Love Him Breathless

by E M Lindsey

  Carl raised a brow, but he nodded all the same and ignored Antoine’s noise of protest. “Good luck.”

  Fitz ignored him, then beckoned Antoine to follow. He was surprised when the other man did, and he kept his pace slow as they crossed the grass and over to the station parking lot where his car was parked. He had the fob in his hand, and he hit the button before reaching for the handle, and he tried not to stare as Antoine winced his way into a seated position.

  “I appreciate you humoring me,” he said.

  Antoine scoffed. “This is absolutely not about you. Insurance is going to cover all these new and exciting medical bills, so I want documentation.”

  “You’re going to sue a kid?”

  “I’m going to make his car insurance pay for his reckless driving,” Antoine snapped. When Fitz opened his mouth, Antoine turned, his face shuttering in pain, but he didn’t relent. “If you fucking mention my texting…”

  “You weren’t paying attention,” Fitz argued.

  “And I tripped two inches off the sidewalk,” Antoine said, and his voice rose toward a shout. “He was going too fast and he was too close to the curb. You said so yourself!”

  Fitz deflated and he sat back. Hard. “He made a mistake.”

  “Yes, and mistakes have consequences. I made the mistake of looking at my fucking phone to verify a meeting I have to keep a bar from going bankrupt. I tripped. The consequences are bruised ribs and having to sit in this fucking car with you.”

  Fitz bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want his entire life ruined because he had one thoughtless moment.”

  Antoine froze, something flooding his eyes—like curiosity, or maybe sympathy. “Sounds like you understand that personally.”

  Fitz was absolutely not responding to that. He wasn’t going to rehash Ronan’s guilt or the fire with some litigious California asshole. He started the car and said nothing, and eventually Antoine huffed a sigh and straightened back in his seat.

  The drive to Parker’s took the same amount of time as always, but it felt eternal, but soon enough, he pulled into a nearly empty parking lot and let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll walk you in.”

  “That is so not necessary,” Antoine told him, holding up a hand.

  Fitz ignored him though, and unbuckled his belt, stepping out into the warm morning. “If you want to be seen in a reasonable amount of time, I should go with you. Parker’s nicer than me but not very keen on doing favors for out-of-towners.”

  Antoine rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue further. He walked ahead of Fitz, and Fitz could see the way his steps were careful, the way he winced as he reached for the door handle and swung it open. His ribs probably were cracked, and Fitz hated that Antoine was probably right about suing the insurance. But he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. The look on Dmitri’s face was one he’d seen over and over, echoed over Ronan’s features when he finally found the courage to face Fitz years after it all happened.

  A single mistake—and it wasn’t even Ronan’s fault, really—and it nearly destroyed them. Luckily, Fitz was strong and stubborn and worked over the last few years to keep his friend from giving in to his desire to cut and run. But Ronan still blamed himself, still couldn’t go near a campfire without a look of trepidation in his eyes.

  He still hated Fitz a little bit for taking this job, and Fitz was pretty sure Ronan also hated him for his willing and easy forgiveness.

  Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he followed Antoine into the lobby which was almost entirely empty. Gloria, the office manager, was behind the desk along with Eddie, Charlie’s husband, who had been working as Parker’s assistant for a year now. She frowned at Antoine until she noticed Fitz walk up behind him, and then she grinned as Eddie turned and leaned his arms on the counter.

  “Edmund!” She was an old friend of his mom’s, and one of the few people in his life who still first-named him. “Everything okay?”

  “Hey, Gloria. Eddie,” he said. “Is Parker really busy right now? This is…”

  “Antoine Tremblay,” the other man offered in a quiet grumble.

  Fitz fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Antoine Tremblay. He was just hit by a car.”

  Gloria’s eyes went wide. “Oh, sweetheart…”

  “Jesus, dude,” Eddie said, giving Antoine a once-over. “Aren’t you the one who crashed his car into a tree?”

  “Edward Michael Motel,” Gloria chastised like a disappointed grandmother, and Fitz had to hide his smile at the way Eddie blushed. “Can we please be nice to this lovely young man who has clearly been through a lot?”

  “I’m fine,” Antoine said, but his voice was soft and surprisingly kind as he laid one hand on the top of the counter. “I promise, I’m fine.”

  “Well, you’re going to let Dr. Alling be the judge of that.” She reached over, and a second later, Fitz heard the door lock pop.

  Antoine reached for the handle, and Fitz only realized he was trying to follow when Antoine looked back and raised a brow at him. “I think I can piss in a cup on my own, Smokey, but thanks.”

  Fitz bristled. “Be fucking nice to my friends, Hollywood.”

  Antoine laughed, and the sound was more surprised than mean. “Why am I Hollywood?”

  “Aren’t your sunglasses designer?” Fitz asked.

  Antoine made a choked noise, then turned on his heel and marched back, letting the door slam behind him. When he was gone, Fitz sagged forward and leaned over the counter as Gloria took her seat again.

  “What happened, pumpkin?” She gave his hand a pat, and he offered her a toothy smile.

  “He’s some California jerk,” he told her, trying to watch his language. “He almost hit Robert on his way into town.”

  Gloria’s eyes widened. “He what?”

  “Robert escaped. The guy wrecked his car trying to avoid him. Spencer found Robert last night eating up Ronan’s cabbages.”

  Gloria relaxed back into her seat. “That thing is a menace.”

  Fitz laughed and shook his head, then dropped his chin to the back of his hand, feeling it dig between the bones. “Rene hired Antoine to help get the town…I don’t know. More appealing to outsiders?”

  Gloria lifted her brows. “Is that so?”

  “I didn’t realize how many businesses were in trouble,” Fitz confessed. He hadn’t really had time to process what Antoine had said about the Tavern, but it was coming back to him now. “I know Rene’s probably right. He actually cares about everyone here. Just…I don’t like the thought of a bunch of strangers coming in here and changing things.”

  Gloria reached up and gave his hand another pat. “Change is hard, but sometimes it’s necessary. I miss Bette’s. I miss her,” she said, and her eyes went a little misty. “Watching her place close up was hard. But that little cupcake shop is there now, and it’s not so bad.”

  Fitz remembered Simon and Levi’s grandmother—the short old lady with hunched shoulders and a laugh you could hear a mile away. She never hesitated to fill them with cookies and stories about what it was like growing up in Europe before the war. Simon and Levi’s family had come from Israel—and before that, before the war, they’d been scattered all over. Bette was a master storyteller with her thick accent and slips into Yiddish and Hebrew. He remembered the sound of her chuckle when she’d explain why the name of her bakery was so funny, and he remembered crying when she died.

  He’d hated that she was gone, but Simon had come back from college to take over. He was even shyer than he was before he’d gone, but he’d kept the place running the same way Bette had. Only…it didn’t last, and Fitz didn’t want to admit that he had no real control over things. Gloria was right, though. Simon was better off with Rocco, and he liked Wilder. The change had been difficult, but not impossible to handle.

  “I need to take off. I have a shift in a few hours, and I have to give a statement about the accident.” He straightened up and offered her a smile, which she returned. “Tell Parker to give me a cal
l if he needs any info.”

  “I’m sure he will, pumpkin. And you come by for Sunday dinner soon.”

  He nodded, knowing perfectly well he wouldn’t. It wasn’t that he hated being social, but he wanted more than an invite to Sunday pot roast. He wanted…something else. He wanted something of substance. His sister was happy to be a single mom—to live the life she’d created with her bare hands. She was content in that.

  And Fitz had felt that way for a while. But the more his friends started finding happiness and love, the more people around him started building a life, the more he realized how far he was from it. And that maybe—just maybe—it never would be for him.

  Chapter Eight

  Antoine wasn’t sure what to expect when he’d been hustled into the back by the younger assistant, Eddie, who seemed more curious than anything. “Seriously, how did you get hit by a car?”

  Antoine scoffed and stared at the scale. “Uh, do you need to take vitals or…?”

  Eddie laughed. “Yeah, I’m not certified for that. Or anything. Dr. Alling’s nurse is at lunch so he’ll take care of the rest. I was just curious how someone gets mowed down here. The speed limit is like five in most places.”

  Antoine’s face fell. “Well, apparently not everyone got that memo.”

  Eddie just laughed and showed Antoine to a room, closing it behind him as he left. He didn’t have much hope for the appointment after all that. And considering the doctor was apparently a good, personal friend of Fitz, he had a feeling the doctor would be already biased against him.

  He was grateful it wasn’t all of the town, though. Things had gone well with almost everyone else except the damn Fire Chief. And Fitz always seemed to fucking be there whenever Antoine wanted to see him the least.

  Which, in retrospect, was always.

  He was definitely done with seeing the Fire Chief, no matter how good he looked in his CCFD t-shirt.

  “Mr…Tremblay. Am I saying that right?”

  Antoine looked up as the door swung open, and his eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. The doctor was very good looking—like should be on ER, except without the horrible nineties haircut. He was tall, so pale he was almost pink, with rich blonde hair that sat in a styled wave just above his small ears. His eyes were a vivid blue, his nose wide and freckled, and his full lips were pulled into a half grin as he looked at Antoine curiously.

  It took him a second to remember the doctor had asked a question. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “It’s a very French name. Do you speak French?” Dr. Alling walked in, a chart in one hand, his other hand locked behind his back, and he stood in front of Antoine. His own voice had something of an accent, but nothing Antoine recognized.

  Antoine frowned. “Yes. My dad’s Quebecoise. He was born in Montreal. Is this like some concussion check?”

  “Just curiosity,” Dr. Alling said. He moved his arm from his back, reaching for a chair, and it was then Antoine realized his hand was prosthetic. In fact, from the way his white coat hung from his body, he was pretty sure the prosthetic extended up to his shoulder. His mechanical fingers had amazing dexterity though, and he gripped the chair back with no problem, tugging it over to sit. “It says here you were hit by a car.”

  Antoine let out a frustrated noise. “Yes. Some teenager.”

  Dr. Alling made a noise of sympathy and pulled out a small tablet from his coat pocket before using the stylus to make a note. “Not a very warm welcome to Cherry Creek.”

  Antoine couldn’t help his derisive snort. “After totaling my car on the way into town, no. It hasn’t been a warm welcome.”

  The doctor looked startled. “When was this?”

  “Yesterday,” Antoine said with a huff. “I was heading around a curve and there was a goat in the road—and I know, your super polite friend Fitz has told me repeatedly there are no wild goats in Cherry Creek—but it was there. I was not hallucinating or making shit up because I was texting and driving.”

  The doctor’s mouth quirked at the corner. “Fitz was on scene?”

  “He was the one who got the tow truck,” Antoine said miserably. “And the one who saw me get hit today.”

  Dr. Alling bit down on his bottom lip like he was trying to stop a smile. “I see. He’s…an interesting one, our Fitz. He does mean well, even if he comes across…”

  “Like a disgruntled lumberjack,” Antoine muttered.

  Dr. Alling threw his head back and laughed. “I think Collin might have that trademark, but that’s still close enough.” When Antoine shot him a confused frown, the doctor waved him off. “He’s married to the man who towed your car. He’s not really a lumberjack, though. He makes go—he makes soap,” he corrected, and Antoine’s eyes narrowed even though he wasn’t sure what the guy was going to say before he stopped himself. “Anyway, let’s get you checked out, yes? I’m assuming this is for insurance. Want to see how much we can rack up and charge those bastards?”

  Antoine slid off the table and winced. Letting out a soft puff of air, he finally admitted out loud, “I think my ribs might be broken.”

  They weren’t broken—just a hairline fracture on two, as determined by the aforementioned ancient x-ray machine. They were also bruised and uncomfortable, but the doctor gave him a script for something to help dull the pain at night, and instructed him to take ibuprofen during the day and he could go about business as usual. “Just don’t get hit by anymore cars,” he insisted. “And probably no bar fights.”

  Antoine tried for a smile, but he wasn’t in the mood for the little small town humor everyone seemed to have. He signed the bill, then took a copy of the paperwork for the insurance and made a note to get ahold of the sheriff so he could get the information he needed.

  The day was turning into a real nightmare, and he still had to go see about his car and deal with the Tavern. The trip to the clinic had eaten into his time with the Tavern owners, but he made his way there anyway with ginger steps to avoid the ache in his side.

  He was tired and he was hurting. It sucked to be totally alone in pain like that, but though he was only a couple hours from his brother, he was unwelcome, not that he had a car to take him there. The entire trip was starting to feel cursed.

  There was a small sign outside of the bar and grill which boasted their lunch special—a bison burger and homemade fries. In spite of not having eaten yet, the pain in his side had whittled his appetite down to nothing. The food still smelled good though, and he walked in, smiling at the young woman at the host stand.

  “My name is Antoine Tremblay. I have a meeting with the owners.”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. “Sonia’s out sick but Rose is in the kitchen.”

  Antoine nodded. “That’s fine. I’m also going to need to order lunch.”

  She showed him to the bar where a man who had to be in at least his late sixties served him water and took an order for a chicken caesar salad. Antoine tried to find a comfortable position to sit in the tall chairs that didn’t aggravate his ribs while he waited, but it was proving to be impossible. What would have helped was a strong pain killer and bed, but he was nowhere close to that yet.

  The clock ticked by, and he sipped his water, and he wondered if this was just one more unmitigated disaster waiting as the owner was a no-show. The salad at least arrived in one piece, and he dug in, pleasantly surprised by the flavor in the dressing, and how fresh it all was with a sharp parmesan taste and topped with roasted pine nuts.

  He glanced around, startled by the lack of lunch crowd, and he knew he could help the place if he had the opportunity to do it.

  “Mr. Tremblay?”

  Antoine turned at the sound of his name, biting back a wince as he stuck his hand out toward the woman making her way over. She was tall, full-figured, her hair mostly black with streaks of grey that were tied back in a long French braid. She had warm, friendly brown eyes and a wide mouth, and he liked her instantly. “Hi, I’m Rose Flores.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. Sor
ry for my delay,” he told her.

  She offered him a sympathetic smile, and she looked a bit nervous. “Sheriff Riordan came in and told me you had a near miss.”

  “More like I was actually hit by a car,” Antoine said, trying not to grumble. He was happy when she slid into the chair and he could straighten his back. “I saw Dr. Alling and he said the ribs were cracked, but not badly enough to worry.”

  She winced. “I’m so sorry. Dmitri is my nephew. He’s the one that hit you.”

  Antoine’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. I…um.”

  “I’m not here to defend his honor,” she insisted. “He’s been going through a lot. My brother’s been taking care of him since his parents,” she stopped and shook her head. “It’s not important. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  Antoine waved it off, grateful she wasn’t going after him for wanting Dmitri to be held responsible, but he also felt that pang of guilt knowing the kid was going through something. “It’s fine. I’m here to do my job, and whatever else happens on the side, I can worry about that myself. I just wish I had more time to go over everything with you. I have a ride coming at two so I can see about my car.”

  “It’s fine. I wanted Sonia to be here for this, but she’s got a stomach thing. Not from our food,” she said, quick enough to make Antoine laugh.

  “I didn’t assume. We have plenty of time, it’s just that some of the other residents are feeling hesitant about working with me.”

  Rose chewed on her bottom lip for a second. “We’re an insular community. We don’t hate outsiders. I mean, Wilder’s shop has done well, but…”

  “Wilder…?”

  “The cupcake place? He sells gluten-free stuff mostly, and people were a little hesitant because it took over a bakery that had been here for as long as any of us could remember. He’s a nice boy and we’re glad to have him, but I think people are worried he’s the start of this place turning into some little resort town for rich people with food trends and boutique vacation rentals.”