“Look, I know Scott’s an asshole,” she sighed heavily. “But I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. The guy is harmless. He’s just… awkward and a little bit clueless when it comes to interacting with women.”
I knew that Gia was just trying to make me feel better, but my mouth still filled with a bad taste. I couldn’t help but think of the last time I had listened to someone make those same excuses for a coworker’s inappropriate behavior.
That time, things had ended up being far from ‘harmless’…
“I bet Scott won’t even come out tonight,” Gia continued, picking up the beer pitcher and refilling her plastic cup. Then she stretched the pitcher across the high-top and tilted it towards me, so that a stream of amber-colored liquid poured into my own plastic cup.
“He’s probably sulking at home as we speak, nursing that bruised little ego of his,” she wiggled her eyebrows deviously. “You know it took quite the beating today.”
“It was a rescue,” I said firmly. “It wasn’t about ego, it was about saving a life. If we had done things Scott’s way, that boy could have died.”
“You don’t think Scott knows that? That’s probably why he was so pissed off in the first place!” Gia snorted. “He obviously has a crush on you, and he probably thought that today was his big chance to impress you and score some brownie points. But instead of being the hero, he ended up looking like a loser.”
Maybe Gia was right about Scott. Maybe he really was just an awkward, clueless asshole, and maybe I was just being paranoid. But after what had happened back home in Rhode Island, I had learned the hard way that you should never underestimate an angry man with a bruised ego…
I took a sip of beer and let my eyes wander towards the opposite side of the bar, where a karaoke stage was set up. Some guy had just stumbled off of the stage after performing a very drunken rendition of Mambo No. 5, and a woman stepped up and took his place behind the microphone stand.
The karaoke monitor at the foot of the stage lit up as the next song hummed through the speakers; a Carrie Underwood ballad about cheating husbands and black Cadillacs.
“I love this song!” Gia gushed. She stepped around the table, swaying her hips slowly to the beat. “Come on, let’s dance!”
Before I could even open my mouth to protest, I was suddenly struck by a paralyzing tremor of shock as a hand gripped firmly onto my ass from behind.
The shock rattled instantly through my body, rendering me stiff and frozen in place as my brain lagged to process what was happening.
Somebody is grabbing my ass!
I jerked my body around and found myself staring face to face with my worst fucking nightmare. Scott Fuller. His eyes were dark and glassy and he was wearing a smug grin on his filthy face.
I wanted to be furious, but my mouth was dry and empty.
He lurched towards me and I stumbled away, backing straight up against the brick wall. Before I could dart to the side to get away, his arm shot up and he pinned his palm against the wall over my shoulder, trapping me beneath him.
The crowded bar around us disappeared. In that split second, it was just the two of us.
His body was inches from mine, and I could smell the stench of booze on his breath. He was drunk, and his anger was rolling off his skin in waves of heat.
I felt completely paralyzed and powerless. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move…
Then, from out of nowhere, I heard a gruff voice growl:
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”
My eyes flicked up in shock and I saw a familiar face emerge from the blackness that surrounded me.
Duke!
In the same instant, I saw Duke’s hands grip onto Scott’s shoulders and jerk him away from me then fling him aside like a rag doll.
Scott fell backwards and caught himself on the high-top, causing the table to crash to the floor. The pitcher of beer followed, spilling out a fountain of golden beer that puddled on the tile floor. Scott swerved away from the table, then he spun around to face Duke.
“Mind your own fucking business, man!”
“How about you mind your own business and learn how to keep your hands to yourself?” Duke countered.
“I’ll show you how I keep my hands to myself,” Scott muttered drunkenly, sounding almost incoherent. Then he twisted his arm back and swung his fist forward. I heard a horrible, fleshy cracking sound as his knuckles connected with Duke’s face.
DUKE!
For a split second, the entire bar was perfectly silent and still as Duke slowly raised his hand towards his face and felt where Scott had punched him. When he lowered his hand and saw the fresh blood that stained his fingertips, his face knotted with anger.
Without hesitation he balled his hand into a fist and took a swing, striking Scott square between the eyes before he even knew what was coming for him.
Scott’s body crumpled to the floor, and then the scene dissolved into a state of total chaos as a team of burly bouncers swarmed in to break up the fight. One of them wrangled Duke by the shoulders and dragged him away towards the front of the bar.
They’re throwing him out!
His eyes flicked up and caught mine, and then he disappeared into the chaos.
I tried to follow him. I ignored the sound of Gia calling after me, and I fought my way through the crowd as bodies pushed and shoved into me from all directions…
But by the time I pushed through the front doors and stumbled out into the night, it was too late.
The last trace of Duke Williams was a pair of bright red taillights fading in the distance as a car drove away…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN | DUKE
I pressed the bag of frozen peas against my face, then immediately sucked in my breath and winced as a sharp sting of white hot pain shot through my eye socket.
I had to admit, for a scrawny drunk guy, the creep at the bar had thrown a pretty decent punch.
Keeping a firm grip on the makeshift ice pack, I shuffled across the kitchen and nudged open the door of the liquor cabinet, then used my good eye to survey the selection of spirits. Grey Goose wasn’t going to cut it tonight; I needed something stronger to ward off the horrible pain that was throbbing through my skull.
I located a suitable painkiller and gripped the bottle by its neck, then I trudged wearily towards the apartment living room and collapsed on the leather sofa. Through the tall glass windows I could see Hartford’s skyline lit up against the black night sky.
I sank deeper into the cool leather sofa, then I wedged the bottle of Fireball between my knees and unscrewed the cap with one hand. I was about to take my first swig when I heard the sound of the apartment door being unlocked.
I glanced up just in time to see the door swing open and Beck stumble inside. She was panting for breath and her eyes were wide with panic as they scanned the apartment urgently. When she spotted me, her shoulders sunk down in relief and she slumped against the wall.
“Thank God!” she gasped, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “I thought you were arrested!”
“Arrested?” I made the mistake of frowning, and I immediately felt a fresh wave of pain shoot through my swollen face underneath the bag of frozen peas.
I remembered the bottle of Fireball, and I raised it to my lips and took a swig. The hot cinnamon-flavored whiskey engulfed my senses like a five-alarm fire, burning even hotter than the pain that seared through my pummeled brow and eye socket.
“I tried to follow you out of the bar,” she explained breathlessly as she kicked off her Adidas sneakers. “But by the time I got outside, all I could see was a car driving away—”
“Did you really wear sneakers to the bar?” I asked with an amused — and painful — grin.
She glanced down at the discarded Superstars and frowned, then she ignored my question and said, “When I saw that car drive away, I thought you might have gotten hauled into a police cruiser…”
“Oh,” I had to chuckle at tha
t. “No, that was just a taxi.”
“Don’t laugh!” Barefoot Beck stomped across the apartment until she was standing directly over me. Her arms were folded over her chest and there was a glare etched into her face. “I was worried about you! The bouncer practically dragged you out of the bar by the ear!”
“He was just keeping me out of trouble,” I explained. “The crew has been going to Rusty’s for a long time, so we’re pretty tight with all the bouncers. Those guys always have our backs.”
She frowned, crossing her arms tighter over the front of her Guns n’ Roses t-shirt.
“So… is this something you do often?” she blinked down at me.
“Do I do what often? Rescue damsels in distress from creepy perverts?”
“No,” her glare tightened. “Get into fist fights with random guys at the bar.”
“Only when they try to start shit with one of my bros,” I teased. I tried to stretch my face into a goofy smile, but that just made my eye throb.
Beck must have caught me wincing, because the frown immediately faded from her face and she bent forward.
“Can I take a look?”
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “It’s not the first time I’ve taken a punch…”
“I’m sure,” she rolled her eyes. “But you’re in pretty bad shape.”
“You should see the other guy!” I joked.
She rolled her eyes again, and then I felt her hand wrap around mine on top of the bag of frozen peas. I was surprised by how smooth and warm her skin felt…
“I’m an EMT,” she reminded me sternly. “Let me do my job.”
I relented with a sigh, then I let her guide the bag of frozen peas slowly away from my swollen face.
She had propped herself on the edge of the coffee table so that she was facing me on the couch at eye level. Our knees collided as she leaned towards me to take a closer look, but neither of us moved away…
I could feel her breath on my cheek as she inspected my injury.
“It’s really not that bad,” I promised her. “I used to get hit a lot worse than this when I was a kid.”
“Really?” her eyes flicked away from my swollen eye as she met my stare. Our faces were only a few inches apart, but she didn’t move away.
“Oh yeah,” I said nonchalantly, holding her stare. “I used to get into fist-fights all the time.”
“Let me guess,” her lips curled into a smile. “You were the playground bully?”
“Actually, the opposite. Kids always gave me shit because of who my parents were, or because I came from money. They’d tell me that I hadn’t worked for anything that I had—”
“But did you?”
“What?”
“Did you actually work for anything that you had?”
“That wasn’t the point,” I frowned and immediately regretted it.
“So… what was the point?” she asked, still holding me in her stare. Her icy blue eyes felt even colder than the frozen peas; so cold that they sent a tingle down my spine and filled my head with bright white blizzard clouds that obliterated all of my thoughts.
“I don’t know anymore,” I admitted. Then I changed the subject. “So what happened back at the bar?”
Her smile melted and she blinked down towards the ground, breaking our silent staring contest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her voice sounded suddenly flustered.
She leaned away from me as she sat back on the glass coffee table and straightened her shoulders. Then she grabbed the bottle of Fireball that was pinned between my legs and helped herself to a long swig. Her face twisted from the burn of the whiskey.
“I saw what that guy did to you at the bar,” I told her slowly. “But you didn’t say anything to him. You looked… terrified.”
She still couldn’t look me in the eye as she shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t get it,” I shook my head. “The other day at Vaughan’s, I honestly thought that you were going to rip my balls off, smother them in Ragu, and serve them for dinner on a bed of angel hair pasta… and that was just because I said ‘hello’ to you. But tonight I saw this pervert touch you, and you just… froze.”
“So it’s my fault?” she glared at the floor, where her toes were digging swirls into the shag rug.
“Of course not!” I said quickly. “That’s not what I meant at all!”
“So what did you mean?” her eyes flicked up, and that ice-cold glare caught me off guard for the second time. “Was I supposed to rip him a new one? Was I supposed to kick his ass? Tell me. What was I supposed to do, Duke?”
“You know what? Forget I said anything,” I reached for the bottle of whiskey and took a swig as I slammed my back against the leather sofa and sighed.
But Beck wasn’t about to forget anything.
“No,” she said defiantly, shaking her head. “Tell me what I was supposed to do, Duke. How was I supposed to handle some guy grabbing my ass at a bar?”
I remained silent.
“I’m tired of reacting,” she said. Her voice was quaking and her face was red with emotion. “I’m tired of ignoring catcalls or fighting with strangers. I’m tired of having to defend myself. I’m tired of running away.”
“Beck—”
“Do you know why I transferred to Hartford in the first place?” she glared up at me, and it was like staring back into two frozen orbs of ice. “I came here to get away from shit like this. Coming to Hartford was supposed to be my fresh start.”
For several seconds we were both silent. The only sound between us was the splash of whiskey sloshing around inside the glass bottle.
“What do you mean?” I asked finally. “Why did you need a fresh start?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” I insisted. “Beck, you can tell me. You can trust me.”
Her face went still and she took a deep, shaky breath. This time she didn’t drop her eyes away from mine as she spoke.
“I worked my ass off to become an EMT,” she began. “I grew up in a small town in Rhode Island. Everybody knew everybody, and everybody knew my father. He was the town sheriff. I had always dreamed of being an EMT, but I wanted to earn it outright. I didn’t want anyone to think that I had gotten a shortcut because of who my father was.”
I can relate to that, I thought to myself as I remembered how hard I had worked to earn my spot on the crew at Firehouse 56. My spot on the crew was something I had earned entirely on my own, and that meant that it was something my parents could never take away from me.
“I was so proud of everything that I had accomplished, because I knew that I had worked so hard to earn it,” she continued. “I loved my job, and I loved being part of a great crew.”
I can relate to that, too…
“One day the department chief asked if he could take me out for lunch. I thought that all of my hard work was finally paying off, and all I could think about was how proud my mom would have been if she was still around…”
I saw the tension flood her face, and I waited patiently for her to continue.
“I knew that something wasn’t right as soon as I got to the restaurant. I tried to ignore my instincts and act normal, but in my gut I knew.”
“Beck… did something happen? Did the chief…?” I couldn’t finish that question.
“Not that day,” she said. Her voice was tiny and soft; a far cry from the Beck I had met that day at Vaughan’s.
“He insisted on taking me out to lunch again the next week. Then again the week after that, and again, and again… this went on for months. At first, it was completely innocent. I’d order a salad, and he’d get a beer and a burger. We would talk about the department, or what happened in the field. He would give me advice. He said that he wanted to be my mentor,” she scoffed and shook her head, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“Then things started getting weird. His questions would become more personal
. He started getting too close to me, and he would stare at me for just a little bit too long…”
I became conscious of my own eyes, staring straight into hers, but I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.
“I confided in a few coworkers and friends, but they all thought that I was overreacting or imagining things. They made excuses for him, and made me feel like I was the one with a problem. Then one day, something happened that I knew I wasn’t imagining. We were in his truck, and he was driving me back to the station after lunch.”
“Beck—”
“He tried to kiss me.” I could see the storm of emotion and disgust and vulnerability swirling in her face. It was like watching her relive all of those emotions all over again. I wanted to say or do something that could take it all away, but the pain that was burning inside of her was one kind of fire that I had never learned how to put out.
“I pushed him away, and then I jumped out of his truck and ran without ever looking back. I had no idea what to do. I was mortified, but I loved my job and I didn’t want to leave,” she sighed. “I thought I would just pretend that nothing ever happened. In retrospect, ignoring him was the worst thing that I could have done.”
“Why? What happened?”
She sighed heavily and glanced down at the floor, and I knew that she was struggling with what she was about to say next.
“Basically, he made my life at work a living hell,” she sniffed. “Finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I decided to confront him. But before I could, he turned the tables and told everyone that I had tried to make a move on him.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?! That’s ridiculous!”
“I thought so too,” she said. “But he had thought the whole thing through. He had evidence.”
“Evidence?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, wrinkling her face into a frown. “He fabricated love notes. He wrote fake incident reports. He claimed that I was the one who tried to kiss him. He even stole a pair of underwear from my locker and accused me of planting them in his office.”
“That’s disgusting!” I gasped, furious. “What about all of those lunches he made you go on?”
March Heat: A Firefighter Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 9
