Sweetest Mistake

by Candis Terry

  While the additional team took the south side of the roof, he judged the position of the fire below and motioned Mike to the north.

  “You sure about this spot?” Mike asked. “Looks like we’re right above it.”

  “I’m sure.” Jackson raised his arms and took a whack. Took two more.

  The roofing composition split. The lumber cracked. Smoke billowed through the fractured structure. Moments later, another explosion rocked the building, and the crew on the roof staggered from the impact.

  Mike gave him a holy-fuck look.

  They needed to get ventilation ASAFP. From the walkie, Jackson heard the captain’s signal to retreat. Jackson hesitated. There were victims inside. If they opened up a big enough hole, it would help with the rescue.

  “Let’s hit it again,” he yelled to Mike.

  Mike shook his head. “Cap said to retreat.”

  Blatantly ignoring the order, Jackson lifted his arms. Brought the ax down just as an explosion shot a fireball out the factory windows.

  The building shuddered.

  The roof beneath their feet buckled.

  Broke.

  Collapsed.

  And they plummeted.

  Chapter 19

  Amid heavy traffic, Abby pulled off I-10 to grab a bottle of water and a pack of gum for the remaining drive to Houston. In the convenience-store parking lot she tapped Jackson’s name in her contacts list and received his voice mail. She’d texted him earlier too and gotten no response.

  Hadn’t he been the one to tell her to call if it was important?

  On the list of big things, an apology might barely register, but to her it was important. Of course, she realized his lack of response could be due to the fact that he was busy and not because he’d left her house pissed off to the point where he’d left a long black tire burn on her street.

  The phone call from her attorney that morning had been a surprise. Still, she viewed it as an opportunity she’d long been denied.

  An opportunity to vent.

  To tell the man who’d treated her as though she was no more significant than the manure that fed the vegetables he ate—to go to hell.

  For months after the humiliation of the divorce, she’d replayed the fantasy of telling off Mark Rich over and over in her head. Yet now, as she headed toward Houston, she wondered at the lack of enthusiasm she’d once felt. What had changed?

  Easy answer.

  He didn’t matter anymore.

  After all these years, she finally found herself right where she dreamed she’d be—in Jackson’s life. In his arms. In his future.

  Sure, he’d gone into total alpha mode after her attorney’s call had come, and she could understand his concern. He didn’t want her to go alone—the drive was long, and at the end of it, she’d come face-to-face with Mark.

  He didn’t want her to have to deal with that at all, let alone by herself. She knew he wanted to protect her and lend his support. But even though the face-to-face was something she wasn’t overly passionate about doing anymore, she still felt the need to lay it all out there. To cleanse her soul and polish her pride, which had once been so devastated.

  Where Jackson was concerned, she didn’t deny there would be some ruffled-feather smoothing to do when she saw him again. But that could be an exercise in sensual fun. With his quick temper, she didn’t expect it would be their last disagreement. Which would lead to more kissing and making up. Not such an awful burden in her mind.

  No sooner had she pulled back onto I-10 than her phone chirped. Her heart did an eager little dance to hear his voice.

  “Abby?”

  Jana. Not Jackson.

  “Hey,” Abby said. “I was about to call you.”

  “Are you watching TV?”

  Jana’s voice sounded odd. Clogged. Weak.

  “No. I’m actually on my way to Houston. Why?”

  “There’s a factory fire in San Antonio. Jackson’s station is on scene.” The long pause sent a river of chills down Abby’s back. If it was on TV, it had to be bad.

  “Tell me,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted the news.

  “The roof collapsed. Two firefighters are missing.”

  Abby sucked in a huge gasp. Her heart seized. “Oh, God.”

  “He’s always the first damn one to rush in,” Jana said in a broken whisper. “I know it’s him.”

  Judging from the cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck, Abby knew it too. She looked up at the next exit sign.

  “I’m on my way.”

  The walls of University Hospital ER were the same as every other hospital in America. But no one noticed. Nor did they notice the standard paintings on the walls. Or the color of the floors.

  For hours, the Wilders, associated friends, and emergency-service family members had clogged the trauma waiting room—impatient for news about the firefighters being treated beyond the swinging steel doors. Several more besides Jackson and Mike had received burns and smoke inhalation. But there’d been no specific news or details on Jackson’s or Mike’s condition.

  The initial report Abby caught as Captain John Steele had spoken to Jana was “It’s bad.”

  After that, she’d shut down.

  Hours later, nervous energy and worry buzzed through her system, and she’d done whatever she could to keep from going insane. She picked off all the nail polish she’d painted on just yesterday. Paced the long hallway. Stepped briefly outside for a breath of air that didn’t smell like some kind of disinfectant, medicine, or illness. Her heart ached like a giant fist had been rammed through its core and left a gaping hole in its wake.

  The tick-tick-tick of the clock grew longer and louder until, finally, the double doors swung open, and a nurse in blue scrubs stepped through and called for Jana.

  Abby’s first instinct was to jump up. To beg to speak to the doctor first. To find out about the man she loved. She wanted to burst through the doors and demand to see him. To touch him and make sure he would be okay. But when the nurse insisted “family members only” she realized she didn’t have that right.

  When Jana turned to give her an apologetic look, Abby gave her an “It’s okay, I understand” nod even though it truly wasn’t. Impatiently, she waited while Jana, Reno, and Jesse followed the nurse through those doors and disappeared.

  Martin got up from his seat and came over to sit beside her on the row of padded chairs her butt had stuck to long ago. He patted her hands and gave her a fatherly smile. “Stop chewing on your lip, my dear. Or you won’t have anything left to kiss the boy with when you see him.”

  Abby fought the tears that clouded her eyes and lost. “I’m so worried.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You just need to hold on a little bit longer. We don’t know the extent of his injuries, but whatever they may be, you’re going to need to be strong for him. I have a feeling a young man as tough and virile as Jackson isn’t going to do well with any kind of weakness.”

  He was right.

  She had to stop freaking out. She had to be strong. For Jackson. He needed her. And until he walked out of that hospital, she wasn’t going anywhere without him.

  Jackson woke to an infuriating beep beside his ear and a pounding in his head. As his eyes fluttered open, his stomach teetered on the edge of nausea. He blinked several times to clear the fog from his brain. But even that could not help him focus. He closed his eyes.

  What the hell had happened?

  Where was he?

  He opened his eyes again. Blinked. Lifted his head and found Abby sitting beside him. Blue eyes wide. Brows furrowed. Bottom lip snagged between her teeth.

  “Hi.” Her voice was soft. Sweet. Relieved.

  He looked around at what was obviously a hospital room. “Where am I?”

  “University Hospital.”

  He lowered his head back down to the pillow and flinched at the pain that burst between his eyes. “What happened?”

  “There was an
explosion at the roofing-factory fire your station responded to. You and Mike were on the roof opening up ventilation, and a portion collapsed. You both fell through.”

  “Where’s Mike?” Panic stabbed his heart. “Is he okay?”

  “They released him to go home yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” He swung his gaze toward the window, but the blinds were closed, and he couldn’t tell the time of day. “How long was I out?”

  “You’ve been drifting in and out for about . . .” She glanced down at the pink watch on her wrist. “Forty-six hours.”

  “Holy shit.” He lowered his pounding head back to the pillow. “You said Mike’s okay?”

  “Like you, he has a concussion. His was milder. He suffered smoke inhalation and also a dislocated shoulder. But he’ll be okay.”

  “A concussion?”

  She nodded.

  “Guess that explains the pounding in my head.” Eyes closed to ward off the dizziness; he lay there quiet for a moment. When he looked up, she was still there.

  Watching him.

  Waiting.

  He didn’t like the concerned way she looked at him—as if he was weak. Pathetic.

  He wasn’t weak.

  Only hours ago, he’d been on a rooftop battling a bitch of a fire.

  He wasn’t weak.

  Except when it came to her.

  Bitter realization hit him below the belt. He remembered standing on that roof blatantly ignoring orders to retreat and telling Mike to take another strike at the roof. He’d been angry. Trying to prove himself.

  Mike could have been killed.

  Guilt sent another wave of nausea through his stomach.

  He tried to sit up. An excruciating pain streaked down his side and shot through his leg. He dropped right back down to the mattress.

  Abby settled her hand on top of his. Her warmth seeped through his skin, and he fought the urge to turn his palm over and hold her.

  “Don’t try to get up,” she said. “You broke several ribs and your leg.”

  Shit. “Femur, fibula, or tibia?”

  “Not the femur.”

  “The other two?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great.” Hell. Not only was he weak, he was broken.

  “You had surgery yesterday. The doctor inserted some pins and screws to hold you together until your leg heals.”

  “Does Izzy know?”

  “She sensed something was wrong. Fiona told her that you slipped on Curious George’s banana peel and that you had to rest for a couple of days.”

  “Creative.” He inhaled and found the action excruciatingly painful. “I don’t want to scare her.”

  “Once she sees you and knows you’ll be fine, she’ll be okay.”

  Nothing was fine.

  Like a bad dream, the memory of their argument roared back. It flashed through his drugged system and caught fire in the pit of his stomach.

  He’d asked her not to go.

  She’d chosen to go to Rich, ignoring his pleas and concerns.

  Like it or not, Abby had a habit of walking away. Even if he thought he could bear the anxiety of worrying about when she’d leave again, he couldn’t be that selfish. He had Izzy to think about. He didn’t want her to get too attached to Abby and get her little heart broken. Not if he could help it.

  Disconnect, he thought. Now. It was easier. Less painful.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you went to Houston.”

  “I love you.” She curled her fingers over his hand. “Where else would I be?”

  In a thoughtless reflex he pulled away.

  “Jackson, I’m so sorry. I—”

  He didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

  He was tired.

  Exhausted to the depths of his soul.

  He’d made many mistakes.

  He couldn’t bear to make another.

  “Go home, Abby.” His next words drilled a stake into the heart of whatever had been between them. “I think . . . we’re done here.”

  “Done?”

  He nodded.

  For several minutes, she sat there, begging him with her tear-filled eyes to take back his harsh words.

  He did not.

  The following day, the doctors agreed to release him as long as he stayed at his mother’s house, where she could look after him. He couldn’t go back to his apartment because he’d been put on stair restriction.

  On a positive note, they’d kept him so pumped full of medication he barely registered the misery sucking the life out of him. A misery caused not only by his physical injuries but because of the deep ache in his soul.

  No medication on earth could take away that pain.

  The weakness he hated so much became even more apparent as he had to allow them to push him out of the hospital in a wheelchair. Hospital rules, they said. Even so, like it or not, it looked like he was about to become compadres with a pair of crutches and some serious couch time.

  As the nurse pushed him down the hall, and his family followed close behind, he realized he had a lot of soul-searching to do.

  Mike’s injuries were his fault. Hell, he could have gotten the entire team on that roof killed. He knew in his state of mind he shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to prove himself or to rush in and try to save the day. Mike had been right. He’d been a risk. He shouldn’t have been on duty at all. He was a father, and he needed to be around to protect his little girl. He couldn’t do that if he was falling through roofs and getting himself killed.

  Though Mike had called, and they’d talked things out, and Cap had come in to see him too, their forgiveness didn’t lessen his guilt. Somehow, he’d find a way around it. For now . . .

  In front of them, the elevator doors whooshed open. The nurse pushed him out into the hall and rolled him past the gift shop.

  “Want me to get you some flowers?” Jesse teased.

  “Or chocolates for those long hours you’re about to bank as a couch potato?” Reno added.

  “Or maybe Mom will just fill you full of cobbler, and you’ll get a big fat belly.”

  Looked like his sympathy reprieve had been short-term.

  “You boys stop that.” Their mom swatted at the two instigators. “A few days ago, you were worried sick about him.”

  “Yeah,” Jesse said, “but now that we know he’s alive, we have to make up for lost time.”

  “Jackasses.” Their comments brought a sense of normalcy and made Jackson smile. It took his mind off everything else that had his gut tied up in a knot.

  As they passed through the lobby, Jackson caught a flash of curly blond hair.

  All alone and perched at the edge of one of the brown chairs sat Abby. Without moving, she watched him as they slowly rolled across the carpet.

  “What’s she doing here?” he asked.

  “Abby?” his mother responded. “Oh nothing. Just waiting for you to pull that gigantic stick out of your ass.”

  “What?” Jackson’s head jerked up so fast, it made his broken ribs scream in protest.

  “She’s been sitting there in that chair since you threw her out of your room,” his mother said. Obviously, the fact that he had several broken ribs and a busted leg weren’t going to stop her from speaking her mind.

  He dropped his hands down to the wheels of the chair to stop the forward motion. “What do you mean she’s been sitting there?”

  Reno let the nurse know that he’d take over, and with a nod, she silently eased away.

  His mother folded her arms and shifted her weight to one hip in her signature “Don’t mess with mama” way. “Did y’all break your ears in that fall too?”

  “No.”

  “Then open them and get a clue, son. You might have kicked her out, but she wasn’t about to leave your side. Since they brought you into this hospital, she’s either slept in that chair or in the chair by your bed. She loves you. What’s she supposed to do? It’s not her fault your head is as hard as a bri
ck.”

  “Jesus. Can’t an injured guy get a little mercy here?”

  “No.” Both his brothers chimed in on that response.

  He glanced across the lobby again and met Abby’s hopeful gaze. He got a little dizzy just looking at her, but he’d conveniently blame that reaction on the concussion. “Then push me over there and give me a couple of minutes, will you?”

  Reno took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed him forward with the warning, “Don’t fuck this up, little brother.”

  Jackson knew better than to respond. He had too many emotions racing around inside him to say the right thing. Which did not bode well for coming face-to-face with Abby.

  When Reno parked the wheelchair directly in front of her, she smiled, and his brother made himself scarce.

  “What are you doing here?” Jackson asked.

  “Funny. You already asked me that.” She got that stubborn look in her eye. “Not so surprising? My answer is still the same. Because I love you.”

  Instead of reaching for him or touching him with those soft hands as she usually did, she sat completely still, with her hands folded in her lap. The light streaming through the window behind her highlighted the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her clothes were rumpled. She looked like she’d been down a hundred miles of bad road.

  Her words banged his heart against his busted ribs.

  “Abby, I—”

  She lifted her hand. “Earlier you didn’t give me a chance to explain. I’m taking it now.” Her slim shoulders lifted on a sigh of either utter exhaustion or frustration. “I understand you didn’t want me to go to Houston and why. I appreciate your wanting to protect or defend me. But I wish you’d been confident that my actions had nothing to do with wanting to see Mark again out of any kind of affection. I admit they were purely selfish. But unless you’ve walked in a person’s shoes, you can never fully understand how something makes them feel.”

  She glanced away, then brought that sharp gaze right back. “I chose to go to Houston because I thought it would give me the opportunity I’d long been denied. I wanted to unleash on Mark. Cuss him out. I never got that chance when he left me standing on that front step, locked out, clutching a letter that dismissed me as if I meant nothing more than a bug that crawled beneath his shoe. I never got the chance during the divorce because his attorney handled everything, and he was never present in the courtroom. From the moment I was told I wasn’t wanted anymore, I never had any retribution.”