“Why’d my mother leave?” The words popped out before Ryan realized it. He hadn’t thought about his missing mother in years. Had he? Except . . . the question had come out. Just like that.
Zeke shook his head wryly. “Oh hell. You tryin’ to put me in a hospital bed too?”
“Forget it,” Ryan muttered, already regretting the question. Zeke had it right. This was stupid. What had Katie been thinking?
“Well, pick a reason. Top of the list, I drove her crazy.”
Good God, his father was actually answering a question, in a reasonable if rusty tone of voice. Once again, Ryan wondered if his coma was playing tricks on him.
“She was too young to be a mother. Only eighteen, you know. Very pretty. You get your looks from her. Some guy showed up claiming he could make her a model, and whoosh, she was gone. She came back to see you a few times.”
“She did?” Ryan had no memory of such a thing.
“Every time she’d have a breakdown and leave a nervous wreck. Sensitive girl. I guess she decided she couldn’t handle it anymore. She stopped coming.”
Ryan turned this over in his mind. “Did she become a model?”
“She did. Even had a bit part in some movies. Her pretty face pops up now and then. You could probably track her down if you go to Hollywood.”
“Wouldn’t want to cause a breakdown,” Ryan answered bitterly.
Zeke shrugged. Sugarcoating was not his style. “Anything else?”
“I guess it must have been hard for you, getting stuck with a baby.”
“Well.” Zeke gazed off into the far corner of the room. “You sure got in the way of my overthrowing of the United States government. Fact is, I might be in prison today if I hadn’t had a kid to take care of.”
Ryan gestured for his water cup. Zeke used his cane to push the swinging tray table closer. “Guess you owe me. Not to mention the entire U.S. government.”
Zeke chuckled. “Joke’s on me. I spit out a hardheaded kid and then got surprised when he wouldn’t do what I said.”
“Was I that bad?”
“Never knew how to handle you. Wild kid. Smarter than anyone knows. Yelling didn’t work. Whipping didn’t work. Finally I let you go and hoped you’d find your way.”
Well, he’d found it, all right. He’d met Captain Brody and become a firefighter. Fire Station 1 had become his new family. His home. His everything. And now he’d lost it all. Ryan turned his head away from his father, toward the beige wall, blank as his future.
Zeke used his cane to prod Ryan in the side.
“Jesus, Zeke. My ribs.”
“I never worried about you after you left.”
“That would explain why I never heard from you.”
“I never worried,” repeated Zeke, “because people always loved you. Before you were good-looking. Before you were a fireman. Before you were a hotshot. Before all of that—and I bet I’m the only one who can tell you this—you were the sweetest child anyone ever saw. Always hugging on me. A little love bug, that’s what you were. I don’t know where you got it, ’cause I’m a mean old son of a bitch. But that’s how you were. Until you started hating me. Didn’t surprise me when you became a firefighter. Saving lives. Perfect fit.”
“That’s not . . .” Ryan’s throat worked. Why was his father saying these things? Nice things. He wasn’t going to cry. No fucking way. “That’s not why I became a fireman. I liked the rush. The adrenaline. Being the hero. Besides, I was good at it. Don’t make me out like a saint or something, that’s crap.”
Zeke got up and stomped to the door. “Hell no, you’re no saint. You do stupid shit. Take dumb risks. I’ve heard some stories. But you’re still my little boy with the heart as big as California.”
“Where are you going?”
“This place is giving me the heebies. ’Fraid if I stay much longer the chemicals they pump into the air will brainwash me.”
“Well, thanks for coming, Zeke.”
“If there’s thanks to be said, it’s to Katie. Talk about a love bug. Two of a kind, you are.” And he was gone, the crooked rhythm of his footsteps and cane echoing down the hall.
Ryan lay flat on his back, staring at the acoustic ceiling tiles until the little black dots did a tarantella across his vision. It was a lot to process. His mother . . . Hollywood . . . overthrowing government . . . love bug . . . And then there were Dr. Kinder’s words. Do you want to have children? Do you want to watch them grow up? In all the swirling thoughts, one stood out. Before you were good-looking, before you were a fireman, before you were a hotshot. He’d forgotten about “before.” He’d forgotten there had ever existed a Ryan who didn’t fight fires.
And yet, the last year and a half, he hadn’t gone near a fire. Well, until they started reappearing in his life, thanks to Katie. And those fires didn’t have anything to do with a “rush.” All he’d wanted was to protect Katie.
He fingered the book she’d sent. When he flipped the cover, it fell open to chapter ten. The part with the king. He read the words under his breath.
“. . . It is much more difficult to judge oneself than to judge others.”
He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. Too much thinking.
Or maybe not enough thinking.
The hell if he could decide which.
Bridget wore her step class teaching outfit, black and sapphire spandex, for the occasion of her confrontation with Doug. It brought out her dominatrix side—never too far from the surface in any case. She only wished she had a whip.
“I gave you lots of chances, you worm.” She added the mental whoosh of a whiplash. Doug cowered on the bar stool where she’d found him, at T.G.I. Friday’s, of all places. Guys up and down the bar kept checking her out, as well they should. “I kept inviting you to our family gatherings. I let you hang out with my friends. I took your side when Katie dumped you.”
“I-I never had any problem with you,” Doug ventured, hopefully.
“Well, now you do. Katie’s covering for you, like she always has. Do you want Katie to go to jail for something you did?”
Doug turned white. “Jail?” Bridget would have felt sorry for him if she hadn’t known he was more worried about his own future behind bars.
“I knew Katie was acting funny. Even for her. Now she’s planning to take the blame for burning down the bar.”
It had taken quite a while to pry that information out of Katie. Bridget had vowed not to tell their parents yet, but she hadn’t promised anything about not killing Doug.
“I’m sorry, Doug, but I cannot allow my sister to take the blame for your asshole-ness.”
“But . . . you don’t even like Katie.” With a smirk, Doug leaned an elbow back on the bar, nearly knocking over his basket of potato skins.
“Wrong. I love Katie. It’s annoying when she doesn’t do what I say, that’s all. She doesn’t want to be my mini-me, and that’s a crushing disappointment. But she doesn’t deserve to go to jail.” Bridget sighed deeply. Every second she spent with Doug made her more aware of the apology she owed Katie for not supporting the breakup. Maybe this would make them even.
“Here’s the bottom line, Doug the Slug. If you don’t come forward and confess, no hot girl in San Gabriel will ever look at you again.”
Doug pushed his unruly black hair off his forehead. “Who do you think you are, the Queen of Hot Girls?”
Bridget quite liked the sound of that. She flicked Doug on the shoulder. “Close enough. Not only that, I’ll kick your ass. You know it wouldn’t take much, Doug the Slug.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Oh, that’s just the beginning. I’ll go all mean girl on you. You know I can do it. It’ll be fun.” She rubbed her hands together. “Rumors to spread, YouTube videos to upload, high school secrets to reveal . . .”
Doug shrank back as if she were stabbing a knife into his gut, over and over again. If only. “You’re so full of crap. I’m Douglas Atwell the Third. My dad’ll sue Y
ouTube if you do that. He’ll own YouTube.”
Bridget tucked a strand of hair behind her ear to hide her annoyance. Doug had been a lot easier to manipulate in junior high. “Oh Doug. Always hiding behind your daddy. That’s why you get no respect, why—” Then it came to her. “Dougie, you’re a genius.”
“Huh?”
“You’re the Hair of the Dog arsonist. You could be famous. An outlaw. A rebel.” She lowered her voice to a purr. “If you had any brains at all, you’d milk this for all it’s worth. It could make you a rock star. Breaking the rules. Living on the edge.” Leaning close, she whispered the coup de grâce into his ear. “Of course, not too far on the edge since your dad can always get you off.”
She wheeled around and catwalked out the bar. Ah, the sensation of thirty sets of male eyes staring at her ass. The only flaw in the moment was that she wished Katie could have been there. But her stubborn little sister never wanted her help with anything. And she was too damn loyal to someone who didn’t deserve her. Katie, I got your back. Like it or not.
When Ryan’s next visitors arrived, he felt like a new man. “Captain Brody! Dani, come give me a hug.”
As the little girl ran into his arms, he thought of Zeke’s description of him as a love bug. Could be worse. Could be a potato bug. He looked up at the tight little family beaming down at him. His heart swelled. Yeah, he loved these guys. If that made him a love bug, he’d live with it. Danielle burrowed her head against his ribs, which didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had the last time she’d hugged him.
“How are you feeling?” Brody asked.
“Better every minute. At first it was hell being here, then it reminded me of the monastery—but with cute nurses. I worked a lot of stuff out in the past few hours.”
Brody raised a black eyebrow. “I’d like to hear about that. Maybe when you get back to the station. You aced the test.”
Ryan nodded. He wasn’t surprised. He was a damn good fireman. Always had been, always would be. If he chose and if his body permitted. “I studied my ass off.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
Ryan guessed the answer, saying it at the same time as Brody.
“Katie told me.”
“Katie told you.”
So, Katie’d been out there fighting his battles while he’d been lazing around being tended to by gorgeous nurses and psychotic doctors.
“What else did she tell you?”
“That I don’t deserve to have you come back.” A smile quivered at the corner of Brody’s mouth.
“She’s what they call a straight talker.”
“Yes, she is.” Brody looked no more put out by Katie’s bluntness than Zeke had.
“Katie’s my friend,” announced Danielle from Ryan’s armpit.
Ryan was trying not to give in to the tickles when he caught the serious look that crossed Brody’s face. The captain scratched at his chin as if debating something.
“What’s going on?” Ryan demanded. “Something’s up. More bad news? Don’t dance around it. If it’s the investigation, let me have it.”
“It’s Katie.”
Ryan’s stomach tightened. Danielle wormed her way from his embrace and ran to her father. Ryan felt suddenly cold in her absence. “What about Katie?”
“She’s called a press conference to announce that she’s the arsonist behind the Hair of the Dog fires,” said Brody. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“That’s crazy! She didn’t do it. Well, she—” He bit back the rest of his sentence, which had to do with the other times Katie had tried to commit arson and failed.
“I know the whole story, Ryan.”
“Katie told you.”
Brody nodded. “She wanted me to know you didn’t do it. I imagine she wants the rest of the world to know too.”
Ryan threw aside his blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed, the left one bundled in a white cast. He sucked in a breath as his broken ribs adjusted to the new arrangement.
“What are you doing?” Brody moved to his side and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I need to get out of here.”
“Right this second?”
He pushed himself to his feet, balancing on one leg. If not for Brody’s steadying hand, he would have fallen.
“Yes. When’s this damn press conference? Excuse me. You didn’t hear that, Danielle.”
But Danielle had discovered The Little Prince and was tracing the prince’s spiky hair with her forefinger.
“An hour from now.”
“Is Melissa there? Can you call her and get her to stop Katie?”
“No, Melissa’s on something else. A hot tip from an anonymous source.”
“Then help me up, for Pete’s sake. Brody, can you get me some crutches? There’s a blonde nurse out there who can get some. Tell her they’re for me. And Captain . . .” Ryan barely noticed the amused look in Brody’s eyes as he issued orders to his boss. “Stay close. I have an idea you’re going to love. I worked it all out in my head while I’ve been lying here with my sippy cup.”
Danielle giggled at “sippy cup,” and skipped alongside as Ryan thumped out of the room, ready to take on any medical professional who might try to stop him, with airborne chemicals or otherwise.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Hair of the Dog, or more accurately, the charred wasteland where it had formerly stood, was being invaded. A jumble of grumpy newspeople hauled equipment from vans, staked out their spots, and set up cameras.
If you asked Katie, they might as well be setting up a guillotine. Ella Joy stood near her, patting powder over her perfect foundation. She barely needed a mirror.
“Wow, you’re good,” Katie told her admiringly.
“Thanks.” Ella winked at her. “It’s part of the job, that’s all. I once applied false eyelashes during the E.T. ride at Universal Studios. The part where you fly through the forest? I missed the whole thing because my glue was still drying.”
“Wow.”
“I’m a professional. It’s all part of the presentation. Do you think I wore the right outfit for this press conference?”
Katie surveyed her olive-green pantsuit with emerald-studded lapels. Emerald-ish, that was. “You look good to me.”
“Good isn’t the point. This is a serious story. I can’t look too flashy.” She lowered her voice. “The Hair of the Phoenix has finally run out of second chances. Never again will the Hair of the Dog rise up from the ashes to serve another cocktail.”
From the way Ella Joy held her arm, as if clutching a phantom microphone, Katie knew she was trying out lines for her report.
“What tragic behind-the-scenes drama led to this sad day for San Gabriel, the day a beloved landmark went up in greasy smoke?”
“If it was that beloved,” corrected Katie, “it might still be standing. And it wasn’t greasy.”
“Fine. I’ll cut greasy.” Ella made a note on her reporter’s pad. “When is Ryan getting here?”
“He’s not.”
“What? I thought the Hair of the Dog arsonist was coming forward. If we don’t have an arsonist, we don’t have a story.” She pulled out her cell phone and punched some numbers. Katie snatched the phone out of her hand.
“He is! I mean, it is! The arsonist is coming forward. But it’s not Ryan.”
“Not Ryan.” Ella gave her a long, speculative look. Katie saw an unexpected intelligence at work behind those china-blue eyes. “I always thought it was absurd. I even interviewed that loser who claimed he saw Ryan. Doug something.”
“It wasn’t him either.” Katie almost choked on the lie. You are responsible, she reminded herself. It was your bonehead idea from the beginning.
“Hm.” Ella looked like she wanted to say more, but her cameraman beckoned her over. “Hold that thought. We have to line up our shot. But I have to say, Doug looked like a weaselly little liar to me.”
Katie worried at her bottom lip as she handed Ella h
er phone back. She couldn’t argue, really. It hurt to think that the boy she’d loved had grown into a weaselly liar, but he had. And it had taken her a long time to see it.
“You about ready?” The cameraman gestured to Katie. “You’re representing the Hair of the Dog, right?”
“Yes. I’m ready.” She took a deep breath and walked toward the cluster of microphones that had been set up.
“Hang on a minute.” Ella Joy stopped the proceedings with an imperious gesture. The newspeople erupted in grumbles. Katie saw a reporter from another station throw up a hand in disgust.
“We’ve got deadlines, Ella. This isn’t all about you.”
“Oh, put your vibrator on low, would you? This won’t take a second.” Ella spun Katie around and marched her a few feet away from the crowd. Then she plunged her hands into Katie’s hair.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Shhh. You can’t go on TV looking like that. It offends every bone in my perfect body.”
Katie snapped her mouth shut. Quite frankly, she hadn’t even looked in the mirror this morning. She’d been preoccupied with the false confession she was about to deliver on live television. With the whirlwind precision of Edward Scissorhands, Ella jabbed and teased at her hair. A whiff of hairspray followed. It must have magically appeared from a secret pocket somewhere on her body, because Ella wasn’t even carrying a purse.
“Open your mouth,” the anchor commanded.
Katie opened her mouth to tell her where she could put her orders, but before she could say anything, lipstick was being smoothed across her lips.
“I never wear lipstick,” she hissed.
“This is your big moment, missy.”
“My what?” How did falsely confessing to arson qualify as a “big moment”?
“People are going to be looking at you, lots of people. And then this might turn up on YouTube. You have no idea how many times this one little news clip will get played, over and over again. I don’t care what you say, you’re wearing lipstick.”
Katie wondered how Bridget and Ella Joy would fare in a cage match. Bridget had been trying to get her to wear lipstick for years. But Ella was making some valid points, she supposed. She might as well look her best while destroying her reputation. And no one else had bothered to think of it.
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