Blinking back tears, I turn to look at him. To my surprise, he’s been looking back at me instead of at whatever’s happening on the stage. Our eyes meet and we mouth in unison, “I’m sorry.”
Wes drove Delaney home. To her house, not the apartment.
There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but in the end, none of them would change the outcome. She wasn’t going to give up her job. He wasn’t willing to live with the risks she had to take to do it. Despite the idyll of the last few days, they were at the same impasse they’d crashed into three years ago. The only difference now was that he was neither stupid enough nor selfish enough to ask her to change her mind.
“You can come by the apartment tomorrow to get your things while I’m in the office,” he said as he parked the Lexus at the curb. “You still have your key card, right?”
Pressing her lips together, she nodded. Was she holding back tears? In the yellow glow of the nearby streetlamp, it was hard to tell whether her eyes were glassy with emotion or just over-dilated to compensate for the low light.
“I’ll get your name removed from my personnel forms before I go back to work. It was shitty of me to do that to you.”
He shrugged, trying to maintain a stoic front. Later, when he was alone, he could let the loss sink in, but for now, he didn’t want to burden her with any more guilt than she was already feeling. “You saved that boy.”
“So he was a boy,” Delaney breathed. “Ryan and I couldn’t tell when we found him. I’m glad to hear he made it.”
We nodded. “It was on the news the next morning, while you were still unconscious. They say he ran away from an abusive foster home and was squatting in the warehouse. The investigators think the fire was started by one of his discarded cigarette butts.”
“So that’s what I saw,” she murmured.
Wes knew she wasn’t really talking to him, but he asked anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Whenever I find someone in a building we’re told is clear, I always realize afterward that there’s some tangible reason I wasn’t convinced. The first time, with that little girl, it was the toys and the mother’s failure to get out of the apartment when she should have had plenty of time. At the warehouse, I remember now that I saw a couple of stray cigarette butts.”
“Couldn’t those have been left by the security guard or anyone else who entered the building?”
“Well, yeah, but the security guard was outside having a cigarette when the fire broke out, so it didn’t make sense that they were his. Plus, I’d like to think anyone who works in a warehouse would realize that dropping their butts around wood and cardboard boxes isn’t the brightest idea. A kid…not so much.”
Wes shook his head with amazement. “That seems like a hell of a lot to think through in the heat of the moment.” Literally. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“That’s the thing, though. I never think through it at the time. I just feel it. It’s only afterward that I figure out why. But it’s what makes me good at the job. For whatever reason, I process stuff other people don’t notice.”
“You’re not just good at your job. You’re incredible. And it was shitty of me to think you should give that up for me. I think we can call it even.”
Turning away, she stared out the window into her darkened front yard. “I was never angry with you, you know. Not really.”
He let out a snort of self-disgust. “You should have been. I acted like a chauvinist pig.”
Her laugh was low and sad. “Maybe a little. But you weren’t wrong about what it means to be married to a firefighter. It means always fearing the worst will happen. And I’ll admit, if our positions were reversed and you were the one putting yourself in danger, I’m not sure I could take it. I shouldn’t have expected of you what I couldn’t do myself.” She reached down into the foot well for her purse. “And, by the way, I hope you won’t hold what happened tonight against Mystique. It’s an awesome show, and if you don’t book it, I will come and lay some serious whoop-ass on you.”
He chuckled at that, because he was pretty sure she could follow through on the threat. “Don’t worry. I know it was pure coincidence. Aaron’s going to be very happy when I call him in the morning.” Which was more than he could say for himself.
“Good.” She started to open the car door but hesitated when it was cracked just far enough to bring on the dome light. “And as much as I know I shouldn’t be, I’m glad we had these three days together.”
His voice cracked under the weight of her absolution. “I’m glad, too.”
Leaning across the console, she brushed her lips across his. “I love you, Wesley Barrows. And I always will.”
Then she pushed the door open, slung her purse on her shoulder, and got out of the car. He watched her walk up the tile pathway that led to her front porch, the flared hem of her turquoise blue dress swirling above her knees in time with the sway of her hips. When she reached the front door, she slipped her key into the lock without a backward glance. Lights came on inside, and a second later the curtains closed.
He got it. No turning back. No last, longing looks. What was done was done.
And it hurt like fucking hell.
Sliding the Lexus into drive, he pulled a U-turn in the middle of the suburban street and headed back out the way he’d come in. Although he wasn’t as familiar with the neighborhood as Delaney, he knew it well enough to slip into autopilot for the drive back to the Grand. He’d have to pay more attention once he got closer to the Strip, of course, but here in the residential parts of town, there was very little traffic at this time on a weeknight.
The aftermath was going to be different this time. After all, he’d known from the beginning that this moment was inevitable. The only thing he hadn’t counted on was how suddenly and dramatically the moment had come. He grimaced at the thought of what Chelsea and his father were going to have to say to him when they heard the news. “I told you so” and “Are you an idiot?” seemed like pretty solid predictions of their respective responses. But what else could he do? Another phone call like the one he’d received a week ago would gut him. Especially because the next time it happened, Delaney could be more than hurt. She could be dead. And that was a thought he couldn’t bear. Imagining a world without Delaney in it was like imagining the planet without gravity—conceivable, but so bizarre as to be unrecognizable.
The blare of a horn startled the shit out of him. Glancing up, he realized he’d blown through a red light just a second before he saw the eighteen-wheeler barreling toward the intersection.
The same intersection he was entering.
He had no time to panic. Pressing his foot flat to the floor, he gunned the engine and swerved to the left, squirting past the braking big rig with mere inches to spare. He watched the truck pass behind him in his rearview mirror, unable to believe how close he’d come to obliteration.
Trembling, he pulled the Lexus to the side of the road and tried to get his breathing under control. He’d had near misses before, of course. Everyone had. But none had been nearer than that.
Everyone had.
Well, shit. There was the truth, plain and simple.
People had accidents. People died. It was a fact of life. And the only way to avoid the pain of losing someone you loved was not to love her.
Too late for that.
When he stopped shaking, he made another U-turn. This time, he paid close attention to the road all the way to his destination.
I could use a stiff drink, but since I’m not normally much of a drinker, there’s nothing alcoholic in the house. Since my car is still at the fire station, I couldn’t go out to liquor store to rectify the situation, but as luck would have it, there was a pint of chocolate ice cream in the freezer. It may not be exactly what the doctor ordered, but it’ll do in a pinch.
Pint and tablespoon in hand, I sink onto the sofa, put my feet up on the ottoman, and dig in, the cold dessert soothing my aching throat.
I’ve don
e the right thing. It just doesn’t feel that way.
Oh, I could give up being a firefighter. As Wes pointed out three years ago, I don’t need a job. He could pay off the mortgage on this house and three or four others on the street without even breaking a piggy bank. Moreover, it’s definitely dangerous—this past week is proof if I didn’t know it before—and might not be the best job for someone who wants to have a family some day.
But the family is a some day thing, not a right now thing. In the meantime, my job gives me a sense of purpose and accomplishment like nothing else. My colleagues value and respect me. And I’ve helped save people’s lives. That means a lot to me.
More than Wes? Yes, hard as it is to admit, I guess so.
But really, I just wish I didn’t have to choose.
Is there something wrong with me that I’m willing to put my career over the man I love? Or is it a sign that I don’t love him enough? Maybe if I loved him more, it would be easy for me to give up a job I never even planned on having. But I’m not sure how I could love him more than I do. Especially now that I remember what it was like living without him for the past three years.
Empty. Hollow. Lonely.
The doorbell rings, and I almost drop the half-eaten pint of softening ice cream into my lap. Setting the carton and spoon on the coffee table, I walk to the door and put my eye to the peephole.
It’s Wes.
What the ever-loving hell? I throw the bolt and yank the door inward. “What are you—?”
Before I can form a complete question, he’s through the screen door and pulling me into his arms. “What I am,” he says, pressing his lips to my hairline, “is a fucking idiot.”
I’m so surprised, I can’t breathe. Or think. “What?”
Framing my face with his hands, he tilts my head up until we’re staring each other in the eyes. His irises are ringed with bright gold fire, their green centers glowing with emotion. “All this time, I’ve been thinking how awful it would be to lose you, how I couldn’t bear it. So what was my clever solution? Making sure I lost you by pushing you out of my life. How stupid is that?”
I’m having trouble breathing. And also forming a coherent response. “Um, I’d rather not say.”
His laugh is deep and self-deprecating. “That’s okay. It was a rhetorical question.” He tilts his head down to kiss me, and it’s all I can do to sort my way through the meaning of what he’s saying because I’m going up in flames just like the incredible Ms. M.
When he breaks the kiss, I manage to gasp out my most critical question, “Does this mean we’re not breaking up?”
“If you’ll have me. Knowing, as you now do, that I’m a complete doofus.”
“You’re not a doofus.”
“Nice of you to say that, but really, there’s no other explanation.”
“Sure there is. You couldn’t live with the uncertainty.”
“And what I realized tonight is that life is uncertainty. I almost got taken out by a semi about five minutes ago. It could just as easily be you getting ‘the call’ as me.”
“I don’t think that’s quite true.” I don’t know why I want to argue the point, but I feel like I have to. This issue has stood between us for almost three years. Now, inside of ten minutes, he’s done a complete one-eighty on the subject. I’m not sure I’m buying it. “I’m pretty sure being a firefighter is statistically more dangerous than driving in Las Vegas.”
“I don’t know about that. Have you seen the way people drive?” he teases.
I give him my severest frown. “Be serious.”
His expression sobers, and his eyes glow with emotion and purpose. “You’re right. And I’ll be honest—I am not one bit over being afraid that something bad will happen to you. It’s just that us being apart won’t do a damn thing to prevent it. When I got that call, I didn’t think how glad I was that we weren’t together anymore, but that I was sorry we’d wasted almost three years.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “I don’t want to waste any more years. Or even any more minutes.”
My heart feels like it’s grown three sizes: tender and swollen with pure joy. There are still a thousand things we’ll have to work out—everything from the most mundane questions like where we’ll live to the most serious, like whether we’ll have kids and what we’ll do when that happens. But really, who has that all figured out from the beginning? No one. So I’m not going to sweat it. If we can get past this, we can get past anything.
“I don’t even want to waste another second.” I reach behind him to close and lock the door. Taking his hand in mine, I tug him in the direction of the hallway.
“Shouldn’t you put away the ice cream first?” he asks.
I look at the carton I’ve left on the coffee table and shrug. “If it can’t take the heat, it should stay in the freezer.”
With a laugh, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bedroom. Fortunately, I can take the heat.
The End
Other Books by Jackie Barbosa
In the Ever After series (historical erotic romance)
Carnally Ever After
Behind the Red Door (novella anthology in digital and trade paperback)
The Play Action series (hot contemporary romance from Entangled Brazen)
Skin in the Game
The Lords of Lancashire series (historical romance)
The Lesson Plan
Hot Under the Collar
Harlequin Spice Briefs (historical erotic romance)
Grace Under Fire
Taking Liberties
The Gospel of Love series (contemporary erotic romance)
According to Luke
According to Matthew
According to Mark
Unconnected novellas and short stories:
The Reiver (Scottish historical, free short story)
The Pleasure Club: The Priest (contemporary erotica)
Comrades in Arms (historical mmf ménage, short story)
Unwrap My Heart (contemporary Christmas-themed novella)
An Excerpt from Skin in The Game
A Play Action Novel
by Jackie Barbosa
Available Now from Entangled Brazen
Cade Reynolds sat in the back corner of Cafe du Coeur, Harper Falls’s answer to Starbucks, sipping a steaming cup of black coffee and watching the denizens of his home town come and go. So far, he hadn’t seen anyone he recognized, which he supposed shouldn’t surprise him. Harper Falls had changed a lot in the sixteen years he’d been gone, growing in that time from a sleepy farming community to a decent- sized suburb of the nearby Twin Cities.
What did surprise him was that no one had recognized him. Not the slightly sullen teenage girl behind the counter with the lip ring and bright orange hair. Not the elderly gentleman wearing the Minnesota Vikings jersey who’d been standing behind him in line. Not even the middle-aged woman who now sat at the table across from his. Although she stole a glance at him every few minutes over the top of the book she was reading, he had a pretty good idea it was because he bore a more-than-passing resemblance to the shirtless hunk on the cover of her romance novel and not because she’d realized she was sitting in a coffee shop in Harper Falls with its one and only bona fide homegrown hero, Cade Reynolds. He was the quarterback who’d won the Harper Falls Eagles their first—and as yet only—Minnesota State Championship in his senior year and had since gone on to a national title at USC, a Heisman trophy nomination, and three Pro Bowls. And then there were the print endorsements and television ad campaigns he’d done, not to mention his regular appearances in Sports Illustrated and on the covers of any number of tabloids. The only way he could have made himself more famous would be by dating a Kardashian.
But since he hadn’t taken a snap in the almost two years since the tackle that had shattered his collarbone and throwing shoulder, he’d been mostly out of sight, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that his face and name had faded from the public consciousness. In a way, it was nice no
t to have to duck the paparazzi for a moment of peace. Notwithstanding, one would think in Harper Falls, Minnesota, of all places, he’d be as instantly recognizable as Jesse Ventura, and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted.
He was turning this over in his mind when she walked in.
Every other thought drained from his brain along with about half his blood. All he could think was that she was the most gloriously sexy woman he’d ever seen in his life.
Shoulder-length blond hair caressed the nape of her neck as she strolled up to the counter on legs that, like the last two minutes of a close football game, seemed to go on forever. Cade guessed she must be five-ten or five-eleven in bare feet, but unlike most exceptionally tall women he knew, she didn’t try to disguise or underplay her impressive height by wearing flats. Instead, her feet were encased in a pair of sandals with a good two inches of heel and one of those straps that hooked around the ankle. In combination with her incredibly long, slender legs and the close-fitting calf-length pants she wore, the effect of that strap was so sexy, his comfortable jeans were getting decidedly uncomfortable. He imagined those trim ankles, encircled by that thread of leather, wrapped around his waist, and got more uncomfortable still.
When she reached the counter, the teenage barista’s dour expression brightened, and the girl spoke in animated tones. Straining to hear the conversation, Cade shifted in the unpadded wooden chair that, like certain parts of his anatomy, seemed to have grown harder.
“Oh, Miss Peterson, you won’t believe it,” the barista said, excitement making her breathless. “I got an A on my first college calculus test. I can’t thank you enough for the help.”
Can't Take the Heat Page 9
