Burn (L.A. Untamed #2)

by Ruth Clampett

  “Three stations were called. At least there was no chemical crap to deal with,” Alberto says.

  “Standard stuff, if it weren’t for Murphy and his damn heroic stuff.”

  I frantically look around hoping to see Joe. “What do you mean? Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, but no bullshit, there was a few minutes where we thought we lost him,” Alberto replies.

  I feel a surge of fear. Even though they say Joe is okay, it’s as if I can feel myself at the scene and that the horror of knowing one of our men is at high risk, especially Joe.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Murphy was working a line and a homeless guy came out of nowhere and grabbed him to say that his buddy was still inside.”

  “It was dangerously late, and Murphy knew it. The ceiling could’ve collapsed at any minute, and he went in anyway. That heroic stuff only works when you come out alive,” Scott grumbles.

  “And he did,” I state defensively.

  “He was lucky,” Alberto says, shaking his head.

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  “After the shower he said he needed some air. I think he’s down in the yard.”

  I stand up and look out the window. Joe’s sitting facing out on the picnic table bench, still as a statue.

  “I’m going to go check on him.” Grabbing a bottle of water, I thank the guys for the update.

  I’m sure he sees me approach from the corner of his eyes but he remains silent and still. Sitting down on the bench a few feet from him, I offer him the bottle of water. He accepts it, unscrews the cap, and downs half without pausing.

  “I heard you saved a man. You okay?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. They say you shouldn’t have gone in. It was too late and the risk, Joe—”

  He holds up his hand to silence me.

  He has the haunted look about him that I’ve seen in guys who took big risks on the job, challenging the Grim Reaper head on. As firefighters we can never be sure of the outcome. I think of all those firefighters who charged up the stairwells of the Twin Towers and my heart twists for the millionth time.

  Challenging death changes us, and we can sense the shift in our psyche like we’ve just shed a layer of who we used to be.

  I know how private a guy Joe is, but I think it would help if he could talk about it. I wait patiently to see if he will.

  After what feels like a minute he clears his throat. “It sounds reckless, but I felt pretty sure I could get back out. And what was I going to do, let him suffocate on the smoke and then burn to death? He was homeless, Trisha.”

  I nod. “Yeah, they told me.”

  We sit silently, processing all that we aren’t saying. We occasionally have to deal with the homeless at fire scenes. Sometimes they start the fires, sometimes they just get trapped in them. Either way I’ve at times sensed an attitude like they aren’t worth the risk to save. Obviously Joe doesn’t feel that way.

  “I think you were very brave. I admire what you did.”

  He glances over at me. “Really? The other guys thought I was an idiot.”

  “Screw the other guys,” I huff.

  I watch his face as his expression reflects appreciation for a moment before slowly darkening again.

  “What?” I ask with a gentle tone. I’d like him to feel like he can confide in me.

  He takes a deep breath, which sets off a coughing fit. He probably got too much smoke despite the mask. I pat him hard on the back until he nods that I can stop.

  “The guy’s friend, the one who told me where to find him, kept saying, ‘He’s a good man, he’s a good man,’ and that got to me. So I masked up fast knowing there may only be a few minutes left. Luckily, despite the fact that parts of the ceiling and beams were falling, there was enough of an open path in for me to find the storage room he’d been living in.”

  He pulls his fingers through his hair and sighs. “I can’t even tell you the feeling I had when I found him. The first thing I see is that this guy did his best to make this place his home. Everything was neat and seemed to have an order, when his life must have been chaos.”

  I blink at him, trying to imagine the scene he’s describing.

  “So I get to the guy and he’s unconscious but still hanging on. He’s so thin that it’s not hard to lift and hoist him over my shoulder. But right before I rushed us out the door I had the strongest feeling hit me . . .”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “There but for the grace of God go I,” he says with a faraway look.

  I have to stifle my gasp. How could Joe possibly compare himself to this homeless man barely surviving in an abandoned warehouse?

  “I’ve been knocked down hard, but at least I’m employed and I have my rig as my refuge. When I was at my lowest, my home gave me hope that things could get better. What if in a matter of minutes it was destroyed and I didn’t have the resources to rebuild? What would I do?”

  “Well, you do have a good job, and friends. We would all help you get by and rebuild.”

  He nods. “I’m blessed. Despite my disappointments, I can never forget how lucky I am.”

  I nod. “As am I.”

  “Tomorrow I’m going to check on the guy and see if I can help in some way. They took him to county.”

  My heart swells. Lieutenant Joseph Murphy is a good man. I’m taken aback by his compassion. I’ve never known anyone quite like him and it only makes me want to know him more.

  “Let me know if I can do anything . . . anything at all,” I say.

  He looks over at me, his gaze intense and searching. “Thank you, Trisha. I will.”

  I’m glad we’ve had this talk. It’s like it’s given us a foundation to our friendship . . . something that feels real.

  I stand up. “You ready to come inside? Don’t forget that in the morning you get to see my homestead for your rig.”

  He smiles. “Right. Another thing to be grateful for.”

  He stands up and we silently head back inside.

  Chapter 5: Landing his Rig

  Do not bite at the bait of pleasure, till you know there is no hook beneath it. ~Thomas Jefferson

  Early the next morning I see Joe in the day room having breakfast with several of the guys and smiling as they joke around. Thank goodness he woke up in a lighter mood. Maybe our talk last night helped.

  When it’s time to leave I load up my truck and fire up the ignition. I have the radio on really loud, playing the oldie station as I truck down Magnolia Blvd. from Van Nuys to Valley Village. I sing along with Tina Turner as she howls, ‘What’s love got to do with it?’ I bob my head as I sing. Tina knows her shit—she’s been through it, too.

  Joe trails me on his motorcycle and it takes everything I have to keep my eyes focused forward. What in the hell is wrong with me? When we were leaving the station and he pulled on his helmet and straddled the seat of his bike, I had a strong urge to get out of my car and ride with him. I can picture it vividly. I’d be pressed up behind him with my arms wound tight around his waist.

  Of course then I immediately feel guilty to have these thoughts when just last night I was thinking about the lost picture of Mikey and I.

  Hell, I’m a spinning top, a flickering of light from dark to bright, then dark again. I really need to slow down and get my head on straight.

  When we get to Addison Street, I make a sharp turn into the driveway and he pulls up alongside me. I try to look away as he swings his leg over the bike and lifts off his helmet. This bad-boy, motorcycle-riding side of him is unexpected. I swear, I thought he drove a truck. What do you bet he has tribal tattoos on his back?

  It occurs to me that I’m becoming obsessed with Joe because he’s everything Mike wasn’t. And maybe that’s ridiculous or maybe it’s okay for now.

  He stands tall in the driveway taking it all in. I try to imagine how the house looks to him.

  “This is yours?” he asks.

&nbs
p; “For now it is,” I answer.

  He nods his head.

  “Come on, let me show you what I was thinking.”

  He follows me down the driveway and through the side gate.

  I point to the wide patch of land bordered by fruit trees. “This is where you could park. The water and electrical lines are over there, the only thing I’m not sure about is sewage.”

  “I have a composting toilet,” he responds.

  I turn to watch his gaze take it all in.

  “What do you think?”

  He nods, seeming to be calculating something. “This could work.”

  I try to sound lighter about it than I feel. “Well, it’s yours if you want it.”

  We start walking back to where we parked.

  “Let me talk to the chief about it.”

  Surprised, I turn to him not trying to hide the confusion I’m feeling. “Why do you need to talk to him about this?”

  He lifts his helmet off his bike and sorts the straps, preparing to put it on.

  “Well, just to make sure it’s not inappropriate.”

  “Why would it be?” I ask, not hiding the irritation in my voice.

  “You know . . . like if I’m taking you up on your offer so that I can do inappropriate things with you whenever I want.”

  My breath catches and I have to fight to stay composed. “But you aren’t,” I insist.

  He swings his leg over his bike and pulls his helmet on, then fires up the engine. I’m frozen in place, waiting for his reply. Right before he tears out of the driveway our gazes lock together. “No I’m not,” he states. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to.”

  I’ve gone to visit Elle for advice when Paul comes rambling in to where we’re sitting. I look at him and point toward the door. “You need to leave.”

  “Is that so? Did you forget that you’re in our house, visiting us, not the other way around?”

  I purse my lips at him. “I need to talk to Elle.”

  “What do you need to talk to Elle about that you can’t talk to me about?”

  “Sex.”

  “Did you forget that I’m an expert on that subject?”

  Elle nods. “He is, you know. He knows everything.”

  Grinning, Paul thumps his chest. “That’s my woman!” he says, winking at Elle. God these two are so annoying together.

  “Expert or not, you’re my brother and there’s no way I’m having this discussion with you here. That’s just gross.”

  He holds his hands up in the air. “Okay, okay. Your loss,” he grumbles as he walks away and closes the hall door behind him.

  “So what’s up?” Elle asks as she pours wine in my glass.

  I shake my head. “I just don’t understand what’s happening to me. You know I met Mike right after I got hired by our Battalion Chief. At that time I was completely focused on Mike, and had less than zero interest in any of the guys in my squad. Sure, most of them are good looking, in top shape with bodies that any woman would appreciate. But I never looked at them that way, especially once I got to know them well. But something weird is happening to me. I’m thinking inappropriate thoughts a lot, even at work, and it’s making me crazy.”

  Elle sits down and scoots her chair closer to the table. “So is this about feeling more sexual in general, or is there one guy in particular you’re fixated on?”

  My cheeks get hot and I turn away.

  “It’s one guy,” Elle says without waiting for my answer. It must be her female instinct. “What’s his name?”

  “His name is Joe. He’s the lieutenant for our squad.”

  “Is he hot?” Elle asks with a grin.

  “Oh yeah.” I fan my face with my hand. He’s scorching.”

  “Whoa, I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “I know, right? I never even came close to feeling this physically drawn to Mike . . . like I want to climb his tree. This is why I’m pretty sure I’m losing it.”

  “Maybe this is just what you need. He’s not in a relationship or anything, is he?” she asks.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Okay, so that’s good.”

  “And it’s not just his looks . . . not by a long-shot. We had a talk last night after he’d been on a tough call, and he was really shook up. He genuinely cares about helping people. He’s a good man, Elle, and that’s what makes him really stand out.”

  “He sounds pretty great,” she responds with a gentle smile.

  “And you know how I’ve talked about the guys at the station always giving each other shit, and cutting each other down? Well, Joe’s been so nice to me lately . . . like extra nice. Those guys are never very nice to me, usually riding me harder than the others. His kindness makes me want to . . . you know, get closer to him.”

  “Has he made the moves?” Elle asks.

  “Oh, he’s not interested in me that way.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m not the kind of woman guys like him want.”

  “How do you know that?” Elle asks in a stern voice.

  “I just know,” I answer defensively.

  Elle folds her arms over her chest. “I swear, Trisha, where do you get these hang ups? Paul said his friends still ask about you.”

  I roll my eyes at her.

  “That face of yours with those blue eyes and full lips. To top it off you have a great body.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Just quit arguing with me and take the compliments.”

  “Honestly, Joe doesn’t say much so it’d be hard to tell even if he did like me that way.”

  Elle taps her fingers on the tabletop. “Hmmm.”

  “Although there was one thing . . .” I say.

  “Yes?”

  “When he came to my place to see about parking his tiny house there, he said something about being inappropriate with me . . . or maybe it was not being inappropriate with me. I was so flustered that I may have it all mixed up.”

  “Well, either way, that’s promising . . . just the idea that he’s thinking along those lines,” Elle says with a big smile.

  The hall door opens and Paul strolls back into the kitchen to pull a beer out of the fridge.

  “Wait, did you say he has a tiny house?” Elle asks. “Why is he parking it at your place?”

  “Who’s parking what at your place?” Paul asks as he pops the cap off the bottle.

  “The lieutenant from her station may be parking his tiny house on her property,” Elle explains.

  Paul scowls.

  “Don’t worry. It’s just temporary. The land he was on was sold and they’re rushing him to move. I’m just helping him out, and I like the idea of having someone around.”

  Paul sits up taller. “Well, I want to meet him.”

  “You mean like check him out?”

  He nods.

  I roll my eyes. “He’s the lieutenant at my station, not a drug dealer, dude.”

  Elle leans over and strokes Paul’s cheek. “That’s so sweet that you’re looking out for your little sister, baby.”

  “Will you two stop it before I vomit?” I push back my chair. “I’m heading out, but before I leave you’ve got to tell me. Do you think something’s wrong with me . . . you know, because I’m suddenly thinking about this guy all the time?”

  “Is she talking about the lieutenant guy?” Paul asks Elle. I love that he’s asking her like I’m not here.

  “Yes, his name is Joe and he’s hot,” she replies with a wink before she turns back to me. “I don’t think anything’s wrong with you being worked up and liking this guy, Trish. It may be just what you need to get over what happened with Mike.”

  “But isn’t it wrong for me to be attracted to another man while I’m grieving the end of my marriage?” I ask.

  Paul shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It means you’re alive.”

  My eyebrows knit together. “Alive? Like what? I was dead before?”

 
; “Maybe,” he says with an earnest look like I should figure out what the hell that means.

  Elle glances at Paul, and then at me, and the fact that she doesn’t disagree makes me think she thought I was dead too.

  I feel a deep anger stir up deep in my gut. It would’ve been handy if they’d pointed this out before my whole life blew apart. Was I that detached to not realize my life should have been more?

  And how exactly do I resurrect myself? I need a manual to teach me how to live again . . . or perhaps I need a strapping firefighter who’s willing to give me some hands-on lessons.

  Late that night I get another call from Mike. As I let it ring to voicemail something comes over me. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or just my curiosity getting the best of me, but I pick up the call. I don’t say anything, just sit silently and wait for the cheater to talk.

  “Trish?” he says. “Are you there?”

  “I picked up the call, didn’t I?”

  “Finally,” he sighs. “How are you doing?”

  “Just peachy. Thanks for asking.” To say my tone is sarcastic would be an understatement. My bad mood is in full swing.

  There’s a long pause. “Please don’t be this way. I’m hurting Trish, it’s bad. Don’t you miss me at all?”

  I bite my tongue. I want to go off on him, but judging from his bleak tone, I don’t have it in me to be that mean. Something else occurs to me.

  “Hey, when we were still together did you happen to notice that I was dead inside?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, sounding frustrated.

  “You know, dead—lifeless, without life.”

  “I know what dead means, Trish. I’m just not sure how it pertains to you.”

  “I just have all these crazy feelings now and I don’t understand what’s happening to me, and Paul and Elle implied that it’s because I’m not dead inside anymore.”

  “That’s just awesome. Can you thank the happy couple for me? It feels great to know they think I enhanced your life so profoundly while we were together.”

  “Sure thing,” I say.

  “Trish, are you serious with this stuff. Did you really feel dead in our marriage?”

  “I don’t know. I went to work, I came home, I did yardwork and got the groceries, and waited for you to come home from the flower shop. I can’t say I felt particularly alive.”