Consumed (Firefighters #1)

by J. R. Ward

  “I could just be lying,” she said. “About going to Moose’s.”

  As he started the engine, he looked over at her. “You aren’t. You don’t do things like that, and you never flake on something you promise. So are we bringing red or white wine as a hostess-warming gift?”

  chapter

  25

  “So how’s work going?”

  As Danny spoke up, Anne was not in the mood as she sat beside him in his truck. The inside smelled like his aftershave and the remnants of his Marlboros, and she resented the fact that she enjoyed it in her nose.

  “You really want to pretend this is social?” she muttered.

  “Oh, no. By all means, let’s talk about Chavez trying to commit suicide.”

  She looked out her side window and could see little through the sheets of rain. “How about we don’t say anything.”

  “Nah. And fine, I’ll start. I went to see a shrink today.”

  She whipped her head around so fast, she didn’t have time to hide the reaction. “You did? How’d it go?”

  And so help her God, if he played another round of tit-for-tat, she was going to punch him somewhere that was going to show. Although, on that theory, that black eye of his hadn’t faded yet, so at least one piece of prime real estate was already taken.

  “You mind if I light up? I’ll crack a window.”

  “You shouldn’t need the crutch.”

  “Fine, I’ll wait until we’re parked.”

  “Just open a damn window. And I hope you get wet.”

  “Er.”

  “What?”

  “Wet-er. I am already wet.”

  After he let in the fresh, cold air, he turned on the heater, and the warmth blowing on her feet felt good. And he waited until they hit a red light before getting his cigarette on, his exhale aimed away from her to the opening.

  “I tried to get out of the appointment.” He glanced over. “This should not be a surprise.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “She was smarter than I thought she’d be. I’m not going to get cleared, of course, which proves she’s a real professional.”

  Anne was aware of a piercing disappointment. But come on, like she’d really expected him to sit on a couch for fifty minutes and undergo some existential transformation for a hundred and fifty bucks? There were no easy fixes in life. Especially not after the kinds of things he’d been through.

  “I expected more of a response from you,” he said.

  “I’m glad you went.”

  “Can I ask you something?” He looked across the seat. “And I’m serious about this.”

  She rearranged herself into exactly the same position. Then pulled her seat belt away from her chest and brought it back in. “Okay.”

  “When you were in the rehab hospital, you had to see a shrink, right?”

  “It was part of my treatment, sure.” She frowned. “Didn’t you have to see one?”

  “I was supposed to, but—”

  “You got out of it.”

  “—I got out of it.”

  “Of course you did.” Anne shook her head. “And?

  “Did they help you?”

  Anne thought back to the three awkward meetings she’d had with a well-meaning, tender-hearted, twenty-four-year-old who’d been fresh out of a master’s program and wholly unequipped to deal with anything outside of theory. Anne had answered the questions posed to her with honesty, but she couldn’t really say she’d gotten anything out of the chat. Maybe it had been the pain meds. Maybe her mood. Maybe it was the therapist’s inexperience.

  “Well?” Danny glanced over. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “So wasn’t helpful.” He frowned. “So what was? Seriously, Anne, how did you pull yourself back up to normal?”

  His expression was so intense, she knew he was dead serious, and that earnest searching was a surprise that opened her up.

  “It wasn’t the therapist at the hospital. Not that she wasn’t well intended . . . we just didn’t connect, I guess.” She focused on her prosthesis as it sat on her thigh, a sculpture of what had been lost. “They can be helpful, though.”

  “You’re saying that because you don’t want me not to keep going.”

  “Yup.”

  “So again, what was it for you?”

  Anne turned the prosthesis over and looked at her “palm.” Then she pulled up the sleeve of her windbreaker and followed the carbon fiber length that plugged into what was left of her lower arm.

  “I got an infection,” she heard herself say. “It was about a week after I got out of the hospital. I’ll never forget waking up in my bed and feeling this terrible fatigue, like I was coming down with the flu. The end of my stump didn’t hurt—well, that’s not true. I had phantom pain, and I assumed that any discomfort was all part of the damaged-nerve thing. So I just kept going, but then I popped a fever, and when they did a wound check, they found the beginnings of the infection. My skin was so red, it was like it was made of blood. Things went downhill fast. They took samples to target the antibiotic, put me on broad spectrums at first, then they ratcheted it up. It was a race and we did not win for a while. I developed these bright red lymphangitis streaks, and shortly after that, I went septic. I just crashed. That was when I was readmitted.”

  She was aware she was giving him factual particulars instead of other things that were much more personal. It was like she was reporting the stats of a patient, and that distance was the only reason she could get through the story.

  She’d never talked about it before.

  Anne glanced out the front windshield. “It’s green.”

  “What?”

  “The light is green. We can go.”

  Danny seemed to shake himself. “Oh. Yeah.”

  As he hit the gas, she wanted to stop talking—and told herself she didn’t because she wanted to help him. Inspire him. This was about proving to Danny there was another way.

  It was not connecting with him on a personal level. Or sharing her story because it was something she probably needed to get off her chest.

  “You must have been scared.”

  “It was touch and go.” She told herself not to go too deep. “But your brain gets fuzzy so you can’t think clearly.”

  “I didn’t know it got that bad.”

  “I was very lucky. It wasn’t MRSA. The clindamycin IV saved me.” Her heart tripped and then pounded, as if the memories were an intruder trying to get back into her body. “Anyway, you wanted to know what turned me around.”

  She fell silent as she tried to find the right words. Somehow, this felt more intimate than the sex they’d had. “So the night of the fire and the first day after, I was all ‘I’m going to beat this’ and ‘nothing is going to stop me.’ And I kept that up until I was released and I went home. Something about being around my things, my house, my routine made it real in a way that it hadn’t in the hospital. That was when . . .”

  “When it hit you.”

  “Yeah.” She refused to speak of the sleepless nights, the toxic depression, the distortion of her anger and fear. “I got into a tailspin—‘life is over,’ that kind of thing. But then I was back in the hospital and it was not at all apparent that I was going to make it.”

  Anne glanced over at him. “When you were little, did you ever picture your funeral?”

  “No. God, never.”

  “Well, I did. Like out of A Christmas Story when Ralphie was blind? I’d pretend I was in my coffin and people were coming to pay last respects and weeping over the loss of me. It was usually in response to a punishment I thought was unfair.” She shrugged. “So there I was, an adult, on the verge of dying . . . and it actually happened. I stared up out of the death spiral I was in and saw all these faces looking down at me.
Everyone so upset . . .”

  An image of her mother, that hair all done, the makeup perfect, stung. Even when that woman’s daughter had been close to dying, she’d had to be sure to look presentable.

  “Tom came.” She frowned. “He sat in a chair in the corner of my room almost the entire time. I figured he was waiting for me to rally so he could tell me how irresponsible I’d been.”

  “Like the infection was your fault? Come on.”

  “Tom can find deficits in any situation. Trust me.” She shook her head. “So at the worst point, I had a dream that my father appeared from out of nowhere. He stood at the side of the bed and he told me that it wasn’t my time. That I had to fight because I was his daughter and that’s what men in the family did.”

  Danny’s head swung around. “Holy shit, he came to you.”

  “No, I don’t believe in ghosts. My subconscious coughed that up out of the fever and the drugs I was on because I’d spent my whole life trying to make up for the fact that I was born a girl. It’s inherent in my personality inventory. But it worked—so clearly my brain pulled the right lever for motivation. I just decided that I had to fight and I couldn’t let anything stop me. Not the loss of my hand or my job or . . . yeah, anything.”

  Up ahead, Timeout’s sign glowed red and gold, a beacon on the down-market street.

  She couldn’t remember when she’d been in there last. But she knew which pool table tilted left, and how the stall in the middle of the ladies’ room had the toilet that ran, and what to order: Fries, yes. Burger, yes. Never the fish, because even though they were on the ocean, the place only served frozen cod.

  So many nights she’d gone there with the crew, one of the few women in the boys’ club and proud of that fact.

  It was a lifetime ago. And she missed it. But then she deliberately thought of Soot’s dear face.

  “I think people just get to an aha moment, a crossroads,” she said quietly. “The fogs lifts and you have to realize there are things worth living for. Even if they’re different than what motivated you before.”

  • • •

  As Danny parallel-parked in front of the bar, he knew who he wanted to live for. Too bad Anne wasn’t looking for a pedestal to stand on for the rest of their lives.

  He glanced over as he killed the engine. “I had no idea that things got so rough for you. I mean, beyond the . . . you know.”

  “You had your own things to worry about.” She turned to get out of the truck. “So when did Emilio and Josefina start seeing each other?”

  He reached out and put his hand on her arm. When he felt something hard and cylindrical, he pulled his palm back.

  “It won’t bite.” She put her prosthesis up. “I promise you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Anne shook her head sharply, the conversational equivalent of shutting a door. “Come on, let’s find Josefina.”

  She left him with no choice but to hurry his ass and catch up to her, and as they entered, they shook the rain off like a pair of Labradors. Timeout was not all that crowded, and Josefina was an easy spot across the field of tables. She was taking orders from a six-top of police officers, and as they nodded in Danny’s direction, she glanced over her shoulder.

  And froze. As her face paled, she said something to the cops and came over.

  “What is it?”

  They always knew, Danny thought. The loved ones always knew when there was bad news.

  “Emilio’s in the hospital,” Danny said in a low voice. “He was taken in about a half hour ago.”

  “How bad is he hurt?” The woman put a hand to her mouth. “Is he . . .”

  “He asked us to come find you. He’s going to pull through.”

  Josefina spoke some quick Spanish and made the sign of the cross over the front of her black-and-white pseudo-referee uniform. “Thank the Lord. I tell him to be careful on that job—too many hurt. Too many!”

  Danny stayed quiet on the whys of everything, and he felt so badly for Emilio. This was going to be a hard road. “He wants to see you.”

  “Let me ask someone to cover for me,” the woman said. “My manager, she understands. She is married to an ambulance. EMT, I mean.”

  “Do you need a ride over?” Anne asked.

  “Yes, I take the bus here.”

  Danny swung his keys in his hand. “We’ll wait for you.”

  As Josefina headed for the back, he stared at Anne. She was looking around the place as if she’d never seen it before, and he wondered whether that was a good or a bad thing for her. She seemed to want to leave everything behind. Him included.

  Then she faced him. “Moose told me the fight here was with some yachtsmen because they insulted her.”

  “They were being disrespectful. They got less than what they deserved.”

  “You always were protective.”

  He pictured someone doing Anne a wrong. “I still am.”

  There was a pause. “I really don’t think I should go to dinner on Saturday.”

  “There will be other people there.” Or at least, there would be when he told Moose he better damn well invite half the town. “It won’t just be us. And I’ll make sure folks know that it’s not a case of ‘us.’ Besides, you’re missed.”

  “I’m not a member of the crew anymore.”

  “We do hang around with outsiders, you know. Particularly ones with a good sense of humor.”

  “I’m sorry. I just can’t. It’s not appropriate and you know it.”

  “Worried you might want to have sex with me again?” Danny didn’t bother hiding the bitterness in his voice. “We both enjoyed it.”

  “No.” Her jaw tightened. “I’m not worried about anything.”

  Liar, he thought.

  “Suit yourself.” He nodded toward the exit. “I’ll go start the truck. It’s cold as ice tonight.”

  Outside, he took advantage of a break in the downpour and lit up, even though the cig got soggy fast on the short walk to the truck. As he got in, his phone went off. When he took it out and saw the text, he cursed.

  Great. The chief wanted to see him first thing in the morning.

  Looked like he was getting fired sooner rather than later.

  chapter

  26

  Anne didn’t want to be rude. But by the time Danny got Josefina to the glowing entrance of the emergency room, she had a pounding headache and a knot in her stomach that might have been hunger but felt like a bowel obstruction.

  The fact that she was sitting in between the two of them didn’t help. The entire trip back, which lasted all of ten minutes but felt like twenty-five years, she’d had Danny’s leg bumping against her own. Just like old times in the engines.

  Not what she wanted to be reminded of, especially after what they’d done at his apartment.

  Danny found a parking spot right by the ER’s entry, and Josefina fumbled her purse as she got out, dumping everything over the pavement. Anne immediately dropped down to the pavement help the woman gather keys and wallet, Tampax and makeup bag.

  “Listen, I’m going to let Danny take you in.” Anne passed over a Kleenex pack. “There are a lot of people here already.”

  “Thank you for coming and getting me.”

  Anne looked away from those teary brown eyes. “No problem. Take care of him.” Straightening, she looked over the truck’s hood at Danny. “I have to go.”

  His eyes were in shadow, and that was just as well. She didn’t want to see what was in them.

  As she waved and headed for her Subaru, she felt like she was dumping the whole situation on him—and that was not perception; it was fact. But she was a distant relative to all of this now, and she needed to respect the boundaries.

  Back in her own vehicle, she got turned around and ended up exiting through the entrance, which felt like a commen
tary on the night. But at least she was free of it all.

  She was going to go home, check and see if there was anything chewed up, and then go to bed early.

  Or that was the plan.

  When she came up to her little house and saw a familiar car parked in front of her walkway, she hit the brakes. And then debated if she could just drive on by.

  Her mother.

  Pulling into her driveway, she got out and went on the approach. As she came up to the ten-year-old Honda Civic, the window went down—and she realized she hadn’t actually set eyes on her mom for months.

  Nancy Janice Fitzgerald Ashburn did not look her sixty years. She’d never been a smoker or a drinker, had stayed out of the sun and followed a “regime”—whatever that was. So even without plastic surgery, her pale Irish skin was still fair and largely unwrinkled, the powder and foundation light, the lashes curled and darkened, the lipstick a perfect shade of pink for that complexion. And of course, the hair was done. She colored it to cover the grays, but not in a brassy way: Ginger streaks through the auburn, everything cut well so it framed her face and brushed her shoulders.

  “I was going to call you,” Anne lied.

  “I am so sorry to bother you, but I can’t reach your brother.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Do you want to get out of the rain?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Anne looked up and got a raindrop directly in her eyeball. As she squinted and rubbed away the sting, she was frustrated with the whole world. “What’s going on?”

  “You know that big maple tree in the backyard? The one you and your brother swung on—”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “Half of it broke off in the wind and landed on the house.” As Anne exhaled with exhaustion, her mother hurried through her speech. “The nice man behind me tried to put tarping up, but there’s terrible leaking in your father’s and my bedroom, and then downstairs. I need some place to stay—and I promise, I tried to reach your brother. He must be busy.”

  What Anne wanted to say was that Nancy Janice should try her brother again. Try him a thousand times. But she wasn’t going to turn her mother out into a storm, for godsakes.