Two weeks later, he’d requested a leave of absence and left his family, friends, and brothers in fire behind while he tried to outrun the guilt slashing his heart. Time and distance had helped with the nightmares, until the boy’s face ceased to be his nephew’s and in time blurred completely, until Patrick stopped having them and was finally able to sleep again. He stopped running when he got to Newark, Ohio, and drove past the scene of a fire. Everything he’d been trained to do burst through the deep depression that had him by the throat. The need to be there with the firefighters was strong enough to keep the fading memories at bay.
Five years spent immersed in the work he loved nudged him closer to healing. The final piece to the puzzle was Grace—with her in his life, he felt whole, complete, and everything made sense again. He’d just begun to believe that he’d conquered his guilt and had been able to finally let go of the memory that had kept him company for so long—until today.
His big body shuddered as he held back the tears he refused to shed. The muscles in his forearms tensed until he thought they’d snap. Still he refused to let go of the rigid control that kept his emotions in check and the guilt from eating him alive.
He sank to his knees, head still bowed. When the water ran cold, he crawled out of the shower.
***
The pounding on the door roused him. He looked up at the television, wondering if the sound had come from there. He shrugged and closed his eyes again, but the pounding kept up.
“We know you’re in there, Garahan.”
What the hell was Bear doing here?
“Open the damn door!”
Jesus, Sledge too?
“Forget it, guys. I know where he keeps the spare key.”
“Fuck me,” Patrick ground out. Mike was out there too. They’d never leave until he let them in.
The towel he’d been wearing slipped off, and for a moment, he considered answering the door naked to get the guys to leave. Then he remembered he’d tried that two years ago—the last time they’d nearly lost three victims to a vicious fire—it hadn’t worked.
“You’ve got one minute!” Mike yelled. “Then we’re coming in.”
Patrick wrapped the towel around him and opened the door as Mike was fitting the key in the lock. “What?”
His friends stood there staring at him. The silence was uncomfortable because he knew each and every one of them could see right through him. They’d fought fires side-by-side for five years. He’d cooked for them, held the bucket in front of more than one of them when the beer had flowed after last year’s victory at the firefighter’s Olympics.
“You look like hell,” Bear told him as the three men pushed past him into the kitchen.
“You fall asleep in the shower again?” Sledge wanted to know.
“You should have called Grace,” Mike bit out.
Grace. He’d forgotten to call her again. If she was like his ex, she wouldn’t be speaking to him right now—or maybe she’d already decided to cut her losses.
“Somebody grab his clothes. We’re taking his sorry ass out for breakfast.”
He only struggled to hold out against the three until he started to think about Grace again. She wanted to talk to him about his job, but he hadn’t opened up to her. Maybe she was different. Maybe she’d pass the Garahan sticking test.
Ten minutes later, he was dressed, and they’d walked down to the diner by the firehouse. “Why the hell couldn’t you let me sleep?” he grumbled.
The waitress shot a worried look his way, but Bear just smiled and said, “This man needs the special—can you make it a double?”
“Yeah,” Sledge added. “He didn’t eat much yesterday.”
“I can speak for myself,” Patrick ground out, glaring first at Bear and then Sledge.
Mike snorted. “Yeah, but we’re going to keep feeding you until your nice side starts to show. Better bring three pots of coffee, Linda.”
She took the rest of their order and hustled to the back, reappearing with one pot in her hand and two pots and eight glasses—four with orange juice and four with water—on a tray. “I saw the news.” She set one pot of coffee by Bear and the other by Patrick while she started pouring mugs of fragrant coffee. “You four are heroes.”
Patrick’s stomach rumbled and she looked over at him. “Aren’t you the firefighter who pulled the last man out?”
He didn’t want to talk about it, but Linda didn’t seem to be paying attention to what he wanted; she was too wrapped up in what she was saying. “He and two other victims are still in the ICU, but they’re going to make it thanks to you.”
Bear nodded and gently reminded Linda that they were hungry. “Oh, sorry. Be right back,” she promised, hustling toward the kitchen doors.
“She had her eye on you, Garahan,” Sledge ribbed him.
“Our man here isn’t interested in just any blonde,” Bear rumbled. “There’s a sweet little woman just waiting to hear the sound of his voice,” he said, “if the asshole would just give her a call.”
“Don’t hold back, Bear,” Mike snickered. Looking at Patrick, he said, “Dan called yesterday.”
Why hadn’t Grace called him? Patrick had a feeling that he only added fuel to the fire by not calling her. She’d probably blow everything out of proportion—like his ex had.
“Don’t you want to know why?” Mike asked.
“Why what?”
“Why Dan called,” Mike grumbled.
Patrick didn’t really want to know, but he asked anyway, “Why did he call?”
“He saw the news and was checking up on you.”
Thoughts of Grace filled him, twisting the ache inside of him. Why hadn’t she called him? “That’s it?”
Mike shrugged.
Linda brought their food and smiled. “I’ll keep it coming. You just holler for me.”
“Thanks,” Sledge said for the group.
When she’d gone again, Patrick shifted in his seat, knowing everyone was staring at him. “What?”
Bear shrugged. “We like Grace.”
“You only met her once,” Patrick said, setting down his coffee.
“Only took that one time for you to fall ass over eyebrows in love with the girl,” Mike reminded him.
And it was true, he was—but there was more going on that he couldn’t sort out yet. “I thought you weren’t sure about her?”
Mike stared at him and then shoveled in another forkful of pancakes.
Sledge poked Patrick in the shoulder with his beefy forefinger. “What are you afraid of?”
Afraid?
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he grumbled, draining his mug.
No one argued with him, but they were suspiciously silent. He looked up and wished he hadn’t. Every one of them was staring at him with that look—the one that said they weren’t buying it.
Hell, he’d already admitted to Grace that he was afraid of losing her and afraid that he’d mess things up with her. His friends had gotten to the root of Patrick’s problem by catching him off guard. He was afraid that Grace wouldn’t be able to handle the life of a firefighter and would walk. He was so far gone over the woman, he was pushing her away so she couldn’t tell him to his face that she was leaving him.
“Give it up, Garahan,” Mike said. “Talk to her.”
“She won’t walk,” Bear predicted.
“She’s a Mulcahy,” Sledge reminded him. “That counts for a whole lot in my book.”
Patrick knew that it did, but how did it matter to Sledge? “What do you know about the Mulcahys?”
“Everything you’ve told us since the night Meg and Dan shadowed you when you and that sweet little Honey B. had dinner a few years back.”
“Yeah,” Bear said. “And what we read on the Internet about the Love Locks cut-a-thon in Apple Grove.”
They filled him in on how it started, and just when he thought they’d stop harassing him, Sledge asked, “What are you waiting for?”
“I—” He p
aused and shook his head. Looking at his friends he shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Come on, guys,” Mike said. “We’re supposed to meet Muldoon in an hour.”
Patrick left the tip—a big one—and followed his friends. “Where are we meeting him?”
Bear shook his head at him. “We are; you aren’t.”
“I don’t get it,” Patrick said. “He specifically asked for you three and not me?”
“That’s right,” Sledge said.
Mike took pity on Patrick and said, “Muldoon wants you to settle things with Grace first and then come to the firehouse for a meeting.”
Patrick couldn’t believe it. “Big Jim said that?”
Three heads nodded in unison, but they ended up stopping in at the firehouse because Patrick didn’t believe them.
Confronting his lieutenant was the hardest thing Patrick had to do, but he needed to know if his friends weren’t just trying to force his hand where Grace was concerned. Big Jim placed a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “You worked overtime when that three-alarm call came in. Your buddies didn’t. So get going and you can come back after you sort things out with Grace.”
“But—”
“The love of a good woman is hard to come by in our line of work, Garahan. Go fix things with her,” Muldoon said. “You can thank me later.”
Patrick didn’t move. He had two choices: do what everyone seemed to think was the right thing, or be the coward and just let the most amazing woman he’d ever met slip through his fingers.
“I’m no coward.”
“Good to know, Garahan.” Muldoon slapped him on the back and pushed him toward the door. “Now get out of here.”
Chapter 22
Patrick left his friends at the firehouse and walked home, using the time alone to try to figure out just where to start when he talked to Grace. He was walking up the stairs to his apartment when he muttered to himself, “An apology?”
“It’s a good place to start.”
“Grace?” She was standing in the hallway, waiting for him.
His gaze raked her from head to toe and then back to her eyes. The sparkle wasn’t there, and her face was devoid of color. Patrick knew without a doubt why she was here: she’d come to break things off with him because she couldn’t handle his job. She wouldn’t stick.
She was staring at him as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t bring herself to. Finally, she said, “Hi.”
He’d already spent last night reliving hell. He wasn’t ready for another visit so soon. Grace leaving him would tear his guts out. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice harsher than he intended.
If possible, her face grew whiter. He hated hurting her—needed to hold her. Maybe he should just make it easy for her. “I know I said I’d call, but right now I just want to be alone.”
The flicker of light in her eyes went out as she swept past him and walked out of his life.
He fumbled with the lock and opened the door, slammed it behind him, and hit his knees, praying, “God, don’t let her leave me.”
After a while, he sat back on his heels and struggled to his feet, drawing the hurt and heartache inside of him. His phone buzzed. Drawing it out of his pocket, he held on to the hope that maybe she wasn’t leaving after all.
The text message was from Dan and it read: Eat shit.
He pulled out a chair and slumped into it.
His phone buzzed again.
Obviously this text message was connected to the first one: Get sick.
He set the phone on the table to rub his hand over his heart. When his phone buzzed a third time, he almost didn’t pick it up, but figured Dan might show up and beat the crap out of him. He’d need to be ready.
And die.
Hell, he felt as if he had. The longer he sat there, the more he realized he should have let her say whatever it was that brought her to his door. No matter how much it would have hurt, she deserved the chance to say her piece.
He’d said his, and she never said a word. Aw, Grace, he thought. He should have begged her to stay.
Dragging himself to his feet, he shuffled over to the cabinet above the fridge and opened it. The bottle of Jameson was the one thing he’d fought not to sink into again after he’d left New York. It was there to remind him of the part of his life that he fought daily to put behind him. It wasn’t meant for drinking.
“Fuck that.” He reached for the bottle and a glass, opened it, poured three fingers, and tossed it back. It burned through the block of ice that had settled in his throat. He drew in a breath, let it out, poured another glass, and carried the bottle with him to the living room.
While the sun moved through the sky and headed toward the horizon, he emptied the bottle of whiskey. For every drop he swallowed, he felt the razor-sharp pain of regret, guilt, and loss welling up inside of him.
Her name was on his lips as he passed out.
***
“What do you mean, you didn’t say anything?” Kate McCormack stood with her hands on her hips and glared at her friend. “That’s not the Grace Mulcahy that I know and love.”
Grace shrugged—even that tiny movement added to the raw pain she’d carried home with her from Newark.
“Grace!” Kate grabbed her friend by the arms and gave her a shake.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Tough, crap,” Kate shot back. “You’re hurting inside and you need to get rid of the hurt.”
“I feel like punching someone.”
Kate shook her head. “I’d be happy to drive you back over there so you can punch him.”
Just the thought of it roused her out of the stupor she’d sunk into on the drive back from Patrick’s apartment. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“You aren’t going back to Columbus early, are you?”
Grace didn’t want to have to think anymore. She’d spent the last few days thinking, worrying, and wondering what had happened to the man who’d turned her world inside out and upside down by loving her…and now that same man was pushing her away, shoving her out of his life.
“Maybe.”
“What about Sunday dinner?”
Grace thought back to the meals she’d shared with Patrick, the conversations, and the lovemaking that had been such a vital part of who and what they’d been together. “I thought we had something special, damn it!”
Kate nodded. “You do.”
“Then why did he dump me when I could tell he really needs me?”
Kate sighed. “Come on.”
Grace tried to shrug out of her friend’s grip but couldn’t. “Where?”
Kate started dragging her down the street toward Doc Gannon’s office, but Grace resisted. “I’m not sick.”
Her friend’s answer surprised her. “You are inside.”
Drained from the non-argument she’d had with Patrick, she gave in and let herself be led. She’d planned to talk to her brother-in-law but hadn’t had the chance, and now Kate was dragging her there. She sighed and let herself be led.
Jack was waiting for them when they arrived. “So, Grace,” he said, walking over and taking her by the hand, “come on back and tell me what’s going on.”
Kate waved and left Grace alone with her brother-in-law.
“I’m not sick,” she protested.
Jack’s concerned look warmed the ice forming in her belly. “Sometimes we just need to talk to get to the root of what’s ailing us. It’s not always physical to start with, but if what’s in here,” he said, pointing to her heart, “is left to fester, then you’ll be back complaining of very real pain.”
She sat down while he closed his office door behind him. “Now,” he said, leaning a hip against his desk, “what’s going on with Patrick?”
“I didn’t say—”
“Grace, you don’t have to. I’ve been in Patrick’s shoes.”
She frowned up at him. “When did you fight fires?”
He frowned down at her before reminding
her of the IED that had broken his leg and ended the life of a marine Jack had respected but could not save.
“But that’s not the same.”
“Think about what Patrick does for a living and the extraordinary circumstances he has to deal with, wading through fire to save people before putting that fire out. The men and women in the military have to lay their lives on the line on a daily basis for our country. Some come home suffering from PTSD—some aren’t that lucky.”
He grew quiet until Grace reached out and touched the back of his hand. “Maybe I am beginning to see the comparison, but how can I get through to him? I know he needs me, but he pushed me away and I didn’t even have a chance to say anything.”
“Talk to him, Grace,” Jack advised. “Even if he doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, you’ll have planted the seeds. It might take some time, but if you love the man and let him know, eventually, he’ll realize that he needs to open up and share what’s crippling him on the inside.”
She got up and hugged her brother-in-law. “Thanks, Doc.” Pressing a kiss on his cheek, she said, “My sister is one lucky woman.”
“You’ve got that all wrong, Grace. I’m the lucky one.” She smiled as he opened the door for her. “Talk to Patrick.”
“I think I’ll sleep on it before I do.”
He waited until she’d left his office before picking up the phone. “Joe, it’s me, Jack. I’m going to need your help tonight.”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“Backup on a mission to save Garahan from himself.”
Joe muttered something beneath his breath about daughters and the stubborn men they loved, which had Jack chuckling. “Exactly. Patrick loves Grace. He needs her right now, but he’s being proud and stubborn. He needs you to talk to him.”
“And then you’ll tell him about your PTSD and how it almost cost you the love of your life?”
Jack didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“Grace just left here. I’m going to call Cait and have her drive over to stay with Grace while we’re gone.”
Welcome Back to Apple Grove Page 24
