The heavyweight of my words drags me down and I think back to the heroic stranger who saved Chris so many years ago. So much time had already passed before we met and yet, anytime he talked about it there was so much appreciation in his eyes. It made me sad to think I never got the chance to meet him and thank him myself. I can’t imagine how different my life would be if that fireman hadn’t saved Chris that September day. I may have lost the man I loved, but I still had him for a little while. I still experienced a beautiful love and was able to give life to an amazing little boy.
“I think we’ve talked enough about me,” Jimmy says, pulling me away from my thoughts. Startled I turn my attention back to him and watch as he reaches across the table for my hands.
“Tell me about you,” he murmurs.
My eyes divert to our joined hands and I watch in fascination as he intertwines his fingers with mine. Immediately my mind wanders back to the first time Chris held my hands in his. I remember thinking there wasn’t another pair of hands on this earth better fitted for mine yet here I am staring at the colorful inked hand and it fits perfectly with mine.
It’s too much.
The easy flow of the conversation.
The interest in getting to know a man.
The hands.
His.
Mine.
Ours.
It’s too much.
Quickly, I snatch my hands away and push my chair back.
“Excuse me,” I say, rising to my full height. Bending down, I grab my purse and steal a quick glance at Jimmy. “I have to use the ladies room,” I lie already detecting the disappointment in his brown eyes.
Once inside the bathroom, I lean against the door and close my eyes. My time with Jimmy flashes before me like a movie reel. The way his eyes burned into me when I walked out of the house, the quiet car ride here, the sweet way he held out my chair and filled my empty glass. All he shared with me and the twinkle in his eyes as he leaned forward asking me to give him pieces of myself. If Chris wasn’t on my mind, I would’ve likely continued the conversation. I would’ve told Jimmy anything he wanted to know… the good, the bad and everything in between.
Pushing off the door, I make my way to the sink. There is a blush to my cheeks and the lipstick I was wearing earlier is gone probably staining the glass I was drinking out of. My hair is as perfect as it was when I left the house. To the naked eye, I look like a normal woman on a date with a man.
I’m not broken, bent or expired.
I’m alive.
There is a pulse beating inside of me.
At that thought, I’m reminded of my sister and her antics. If she was here she’d tell me to put on my big girl panties and go back out there. Or she would slap me. It really could go either way. With a sigh, I dig through my purse for my lipstick and decide I owe it to both Jimmy and myself to get back to our dinner. However, instead of a tube of lipstick, I find two tiny bottles of vodka identical to the one Amber gave me before I left the house.
It helped calm my nerves before and they are really tiny.
Like a shot.
I can totally handle two shots.
Then I can handle Jimmy.
Er—maybe handle is the wrong word.
Unscrewing the top of the first bottle I knock it back in one gulp. It goes down just as smooth as it did before.
Thank God for vanilla extract!
After the second bottle is empty, I throw both back in my purse and reapply a fresh coat of lipstick. Smacking my lips together, I smooth down my shirt and flip my hair over my shoulders. The alcohol warms me and I plant a smile on my face as I make my way back to Jimmy. Reaching the table, my heel catches on something and I go down…
I’d like to say it’s a graceful descent but, my mother didn’t raise a liar.
A lightweight who can’t walk in heels? Well, that’s another story. My mama broke that mold when she made me.
Like a lead in a bad romantic comedy, I fall right into Jimmy’s lap. We bump heads and he steadies me by wrapping one of his arms around my waist.
“Are you okay?”
Mortified, I blink and meet his concerned gaze. In an attempt to pull myself from his lap, I grab a hold of his arm.
“I’m fine,” I croak, squeezing his arm. “There must be something wrong with the floor.”
His lips quirk slightly.
“Must be.”
“You work out a lot, huh?” I ask, sounding like a total fool. For extra emphasis, I squeeze his bicep again because… well, it’s a lovely piece of a muscle and let’s be serious, I don’t remember the last time I squeezed anything other than an eggplant.
“A little,” he replies modestly.
Helping me to my feet, he glances down at my shoes and the unruly floor.
“Let me help you back to your chair,” he offers. Quickly, I wave a hand dismissing him and make my way back to my seat, sashaying my hips ever so subtly.
Amber would be so proud of me.
Once my ass is planted safely in the chair, I take the full glass of wine and bring it to my lips. Jimmy raises an eyebrow as he smiles back at me.
He really has a great smile.
Aside from his arms, it might be my favorite part of Mr. Fireman.
“So, tell me, have you taken part in one of those sexy firemen calendars?” The moment the question escapes my lips, I slap my palm to my forehead. “Forget I asked that. I bet you get that all the time.”
Jimmy laughs and for some reason that encourages me to make more of a fool of myself.
“I’m also willing to bet you’ve had your fair share of women. I mean a fireman walks down the street, and it’s like Moses parted the sea. The only difference is, women of all ages throw their panties at him,” I pause, taking another sip of wine. “Occupational hazard I suppose.”
“You didn’t throw your panties at me,” he points out. “Want to give it another shot? I’ll walk out, come back in and we can test your theory.”
“Ha! You got the wrong Moscato sister,” I reply, snorting a little. “Now, if you were out to dinner with Amber, she would be all over that. She loves firemen. She’s not a slut or anything like that but, my sister is definitely more promiscuous than me. Not that I’m promiscuous at all. You have to have sex to be promiscuous and I don’t remember the last time I’ve done that.”
“That long, huh?”
“Jesus,” I groan, fanning myself. “Let’s just say, my hymen may have grown back.”
Jimmy covers his mouth as he chokes on his wine and my eyes bulge.
“Oh, please don’t die,” I tell him. “I have no idea how to save a life. I flushed my son’s fish down the toilet last week because I forgot to feed it.”
It’s not funny but suddenly I start giggling like a hyena.
“Besides,” I start, struggling to get the words out through the laughter. “You’re 9-1-1.”
The waiter arrives with our food and I quickly try to compose myself but the aroma of garlic turns my stomach. Covering my mouth, I lurch forward and my face nearly falls into the dish.
“Melissa?”
“I’m going to be sick,” I mutter.
Pushing back my chair, I make a mad dash for the ladies’ room and hear him warn me to watch my step.
Too bad he didn’t tell me to watch out for the vanilla extract.
Some hero he is.
Chapter Seven
A Ghost Standing Between Us
Sliding two hundred-dollar bills into the leather bill holder, I lift my eyes to the waiter as he takes in the untouched plates on the table.
“Sir, would you like me to wrap the meal?”
“No, thank you. Keep the change,” I tell him, rising from my seat. Brushing past him, I make a beeline toward the restrooms and glance at the watch on my wrist. Deciding the ten minutes I gave Melissa to collect herself is ten minutes longer than I like, I knock on the door to the ladies’ room.
“Melissa?”
She doesn’t respond and in
stinctively I throw my shoulder into the door before testing the knob. It flies open and I find her on her knees, hunched over the toilet. Rushing to her side, I pull her hair away from her face as she dry heaves.
“I’m so sorry,” she moans, wiping a hand across her mouth.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I assure her as she leans forward and flushes the bowl. Bracing her hands on the seat, she tries to lift herself but, I quickly intervene and lift her into my arms. To my surprise, she doesn’t put up a fight and I stride for the door.
“I’m drunk,” she murmurs as she rests her head on my shoulder. Balancing her with one arm, I pull open the door.
“It happens to the best of us,” I tell her as I carry her through the restaurant, ignoring all the sideways glances we receive.
“I ruined our date,” she continues. Reaching the parking lot, I feel my pants for the keys to my truck and can’t help but grin. Yeah, the night didn’t go as I planned but having her admit this was indeed a date is more than I imagined she’d give me. And though she’s drunk, having her in my arms is another bonus.
“Are you kidding? You just admitted it was a date. That’s a win for me,” I murmur against her ear. Unlocking the door, I pull it open and gently slide her into the passenger seat. She closes her eyes and leans her head back.
“My head is killing me,” she groans, shifting in her seat. Her purse falls from her lap and the contents tumble onto the floor of the truck. Leaning over her, I bend and try to collect her belongings. That’s when I spot the two empty bottles of vodka. Pocketing them, I set her purse upright and go to work on securing her seat belt.
“You’re a nice guy, Jimmy the hose Casale,” she sputters. Lifting my head, I bite back the chuckle and watch her eyes open. “I didn’t say that,” she warns, wagging a finger at me.
“Never heard it,” I swear, clicking her seatbelt into place. I’m about to step back when she grabs my face and turns me back to her. Unsure what she’s about to do, I stare into her eyes and like a raging inferno she sucks me in. Her lips, soft and firm, crash against mine. Every coherent thought disappears as I move my hands to her face and hold her in place. Our lips slowly part and I pepper hers with another peck before releasing her.
“I kissed you,” she says.
“Yeah, you did.”
“I threw up and then I kissed you,” she groans, smacking her hand to her forehead. “Ouch.”
Giving into the laughter that rolls through me, I pull away from her and close the door. By the time I make it around the front of the truck and into the driver’s seat Melissa is out cold. The drive back to her house is uneventful and when I pull into her driveway, I try to wake her. She doesn’t budge, causing me to lift her out of the truck and carry her to the door. Remembering her sister at the window when I picked her up, I don’t bother searching for her keys and instead, I knock on the door hoping not to wake her kid.
The door swings open and Melissa’s sister stares at me with bulging eyes.
“What the hell did you do to my sister?” she shrieks. The shock wears off and her eyes narrow at me. Ignoring the ridiculous question, I reposition her in my arms and look over the sister’s shoulder.
“Where is her son?”
“I’m going to ask you one more time, what did you do to my sister?” she commands, clenching her jaw.
“And, I’m going to ask you one more time where her son is, so he doesn’t have to see her like this,” I retort, losing my patience. It’s one thing to misjudge a person, but it’s another to accuse a man of foul play.
Crossing her arms against her chest, the armor slips from her face.
“He’s sleeping,” she replies, moving aside to allow me room to enter. Stepping over the threshold, I carry Melissa into her house. “Living room is to the right,” the sister says from behind me.
I hear her close the door as I gently lay Melissa down. Unable to help myself, I brush my fingers down her cheek before standing to my full height and meeting the sister’s fury. Running my hands over my head, I try to remember the name of the woman whose eyes are drilling a hole in me.
“You have five seconds to explain,” she hisses.
“Listen… uh…”
“For fuck’s sake,” she growls, rolling her eyes. “Amber, my name is Amber now start talking fireman.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the two empty vodka bottles and hold them out to Amber.
“I think your sister might have a problem,” I reveal begrudgingly. “Everything was fine,” I continue. “We had a couple of glasses of wine before dinner then she excused herself to the bathroom. When she came back, I noticed she wasn’t herself but I thought she was finally starting to relax around me.”
Snatching the bottles from my hand, Amber’s eyes go wide before she closes them completely.
“Oh my God,” she groans.
Fearing the worst, I glance back at Melissa.
“What? What is it?” I ask.
“I put those in her pocketbook,” she mutters, meeting my gaze. “I gave her one before you picked her up and it seemed to calm her down so, I put the others in there as a joke. I never thought she would actually drink them but, maybe if she got nervous she would look in her bag, see them and voila—no more jitters.”
“Liquid courage,” I comment.
“Exactly!”
“Want to tell me why she needs it?”
Biting her lip, she looks at Melissa thoughtfully.
“My sister doesn’t date much,” she admits. “Actually, she doesn’t date period. It’s like she stopped living after her wedding.”
“Her wedding,” I repeat, shaking my head. “She told me she was never married.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a church full of people or frilly white dress,” she replies.
Without trying, I see it.
A church full of people, flowers everywhere and Melissa in a beautiful white dress, wearing a smile that belongs to another man.
“Are you saying he left her at the altar?”
Placing her hands on her hips, she releases a strangled breath as she shakes her head.
“This isn’t my story to tell,” she murmurs. “If my sister wanted you to know, she would’ve told you. I’ve already said too much.”
I don’t like being left in the dark but, I respect Amber’s choice to keep her sister’s confidence. Still, I can’t shake the vision of Melissa in white and I know for certain when I lay my head down to rest, it’s that exact image that will keep me up all night.
“Thank you for taking care of her,” Amber says. “I’ve got it from here.”
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I nod taking the subtle hint that my presence is no longer needed.
“Two aspirins and a bottle of orange soda,” I reply.
“What?”
“Make sure she has both waiting for her when she wakes up in the morning,” I tell her as I make my way down the hall. As I reach for the front door, I pause and glance up at the photos framing the wall. The largest is of an adorable little boy who if I had to guess was four years old. Then there are a few surrounding it. One of Melissa and Amber. Another of an older couple who I assume are her parents and a few more of the boy. My gaze zeros in on the final picture and my breath hitches as my eyes dart between Melissa’s smiling face and the man holding her in his arms. The man I pulled out of an elevator seventeen years ago.
The same man I carried over my shoulder for blocks.
The man I left inside that tiny church.
The one who came to thank me a year later.
Christopher Edwards.
Amber says something that I don’t make out and I take a retreating step backward. Shaking my head in disbelief, I give the photo one last glance before hurrying out the door. I slam it closed and run my fingers through my short hair.
Her face.
From that first day in her office, I knew I had seen her before.
Making my way to my car, I rake
my brain trying to place when and where I saw her. I play back every encounter I had with Chris and then it hits me. The last time I saw him was the day they opened the 9/11 museum. He called me a few days before and asked if we could check it out together. That’s the day he told me he met someone and was going to ask her to marry him. Come to think of it, he had met me after picking up the ring from the jewelry district down on Canal Street.
Forcing myself into my truck, I grip the steering wheel as the memories come flooding back to me. Proud of his woman, he pulled out his wallet and showed me the photograph he kept of her. I remember thinking she was beautiful. I remember staring at her face, at those eyes that seemed to jump off the paper they were printed on. They shined almost as brightly as her smile did. I told him he was a lucky bastard, and he thanked me. Not for the compliment but, again, he thanked me for saving his life—for giving him the opportunity to find her.
To love her.
Piecing together what I know, I start the engine and violently peel away from the curb. He looked so sincere then. He even asked me if I would attend the wedding. We joked that I should be his best man and then he made me promise to have dinner with him and his soon to be fiancé.
He called her Liss.
Jesus Christ, he called her Liss—short for Melissa.
I never got an invitation to dinner never mind a wedding. We lost touch after that and I’m mainly to blame. For as long as we knew one another it was always Chris who reached out to me. I never made the effort.
Suddenly anger coils in my veins and I can’t tell if I’m madder at myself or him. Myself, for not trying hard enough. If I had maybe then I would know what happened between the two of them. If I had then I wouldn’t have just spent the night enjoying the company of a woman whose heart belongs to another man.
Him, because he’s responsible for dimming the light in those beautiful eyes. He’s the reason her smile is gone. The reason she’s so unsure of herself. He’s why she’s so fucking sad.
Raging Inferno Page 6
