by Gina Kincade
“I worked hard on this goddamn stew,” Rico complained. “Now you’ve ruined it. Nice job, D’Angelo. You remind me of my ex-wife sometimes. Always picking. Nagging. And a positive gift for ruining the moment.” He yanked off the apron, threw it onto the counter, and stalked out of the kitchen.
“What the hell’s with him?” Rosie stared at the door. “He’s not usually so freaking sensitive. He knows we love his stew.”
“Darlene’s planning to move out of state with the kids, and he’s fighting it, but it looks like the judge is going to allow it since she’s got a really great job opportunity. It’s only New York state, but Rico thinks it’s the end of the world. You know what his kids mean to him. Cut him some slack, okay?” Duke shook his head as he looked at his half-empty bowl of stew. He took a piece of French bread from a basket near his elbow and contemplated it for a moment before sinking his teeth into the crust.
“You think he went to complain to Cap about me?” Rosie crossed the room to the coffee maker and poured herself a mug. Thick as mud and old as dirt. Still, coffee was coffee. She took a sip, trying not to grimace at the bitterness.
“Nah. Only your partners bitch about you to him. We firemen all love you, Rosie.” Duke flashed her a bright smile, his teeth blinding white against his dark skin.
“Balls.” Rosie snorted, making Duke bellow laughter.
“He’s been in there a while. You think I should go check on him?” Duke gestured toward the restroom door. The puking noises had been replaced with running water.
“Give him a few,” Rosie suggested. “I don’t know about him, but I just want to be left alone after I throw up.”
“You’re the paramedic.” Duke rose to his feet. God, he was a giant. He had to be way over six feet tall. “Come get me if you need me. I’m on polish detail. The engine’s not sparkly enough according to Cap.”
Rosie nodded and took another sip of coffee. Wretched stuff, but it would do the trick.
***
Feeling like shit, Jack guided his Jeep Wrangler out of the station parking lot onto Main Street. The light at the corner turned yellow, and he braked for the red. Great. All he wanted to do was get his ass home where he could shut off his brain in front of Netflix. Every second’s delay chafed at him. The police had run him through his paces for what seemed all goddamn afternoon, but what was probably only an hour or so. They’d swallowed the story of him seeing the open garage door through the kitchen window hook, line, and sinker. His job seemed safe enough for now. At least until the next ghost needed him.
A blonde in tight jeans and a bright yellow tank top waited at the bus stop, her back to him. Something about the slope of her shoulders and the braid seemed familiar. Wait. Was that Rosie?
He peered through the passenger window. Yes. Yes, it was.
He slid the window down. “Hey, Rosie? Where’s the Mustang?”
She swung around, braid flying, her face full of surprise.
“In the shop. Annual tune-up.”
Jack gestured at the door. “Get in. I’ll drive you home.”
Rosie shook her head, even as she cast her gaze upward toward the cloudy sky. After a sunny morning, the weather had turned sullen, threatening rain. From the rumble of thunder a few miles away, a deluge wasn’t far off.
“Come on. It’s going to pour. Riding a bus in the rain sucks.” Jack had thought he’d wanted nothing more than silence and Netflix, but all at once the idea of spending time outside of work with Rosie seemed vastly superior. He’d just brood alone. With her, he might even talk about the horrific scene at the Masters house and get it out of his damn system quicker.
At the very least he could keep his partner out of the rain.
“I’m out of your way. My house is at least ten minutes past the Mayflower. I’ll add a half hour to your commute.” The first drops of rain splattered onto Rosie’s face, and she wiped her cheeks with both hands before ducking beneath the bus stop awning.
“I don’t care. What have I got to do tonight but feel sorry for myself?” He had meant to say it lightly, but the jag of bitter truth beneath his tone made him wince.
Rosie peered at him suspiciously. Did she care? Maybe she didn’t want to get sucked into his drama. He couldn’t blame her.
“I promise to be lighthearted and jovial during the ride, don’t worry,” he said.
“Oh, Jack.” Rosie sighed. “Always the clown, aren’t you?” The rain increased, drumming down onto the Jeep’s windshield. Jack switched on the wipers. For a moment he clearly saw her debating whether to accept a lift. A huge boom of thunder made her decision easier. Just as the light turned green, Rosie swung open the Jeep’s door and climbed into the passenger seat. Her quick and graceful movements were no doubt due to experience getting into the squad.
The car behind Jack beeped his horn. Rosie glowered and turned around to give the driver her middle finger.
“Asshole. So impatient!” she huffed.
Jack stifled laughter. A warm sense of acceptance blanketed him. Rosie D’Angelo had protected him. Not just here in the Jeep, but back in the stationhouse kitchen as well. He thought he might be well on the way toward the positive side of Rosie’s personal scoresheet.
To test his theory he said, “So, what did the blonde say when she found out she was pregnant?”
“Damn it, Jack.” Rosie groaned aloud and sank in her seat, but a small smile lurked in the corners of her mouth.
“I wonder if it’s mine.” Jack grinned.
“You did not just go there.” Rosie groaned again, louder, but a snicker escaped her. “That was bad.”
“Then why are you laughing?” Jack asked.
Rosie clapped a hand over her mouth. “That was a painful groan, not a laugh.”
“Sure. Whatever you have to tell yourself to make it through.”
Rosie smacked his arm. Jack believed he might levitate off his seat, his happiness was so vast.
“Want to stop for a beer at the Mayflower?” he asked, concentrating on the rainy road. “It’s the start of our days off. We don’t have to be up early for work tomorrow.”
“Thank God.” Rosie leaned back against the seat and wiped moisture from her face. “I’m kinda burned out on work right now.”
“Me too.” Jack didn’t bother to try to keep his tone light. “And I’ve only been on the job two weeks. Might not be the most auspicious of beginnings, I guess.”
“How many jobs have you had? As a paramedic, I mean?”
Jack mentally calculated. He’d started out in Boulder, then Phoenix. Boston. Now Fairhaven. “This is my fourth.”
“Ha. You’re my sixth partner. I win even though this is the only job in the field I’ve ever had.”
“I didn’t know it was a contest,” Jack said, and mentally cursed himself when Rosie grimaced.
“Some contest anyway. Which one of us is the biggest fuck-up,” she muttered.
“I refuse to look at myself as a fuck-up. I just didn’t fit in those other places. And, bonus, I’ve been able to live in three different big cities and now Fairhaven.”
“Hardly a big city. Not like Boston.”
“Big enough.” Jack slowed when he saw the Mayflower Tavern’s neon sign shining out of the rainy dark. “Besides, the bigger cities are impersonal in a way Fairhaven can never be. If I can stay here, I’ll know everyone within two years. You watch.”
Rosie stared at him. Jack couldn’t tell if her expression held wistfulness or skepticism.
“If you can stay?” She yanked at the end of her braid. “Cap told you that you were out on your ass if you couldn’t make it work with me, didn’t he?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t already know that.” Jack pulled into the Mayflower parking lot and took the last front parking slot. They’d still have to make a ten-yard dash for the door. He shivered, thinking of the chilly rain. It had been hours since the murdered ghost woman had touched him, but he still hadn’t shaken the cold. How could Rosie sit there in a tank to
p?
“Doesn’t it make you curious why Cap is so protective of me? I mean, five partners in two years is a lot. That’s why he’s –”
“Hiring losers like me now? Someone who can’t afford to make waves by bitching about you?” Jack turned around to reach into the back seat. He’d left his leather jacket there a few nights ago and hadn’t gotten around to bringing it inside. He dragged it into the front seat and dropped it into Rosie’s lap. She stared at it in surprise.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s raining. You can hold it over your head. Wear it inside if you like. They always crank the air-conditioning too high in these places and you’re already wet.” He took the keys from the ignition and put one hand on the door handle.
“Are you being nice to me because you want to keep your job?”
The pulse in Jack’s forehead thudded in sympathetic anger. What the hell had happened to Rosie to make her such a tortured soul? “You really think I’m that much of a bastard? Look at me, Rosie? I just told you I want to fit in. What I don’t want to do is try to force myself into someplace that’s not right for me. I’ve been doing that for almost three years now and enough is enough. If I don’t make it here, I’ll move on.”
“But fitting in here has everything to do with whether you can make it work with me as a partner.” Rosie bowed her head, her fists clenched around his leather jacket.
“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.” Jack thrust open the door and the scent of spring rain rushed into the Jeep. He inhaled the clean, sweet smell, hoping it would clear the air between them. He slid to the wet asphalt. “You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Let some of your friends help you once in a while.” He shut the door and ran for the tavern entrance.
Halfway there he heard the passenger door open and slam shut. Running footsteps drew closer. He opened the tavern door to allow Rosie to pass through first. She held his leather jacket over her head, and Jack couldn’t help smile as he followed her in.
The table by the kitchen door was free, and he headed for the same chair he’d had the night before.
“Getting to be a regular here,” he teased as Rosie carefully draped his jacket over the back of her chair before she sat. “Another pizza? Or just beer.”
“Buffalo chicken wings,” Rosie said. “And the darkest beer they have on tap.”
Jack gave their order to the waitress who barely looked up from her pad before melting away.
“Friends,” Rosie said, tilting her chin at him so he wanted to reach across the table and kiss her senseless. “Is that what you think we are?”
“What I’d like to be,” he said, stifling the urge to tell her he wanted even more. One thing at a time. Friends first. Friends made the best lovers.
“I was friends with my first partner.” Rosie straightened the salt and pepper shakers in the wire basket that also contained ketchup, mustard, and napkins. “It didn’t work out.”
“He was a jerk.”
“She.” Rosie’s blue eyes darkened to indigo as she stared across the table at him. “We were friends in high school, and we met again in the paramedic training program a couple years after I moved back to town. We thought it was the best thing in the world when we got hired together. We lasted eight months until...” Rosie clamped her lips shut around the rest of her sentence.
The waitress set their beers on the table with a basket of buffalo wings and ranch dressing. The spicy smell of the wings filled the air.
Rosie took one of the small plates and transferred two of the wings onto it, moving fast, probably to avoid burning her fingers.
“Anyway,” she said, pouring a dollop of dressing next to the wings. “You’ve already figured out I’m not exactly the easiest person in the world to get along with. You fill in the blanks.”
“That’s okay,” Jack said reaching for a celery stick. He wasn’t sure his stomach was up to spicy food yet. The remembered reek of the bodies in the refrigerator threatened to make him gag. “I’m everyone’s best friend.”
Rosie nibbled on a wing. A dot of sauce appeared on her upper lip and she licked it away.
“If that’s true, then why did you get the boot from three jobs in a row?”
“Go on,” Jack urged, although his heart sank. Damn it. “Say what you’re dying to say. I won’t get mad. I see the way you look at me when we work. You think it might be my technical prowess, right?”
Rosie flushed and set aside her half-eaten wing. “You do have this habit of wandering away in the middle of things.” She gave him a defiant look and snatched up her chicken wing again.
“I do,” Jack agreed cheerfully, but inside his stomach churned. Should he tell her? Could he tell her? He’d tried that with his partner in Boulder, and it had blown up spectacularly in his face.
Seen any ghosts lately? Who ya gonna call? Jack Grady! He’d walk into the stationhouse kitchen and the whole shift would be standing there with the Ghostbusters’ theme song playing in the background. He’d laughed at first, trying to play along, but the jokes kept coming. The day he’d opened his locker and a Halloween decoration ghost had burst out at him, rigged on wire. The time he’d walked out to his car after his shift concluded to find his Jeep covered in silly string with a plastic mannequin dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt spattered with ketchup tied to the back bumper.
He didn’t think Rosie would stoop that low, but she might tell the other firefighters. Duke seemed all right, but Rico could be high strung at times. And Cap. He was an enigma.
Before he could decide what the hell to say to her, the tavern door opened admitting a flash of lightning as a skinny blond kid around twenty stalked in. His chest heaved as if he were trying to hold back sobs. Jack couldn’t decide if he was angry or grief stricken. Probably a combination in between.
He approached the bar and had a brief conversation with the bartender, who put down his bar rag and disappeared into the back. The kid turned around to lean against the bar. Tears or rain on his cheeks? Jack was too far away to tell.
The kid zeroed in on their table, and rage twisted his face so hard Jack came to quick attention. Was the kid going to attack them? God, he’d better not have a gun.
“Shit,” Rosie muttered from across the table. “Oh, God.”
“Let me handle this.” Jack didn’t take his gaze from the kid who now rushed across the floor. He had both hands out of his jacket pockets, but Jack didn’t relax much. He could still punch and kick, and Jack was damned if he’d let Rosie be hurt. The kid must be high on something. Christ.
“You!” The kid fairly danced out of his shoes as he jittered and jumped. He pointed a finger at Rosie. Her face paled to bone white. “You know what I’m here for? Do you?”
“Calm down,” Jack said, debating whether or not he ought to stand. Would that tip the kid over the edge?
“Don’t tell me to freaking calm down. Stay out of this!” the kid screamed. “I’m talking to you, lady! You were there this morning. Timmy told me. The same lady who helped Susan was here, he said. But she didn’t help Daddy. Why not? Why not, damn you? You like girls or something? Is that why you helped my sister but killed my father?”
“Hold on,” Jack tried to cut the kid off.
Rosie’s eyes swam with tears. She blinked and several of them poured down her face, but she made no move to wipe them away. “We tried our best to save your dad. He had a severe heart attack. Sometimes you can’t save them.”
“Bullshit!” the kid shouted, spittle flying from his lips. “Susan was hurt bad. I thought for sure Daddy had killed her that time, but this bitch helped her. Now I’m here to ask for an advance on my paycheck because I have three funerals to pay for. And a busboy makes shit. Working here sucks, but I couldn’t go to college. I had to stick around to make sure Daddy didn’t hurt anyone too bad. And I couldn’t even do that!” The kid burst into loud, messy tears. Shame contorted his features. He tried to cover his face with his hands, and bent dou
ble, sobbing.
“Jesus.” Jack got to his feet and put an arm around the kid, forcing him to straighten up. He half pushed, half led him through the door to the tavern kitchen to get him away from the gaping stares of the patrons. Damn all lookiloos everywhere. Car crashes, emotional breakdowns, everybody wanted to watch, damn few ever stepped forward to help. Vultures.
The cook glanced up from a grill where several burgers sizzled.
“You know this kid?” Jack asked him.
“Andy Masters. Sure. He works here,” the cook answered, eyes bulging a little as he took in the scene.
“Can you help him? He’s a little upset here. Are you his friend?”
“Fuck.” The cook came around the counter with obvious reluctance. The small town grapevine had obviously been active. Even though it had only been a few hours since Hank Masters’s heart attack, everyone in town must know about his death and the bodies in the garage. “Andy, man, I’m really sorry about your mom and your sister.”
“And my dad. Are you sorry about him too?” Andy leaned against Jack as if he would go down without the support.
The cook blinked like a deer caught in the headlights. “He murdered your mom and sister.”
Crap. Jack sighed. “Andy, come on. Let me walk you to your car. I’ll drive you someplace. Anywhere you want to go.”
“I need my money,” Andy said between gulping sobs.
“Later.”
“Andy?” A pretty young girl around Andy’s age rushed into the kitchen. She had raindrops in her long, brown hair. “Oh, honey. Don’t cry. Wouldn’t they give you the money? I told you my parents would help you out.”
“I don’t wanna fucking take charity from your family.” Andy took a hitching breath, obviously trying to stop crying in front of his girl.
“I keep telling you it’s not charity. You’re with me. That makes you family to us. Timmy too. He’s waiting in the car, and he’s really upset. He wants you. Can we go now?”
“Yeah.” Andy took a half-hearted swipe across his streaming eyes. “Why the fuck not.” He stumbled away from Jack and let the girl take his hand.
