by Pandora Pine
Over the course of my career with the Gloucester Fire Department, I’d been interviewed hundreds of times. I’d never once accused any of those reporters of committing a crime, let alone of being an arsonist. Why was Deacon so different?
“You’re gonna need these,” a familiar voice said, before throwing something at me.
Thumping against my chest with a jingle were the keys to my Dodge Charger. The pitcher of record was my brother Hennessey. “What’s this?”
“Kennedy called saying he’d brought you out here, but since he was still on duty, he wasn’t going to be able to take you or Deacon home. I told him I’d bring you the car and catch a ride back with Dallas on the ambulance.” Hennessey looked me up and down. “You okay?”
No. I was most definitely not okay. “It’s a long story, but I accused Deacon of being the arsonist. He’d gotten to the fire before we did, and I thought I could smell gasoline on him.”
Hennessey gave his head a shake, as if to say he couldn’t believe I was that stupid. “Dude, you need to get laid or drunk or something. This arson case has you on the defense 24/7. It’s not good for you or the rest of us.”
My brother had a point. I was jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The slightest thing would set me off. Tonight, the slightest thing had been Deacon. “What the hell do I do, Hen? This arsonist has already killed four people, five if you count…” I trailed off, not wanting to think about the hostage situation.
“Find a way to relax. That boy is crazy about you. Why not take him out for a test drive? If Deacon were batting those baby blues at me the way he’s batting them at you, I’d be on him in a heartbeat.” Hennessey rubbed his hands together as if he were formulating a diabolical plan.
“He hurt himself pretty badly tonight saving that family.” A wave of guilt swamped over me. I hadn’t even waited for the doctor to take care of Deacon’s burn before I’d been in his face, accusing him of setting the fire.
“Jesus, man. He saved a family from a house fire and you thank him by accusing him of torching the place?” Hen shot me a nasty side eye.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s happened before. Some of the most notorious arsonists in U.S. history set fires so they could rush in and play the hero.” I sounded absolutely ridiculous. Maybe Hen was right, and I did need to find a way to chill the fuck out.
“Come on, do you really think Deacon is so hard up for attention that he’d set a fire and save the people in the house, just so you’d see him as a hero?” Judging by the look on Hen’s face, he thought the idea was ludicrous.
When he phrased it like that, no, I didn’t think Deacon did any of those things. I felt foolish. “I need to apologize to him.”
“So, get in there and do it,” Hennessey urged.
“Can’t. Deacon kicked me out of his room. Stark was flirting with him and that only made the situation worse.” My blood heated just thinking about Stark getting his hands on Deacon.
“Christ, when are you gonna let him go? We all told you Stark was hitting his knees for every gay man in town. Hell, I even walked in on him and his flavor of the night in the men’s room at Bait.” Hen gave his head a little shake as if to dislodge the memory.
I’d known all along what kind of man Stark Givens was. I’d figured if I loved him hard enough, he’d see I was worthy of him being faithful. It hadn’t worked out that way. It had been two years since I walked away, and I hadn’t put my heart on the line since. “I’m working on it.”
“Work harder. Deacon’s a good man.” Hen reached out to hug me before heading out to find Dallas.
I let my brother have the last word. He was right. There was no use denying it. Deacon was a good man. It took a lot of guts to do what he did tonight. He’d paid a heavy price not only with getting hurt, but with me treating him like a suspect.
Deacon stepped through the ER door into the waiting room. He looked surprised to see me waiting for him.
“What are you doing here?” Deacon looked exhausted. His hand was bandaged, and he was carrying a white paper bag and his discharge papers in his good hand.
“I owe you an apology and a ride home.” Shit, I was making a mess of this already.
“I don’t need a ride home. I’ll call an Uber.” Deacon reached for his phone with his bandaged hand. He hissed in pain.
“Please let me drive you.” I jingled my keys. “I’ll have you home in no time.”
“Okay.” Deacon sounded defeated. I hated seeing him like this. Usually, he was full of life and energy, but now, he looked deflated. It was only a ten-minute ride out to his house. I was going to have to think fast.
When we got out to the parking lot, I opened the passenger door for Deacon. The night air was still thick and humid. “Thanks,” he muttered. He slid into the car and was able to fasten his seatbelt with his right hand.
“What did Stark say about the hand?” Since Deacon didn’t seem too impressed with my earlier apology, I figured I’d keep the conversation on neutral ground.
“Stark said I was going to be fine.” Deacon huffed, turning his attention out the window, as they passed through the dark Salem streets. “I know all about the two of you.”
“Do you?” In a flash, my patience was gone. “What did you do, grill him for your next news story?”
“If your ego got any bigger, there wouldn’t be enough room in the car for both of us.” Deacon wore a sour look. “He was flirting with me to upset you. I was stupid enough to think he actually liked me. When I said that to him, he told me I didn’t need a man like him.”
Deacon was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for. I’d seen the same thing with Stark. He always flirted with other men in front of me, same as he had when we were together. “A man like him?”
“Yeah, one who couldn’t keep it in his pants if his life depended on it.” Deacon sighed.
“He’s got a point you know. You deserve so much more.” I did too, come to think of it.
“Oh, yeah? How would you know what I need? Two hours ago, you were accusing me of setting a fire. Aside from my name, you don’t know anything about me.”
That wasn’t entirely true. “I know you’re a good man. Hal Rossi wouldn’t have been your friend otherwise. I also know you’re good at your job.”
“Yeah, so good at it that I learned how to be an arsonist after one easy interview.” Deacon rolled his eyes.
“I know you’re angry at me.” That was the understatement of the century.
Deacon scoffed, but otherwise stayed silent.
I was going to need to be very careful with my next words. “Even though catching the arsonist isn’t under my jurisdiction as a fire captain, the fact that we haven’t apprehended him yet weighs heavily on me. Four people have died as a result of these fires, the old lady out on Wessex Street and three members of the McMasters family. Not to mention what happened to Hal.” My voice cracked on his name.
“None of what happened that day was your fault. Hal would be the first person to tell you that,” Deacon challenged.
“You’re right, he would be the first person to tell me that very thing, but if we had managed to catch this asshole sooner, none of this would have happened.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Deacon shrugged. “Accusations like the one you made tonight can ruin lives. How many people did you tell? How many people think it’s possible I’m the arsonist? Did you ever stop to think what that kind of accusation could do, not only to my personal life, but to my professional one?”
I hadn’t thought about either thing, and Deacon knew it.
“My reputation in the newspaper business is all I have. If people can’t trust me, they won’t trust my reporting. Where would I be then? On the unemployment line. Once my reputation is gone, it’s gone. I would never again be able to get another job at a reputable news agency. I’ve never wanted any other job than the one I have. In one careless, overly emotional moment, you could have ruined everything I’ve spent the last
decade working toward.” Deacon didn’t sound like he was on the edge anymore. Whatever emotions had been overwhelming him seemed to be back under control. What I felt coming from Deacon now was anger. Righteous anger.
Parking the car in Deacon’s driveway, I turned to face him. “I’m so sorry, Deacon. I was angry when I thought I’d put the pieces together tonight. You’re right, I never gave a single thought to the ramifications accusing you of being a criminal would bring about.” Saying the words out loud made me realize what a complete and total asshole I was. Of course, calling him out as the Scorcher would have a negative impact on his career and his life. Any idiot knew that. With the exception of me.
“That’s a nice apology, Ozzy. Just make sure everyone knows you were wrong tonight. I swear, if your inconsiderate, ill-timed words come back to haunt me…” Deacon trailed off.
It wasn’t hard to figure out what Deacon’s next words would have been. Without saying anything else, I got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. Opening the door was the least I could do for him. When I tried to help him out of the car, Deacon batted my hand away. When he was out of the car, he stood toe to toe with me.
“Thanks for the ride home.” He turned to walk away, and I reached out for his elbow.
“I know you’re angry, but I really am sorry.” I’d never felt worse over words said in anger.
“Yeah, I know you’re sorry.” Deacon attempted to pull his arm free from my grasp, but it wasn’t letting him go just yet.
“Make sure you take your medicine and follow the doctor’s orders.” Those words were my mother coming out in me.
“Thanks, Dad. I didn’t know you cared.” With a dramatic eye roll, Deacon pulled his arm away from me.
I don’t know what it was, either his tone or his words, but he had me fired up again. “You’re in the perfect profession, you know? You’ve got a big-ass mouth.” At this moment in time, my entire focus was on the mouth in question. I’d never noticed how elegantly sculpted Deacon’s lips were. The bottom was thick and pillowy, while his top lip was pouty and begging to be sucked on.
Before I had time to think better of it, I moved forward to kiss him. Deacon stiffened against me for a heartbeat, before sighing against my lips. My left hand came up to cup the side of his face, while my lips pressed against his. A buzzy, out of control feeling swept through my body, one which made me feel like I was exactly where I belonged, which was ridiculous, wasn’t it?
Deacon’s right hand pushing against my chest broke the spell. He wore a horrified look on his face before he started rubbing the back of his hand against his lips. His usually bright eyes were dark, but not with passion, with anger. “You think one pity kiss makes up for the shit you pulled tonight?” Without waiting for an answer, Deacon stomped off.
It was on the tip of my tongue to call out and tell him it wasn’t a pity kiss, unfortunately, I couldn’t tell him exactly what it was. I stayed rooted to the spot in his driveway until he was safely inside the house, with the door locked behind him. Lights switched on throughout the house.
As I trudged back to the driver’s side of the car, I couldn’t help thinking what an absolute cluster fuck tonight had been. I had no fucking clue how to fix anything between Deacon and I. Fortunately, I knew just the person who could help me out.
6
Deacon
Sleep had been long in coming after Ozzy dropped me off. Not only was I angry at the way he’d acted at the hospital, he’d gone and kissed me, throwing my emotions into even more chaos. The cherry on the top of my messed-up sundae, was the fact that I still had to write my article on the fire before my deadline.
I’d struggled mightily with anxiety in my teens. Thankfully, my mother had taken me to see the best child psychologist in town. I wasn’t the biggest fan of what I considered to be useless chatter, but my therapist had given me an important tool in the fight. She’d told me to imagine an empty strongbox. Everything making me anxious at that moment would be stuffed into the box before I locked it up tight.
I used that coping mechanism in order to get through my work, otherwise my article never would have been written. Once I hit the submit button, I spent the next two hours tossing and turning in a vain attempt to fall asleep.
Awake, crabby, and not knowing which end was up, there was only one thing to do. I made lunch plans with my oldest friend, Finley Manning.
I’d met Finley my freshman year at Andover High School. His family had moved to town from New Hampshire, somewhere in the White Mountains. We’d been assigned as lab partners in biology class and hit it off. After graduation, we’d gone on to Northeastern University together, with me majoring in journalism and Finley in marketing. He was now an ad executive for one of the largest ad agencies in Boston. Thankfully, he wasn’t too big to spend time with his small-town friend.
When I got to the downtown Starbucks, Finley was already there. He’d grabbed a high-topped table near the window and had already ordered my favorite drink. “Hey there.” I gave him a long hug. Finley indulged me.
“What the hell happened to your hand? Does it have anything to do with the fact that you look like you haven’t slept in about a month?” His critical eyes roved over the rest of me.
“There was another fire last night. I got there ahead of the firefighters and found the family’s front door was nailed shut.”
Finley’s deep, green eyes widened. “What do you mean the door was nailed shut?”
I could see the door and those nails clear as day in my mind’s eye. “For some odd reason, the front door opened out. Whoever set the fire hammered four nails vertically into the jamb, so that when the family tried to open the front door, the nails would stop that from happening, trapping the family inside.”
“Okay, let me get this straight, you ran up to a burning house to save the family trapped inside? Holy shit, man. That’s pretty brave if you ask me.” Finley looked duly impressed.
“I don’t think it was brave at all. Anyone would have done the same thing to save the family from burning to death. I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time.” I hadn’t given a single thought to my own safety, only that of the terrified people trapped inside the house.
Finley seemed to think on that for a moment or two. “I still say you’re a hero, no matter how much you backpedal.”
Instead of answering, I took a long sip from my cup. I needed every ounce of caffeine I could get today. “What’s new with you?”
“Oh, no. You didn’t just change the subject before you got to the good stuff. I’ve known you long enough to know you didn’t ask to meet for lunch because you burned your hand. There’s something else. I can see it in your eyes. Someone else, by the look of it.” Finley’s sharp eyes had been watching me like a hawk from the moment I walked in. I had a feeling he knew exactly who that someone was.
“Promise you won’t get mad.” I snorted. Those words took me right back to high school. If I had a nickel for every time I started a story off with that phrase, I could own my own island in the Caribbean.
“I promise I won’t get mad.” Finley always said that. He usually got mad anyway. I knew this story would be no exception.
“Like I told you, I got to the fire scene before the Gloucester Fire Department arrived. I’d gotten the family out of the house and down to the foot of the driveway, when we heard the sirens approaching.” I stopped suddenly, trying to figure out the right words to keep Finley from losing it.
“Let me stop you right there. This has something to do with him, doesn’t it?” Finley’s frown deepened. To say he wasn’t a fan of Ozzy Graves was putting it mildly.
I nodded, feeling ashamed of myself. “He came to speak to me after the fire was under control. I told him about the door being nailed shut and handed the evidence over to him. I burned my hand on the doorknob, trying to yank it open. He saw my injury, thought he smelled gasoline, and immediately marched me over to his brother who was manning the ambulance last nig
ht. Once he showed up at the hospital, he outright accused me of setting that fire.”
Outrage filled Finley’s eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? You saved those people and he thought you set the fire?” He gave his head a quick shake. “I always thought that man was as stupid as a bag of dicks, but he sure the hell proved it last night.”
Finley’s reaction hadn’t been as bad as I expected it to be. That was the thing with best friends, they believed in you unconditionally. “I can’t argue with you there.” I could though. I didn’t think Ozzy was stupid. Over-dedicated, maybe. Desperate to catch the arsonist, but not stupid.
“There’s something else. I can see it in your eyes.” Finley was silent as he continued to look me over. “Jesus fucking Christ. You slept with him. Didn’t you?” He sat back in his seat and took a long drink from his coffee.
I knew not to interrupt, act two was still to come.
“You’ve been panting after this fucker for months now and he hasn’t so much as looked your way. I could live with that, because he hadn’t actually hurt you, but now you’re telling me he accused you of setting that fire, which by itself could get you fired, and you fell into bed with him?” Finley’s angry whisper was picking up steam.
“I didn’t fall into bed with him.” Christ, I wasn’t that desperate.
Finley looked slightly mollified. “Don’t tell me you sucked him off in that ridiculous muscle car of his.”
“No, I didn’t suck him off.” I sighed. This was getting me nowhere. “Can I tell the story, or would you like to continue guessing the wrong answer?”
“Continue. I’m listening.” Finley was most definitely all ears.
“Since the ambulance brought me to the hospital from the fire, I didn’t have a way to get home. I was going to call an Uber, but Ozzy insisted he would drive me home. You know, since he’d been such a jerk all night.” I wasn’t going to defend my decision to accept a ride. It had been a long night. I’d been tired, sore, and had still needed to write my story about the fire.
