did I do the right thing, telling you?”

  “Yes . . . I don’t know . . .” She clenched her fists hard enough to feel her fingernails dig into the heels of her hands. “I hate this. I hate it.”

  “I better go now. Do you want your car back? I can take a bus.”

  She shook her head violently. ”Just go.”

  Her dad got in her Volvo and backed up, like someone leaving the scene of the crime. Melissa wheeled around in a frantic little circle, wishing she were anywhere but here, in this moment, facing this. Her dad was right. What explanation could there be? Maybe the woman wasn’t Rebecca, and Haskell had misunderstood. Or maybe the woman wasn’t Rebecca, but some other woman Brody had impregnated. Or maybe she was Rebecca, and the baby was Brody’s.

  She could think of a million explanations, but the only one who knew the truth was Brody. And Brody still hadn’t called to tell her about any of this. Maybe he had no intention of calling her. Maybe he planned to blow her off. Why hadn’t he told her himself?

  It’s not as if they had a real relationship. He didn’t owe her a thing. He could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted, without running it past her. They were just two people having sex.

  So why did this hurt so much?

  Gritting her teeth, she headed back up to the newsroom. She still had to get some work done before the end of the day. God only knew how she’d be able to concentrate. She should never have gotten involved with Brody. Yet another arrogant male trampling all over her feelings.

  As if she’d conjured a demon, she spotted a familiar brown leather jacket in the doorjamb of her cubicle. It was draped over the shoulder of a tall, lean man. Grizzled, gray-blond hair. Head cocked in that arrogant way. The man’s head turned, and over his shoulder he gave her that wry smile that had always caused such a riot in her insides.

  “Melissa,” Everett said in that devastating, gravelly voice. “You’re a sight for famished eyes.”

  Famished eyes? Melissa took refuge in a sarcastic grammar critique. Who says things like that? Everett Malcolm, that’s who. Globe-trotter, adventurer, securer of interviews with world leaders and renegade drug lords, legendary newsman, manipulative heartbreaker. Everett Malcolm, who had crushed Melissa’s heart and tossed her aside like an old orange peel. Made her lose her confidence, just as Brody had said.

  Everett shifted his body to face her, and behind him she saw Ella in her favorite pose, perched cross-legged on Melissa’s desk.

  “What . . . what are you doing here?” she said faintly.

  He looked mildly surprised. “You invited me, remember? A bit of a surprise, but an entirely welcome one.”

  Melissa gaped at him. Invited him? Why the hell would she invite Everett anywhere? Especially here to the most gossipy newsroom on the planet, where already all work had stopped and all eyes were glued to the little scene playing
out. Behind Everett, Ella put her hands together in a pleading gesture.

  Quickly, Melissa connected the dots. Unbelievable. Ella had, apparently, invited Everett to San Gabriel, and now expected Melissa to cover for her. Talk about nerve. Melissa opened her mouth to give her the ripping she deserved, but Ella pulled out her two-ratings-points, queen-of-the-newsroom look that always made Melissa hesitate.

  Ella hopped off the desk and slinked to Everett’s side. She linked her arm through his. “Everett and I were just talking about what a fantastic job you did on the City Hall fire. I don’t know how many people have told me what a great team we make.”

  Melissa found her voice. “Team?”

  “Yes, team,” Ella answered quickly. “Like I told Everett, I like to give credit where credit’s due. When someone does good work for me, I go straight to the news director and I make sure something comes out of it. Promotion, raise, something. My news director trusts me inplicitly.”

  In-plicitly? Melissa saw Everett smirk at Ella’s error. But she was more interested in Ella’s hidden meaning, which was pretty obvious. If Melissa refrained from busting her, Ella would make sure she got that promotion Loudon had dangled in front of her.

  How many games could one tiny, ambitious anchor play? Did she think Everett would actually hire her? Melissa was sick of Ella’s ridiculous ploys. If Ella wanted Everett, for whatever reason, she could have him. The two of them deserved each other.

  She shrugged and turned to leave. The next thing she knew, firm footsteps sounded behind her. Everett took her by the shoulders and whirled her around. His world-weary, bleached-blue eyes looked down into hers, and the old magic that had ruled her life for two roller-coaster years gripped her. He smiled that wry smile, and bent his head toward hers.

  When Brody heard the sound of a car pulling out, at first he’d thought it was Rebecca, deciding to move on. But it was Haskell. He must have come back early from lunch.

  He must have seen Rebecca.

  Brody bounded into the house, where Rebecca leaned against the kitchen sink, opening a can of Diet Coke. She took a sip and made a face.

  “Warm Coke tastes like spit-up, I swear. Don’t you think a fridge would be nice to have in here?”

  “I told you there was no kitchen.”

  “I know, but how hard is it to plug in a fridge? Your little helper there acted like I asked for the moon.” She took another sip, made a disgusted face, and poured the rest down the sink.

  “It’s not”—too late—“hooked up.” The Coke poured out onto the floor. He knelt down to wipe the mess up with some work rags. Rebecca backed away, giggling.

  “Oopsy, I’m sorry, Harry. Pregnancy brain. I do the dumbest things sometimes.”

  “What did you say to Haskell? The man who was here.”

  “Nothing. Just about the fridge.”

  “Did you say who you were?”

  “Not exactly. He didn’t introduce himself either,” she said defensively.

  “Not exactly? Come on, Rebecca, don’t fuck with me. Tell me what you said, or you’re out of here.” He gave her his steeliest look.

  “I didn’t tell him shit. I just asked whether he knew you were married or not.”

  Brody swore as he swabbed the puddle of Coke. He had to get out of here. Get to Melissa before Haskell did. Or if he’d already gotten there, he had to repair whatever damage had been done.

  “Here,” he said, and thrust the Coke-soaked rag at Rebecca. “Clean up that mess while I clean up your other one. Damn you, why couldn’t you have stayed in San Diego?”

  On the way to the TV station, he tried Melissa’s cell, but she wasn’t answering. He seemed to hit every stoplight, every construction zone, every spot of gridlock in the greater San Gabriel area. Jet packs, he thought fiercely. He should have his own private jet pack for moments like this. Of course Haskell had gone to warn his daughter that her lover’s pregnant ex-wife had shown up. God knew what she was thinking by now. If only he had called her earlier.

  But it would still be okay. He would explain, and she would understand. Melissa was intelligent—she would get it. She wasn’t the hysterical, drama-loving type. He loved that about her, along with that mile-a-minute brain of hers, which was totally at odds with her wild, hot sexuality. He found the combination irresistible. He’d explain everything, she’d understand right away, and they could go back to having crazy hot sex in his trailer.

  As he ran into the newsroom, he skidded to a halt at the sight of Melissa wrapped in the tight embrace of a tall man in a leather jacket. She didn’t seem to mind one bit. No, indeed. The man was kissing her, and she was kissing him right back. Those soft lips that just last night had traveled his body with tender hunger, that had tasted his erection, licked his neck, were now intimately entangled with another man. His head spun with a sick, murderous fury.

  “Melissa’s a little busy right now.”

  He snapped out of his rage and found Ella pouting up at him, her entire body practically hanging on his arm. She seemed to be trying to drag him out of the newsroom.

  “I can give her a message. Not that I’m an errand girl, of course. But for you, I’ll make an exception.” She tugged on his arm.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Out of the goodness of my heart, I’m trying to keep you from making a fool of yourself. Do you think Melissa wants you here right now? She hasn’t seen Everett Malcolm in forever. She’s always jabbering on about him. She must be like a kid at Christmas right now.”

  Brody took another quick, painful look at the still-ongoing kiss. Ella had a funny idea of what kids did at Christmas. He could have shaken off the petite anchor like a fruit fly, but he allowed her to push him toward the exit stairwell. Everett Malcolm, the news director. Melissa hated the man, didn’t she? Apparently not. The image of her snuggled in the man’s arms mocked him.

  Getting the hell out sounded like the best possible idea right now. He went, after a vicious sideways slam of his fist against the wall of the stairwell.

  Melissa, wrapped in Everett’s arms, felt bile rise in her throat. Someone made a sound—possibly one of the many newsroom employees avidly watching the show—and she broke away from the kiss. How had she let herself be touched, for even one moment, by the man who had caused her so much pain? She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand to get rid of the feel of Everett’s kiss, but it burned with a mocking fierceness. So did Everett’s gaze. I own you, his look seemed to say. You will never get over me.

  A movement at the edge of the newsroom caught her eye. A familiar-looking flannel work shirt fluttered in the doorway, then disappeared. Horror shot through her. Could that have been Brody? Ella sauntered toward her.

  “Ella, was that Captain Brody?”

  Ella shrugged. “For a second, it was. He bolted out of here quick enough.”

  “Shit.” Melissa ran toward the door.

  “Melissa! Bad idea!”

  She ignored Ella and bounded down the stairs two at a time. In the parking garage, she saw Brody’s truck moving toward the exit. She ran toward her own parking space, but it was empty. Of course—her father had her car.

  Never mind. She could still catch Brody. She ran after his truck, shouting his name. By now he’d almost reached the exit, but he turned his head at the sound of his name. Their eyes met. Melissa stopped in her tracks, pinned by two hard gray spears. He revved the truck, and sped out of the garage.

  Melissa, panting from her mad dash, kicked the tire of the nearest car, a ratty old Toyota. How dare Brody look at her like that, when he didn’t know the whole story? Besides, he was the one with a pregnant woman hanging out at his house! What right did he have to judge her? What was he doing here, anyway?

  He’d probably come to tell her he was getting back together with Rebecca. What else would be so urgent? It was the only explanation that made sense. Brody would
be too honorable to break up with someone on the phone. He would do it in person, even if that meant coming to see her at work.

  Thank God she hadn’t fallen in love with him.

  They’d had a wild few days in bed, but what did they have in common, really? Okay, so they’d had some amazing conversations. She’d felt closer to him than she ever had to anyone.

  But he’d loved Rebecca since the age of fourteen. How could she compare with that? Was she destined to always be second best? Second best in Everett’s life, second best to on-air talent, second best to her father’s drinking.

  “Hey!” A voice interrupted her. “Back away from my wheels.”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” she said sarcastically. “Your car is such a chick magnet.”

  The editor, whose name she couldn’t remember, shot her a wounded look and brushed past her.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. There was no need to be mean to innocent bystanders. It wasn’t the editor’s fault that Brody had decided to get back together with his ex. Melissa dragged herself back up the stairs to the newsroom.

  On the stairs, she passed an assignment desk assistant, and snapped at her too. Get a grip, she lectured herself. Brody’s just one man, and come to think of it, not at all the right one for you. You need someone brilliant and artistic, intellectual and dynamic. Someone like . . .

  As soon as she walked back into the newsroom and saw Everett, her heart sank. Everett had every quality she’d just listed. But he was also dishonest, self-absorbed, and in the end he’d been outright cruel. Everett was not right for her. Neither was the screenwriter who’d left her a message earlier today, after disappearing for eight months without a word. Neither was the sculptor who had sent her an invitation to his show opening—the show that had taken up so much of his time he’d decided not to date until it was over.

  Only one man would do for her now, and that man had just driven off in his truck, with a look that cut the heart right out of her.

  Crap. Double crap. She had fallen in love with him.