by Jc Emery
Royal walks into the garage from the street and picks up speed when she sees me. I take a step away from Jameson and wrap my arms around her. She pulls back quicker than I’d like and turns to Capriotti with a raised nostril. She rubs my back as she says, “There’s something you need to see.”
Capriotti nods and gives one last look to the roses, then walks away. I fold my arms over my chest and watch as Royal tries to slyly signal Jameson to follow her. From across the garage, Jack and Hennessey pick up on her not-so-subtle attempt at getting them outside without my noticing, and they head out of the garage in front of her.
“I’ll be right back. Stay put,” Jameson says. He leans in and presses a kiss to the top of my head. He lips linger there a moment longer than they used to, and I let my eyes fall close for a moment, just relishing the closeness. I don’t chase after him when he departs even though I really want to.
I take several deep breaths and fold in on myself, pretending to focus on my shoes. If I look like the sad, scared little victim of a crazed stalker, then the cops and firefighters that surround me won’t notice as I slowly make my way toward the street and around the corner where everybody disappeared to.
So I make my way slowly, carefully reading the memorials and signs along the walls of the garage. I note that Smokey, aka Satan, is hiding out behind a red tool chest. His eyes dart around nervously, and he’s got his tail tucked underneath him. He and I may not have a good relationship, but I feel for him and fight off the urge to scoop him into my arms. If I can’t make myself feel less scared, maybe I could make him feel a little better. But I have a more important objective—find out where everybody darted off to and why.
I make it to the edge of the garage and slip under the caution tape. Luke Hayes, one of the house’s lieutenants and Jameson’s cousin, points at me and shouts, “Stop her!” He’s on the sidewalk behind me, and at his call, about ten uniforms focus in on me. All it takes is a single step from the closest beat cop for me to take off running.
Less than twenty feet away, at the other end of the garage, is Royal. She’s standing at the edge of a group crowded around something at the front door of the firehouse. I slip in next to her and shove my way beside Jameson. He pulls me back instantly and lifts me in the air as one of his hands covers my face. He’s not smooth enough, though, and I pull his hand down so I can see.
On the step to the front door sits a plastic-encased bouquet of colorful daisies with a stuffed FDNY bear next to them. Around the bouquet are four candles and four badges. Capriotti, who is wearing latex gloves, lifts one of the badges and inspects it, tilting it into the fading sun for a better glimpse.
“It’s not department issued,” he says. “It’s plastic. Looks like it was bought at a costume shop.”
“It was custom ordered,” Jack says gravely. He wipes his mouth with his hand, and his eyes fall on his younger siblings. “That’s my badge number.”
When Capriotti turns the badge to face the crowd, Jameson twists his torso and tucks my head into the crook of his neck in an effort to limit my visibility.
“Let me see it,” I whisper into his neck. Reluctantly, he removes his hand but doesn’t put me down. I cuddle into him further, refusing to let go. The cheap plastic gold Maltese Cross has HAYES printed on the top, with Jack’s badge number—8—printed in the center, and FD on the left and NY on the right. In red paint, scrawled over the printed plastic, is the word PRIDE.
“Pride? What the fuck does that even mean?” Jack asks. Capriotti snaps his fingers and gestures to a beat cop who produces a few more sets of gloves. The beat cop hands the gloves out to Hennessey, Jack, and Royal, who each pull them on and then bend to pick up the remaining badges.
“Don’t breathe on them, don’t drag your gloved hand across them, don’t drop them. Don’t do anything to fuck my investigation. You fire goons have approximately one minute before I call my boys in to take over. This is what we boys in blue like to call a professional courtesy.”
“We got it, Capriotti,” Royal says with a huff. “We’re not a bunch of idiots, ya know.”
“These are all of our badge numbers, Jay,” Hennessey says with a scowl. I lean in and spy Hennessey holding out a fake badge with Jameson’s number—14—on it and the word ACEDIA in red paint.
“I don’t even know what that means,” Jameson says. He tightens his grip on me and rubs small circles on my back with his thumb.
“Mine has gluttony written on it,” Royal says quietly with her brows pulled together.
Hennessey looks over to Jack, who shows Hennessey’s badge with LUST written on it in red.
“Looks like it’s not her family with the secrets,” Capriotti says, his eyes on me. They slide to Jameson as he finishes. “It’s yours.”
Chapter 19
Melanie
Jameson nods from across the room and raises his bottle of beer in the air by way of hello. I wasn’t gone long, and not even really gone. I just ducked out with Claire long enough to tell her about me and Jameson. And the cake. I need to hide that stupid cake.
I smile at him and give him a small wave. My thumb gets stuck in my hair and pulls my head to the side, totally embarrassing me. This is supposed to be Jameson’s and my “coming out” party. Yeah, it doubles as a “get the hell out of the city” get-together, but I bought a cake that I had specially decorated with our names and cute little hearts on it. It seemed like a great idea when I ordered it, but now I’m a little embarrassed for anyone to see it. Maybe I can stow it away in my room, and we can eat it later—just the two of us—where nobody else has to see how lame I am.
“Smooth,” Claire says as we close the study door upon exit. Jameson nearly had a fit when we tried to sneak outside, so we opted for the study to pacify him. “Just relax. He’s the same guy. You’re the same girl.”
“The cake?” I ask. She nods and gives me a thumbs-up as she heads for the kitchen and casually nabs the pink cardboard box, lifts it, and takes it down the hall to my bedroom. Thank God for sisters. Seriously. It was only a matter of time before somebody peeked in the box and mocked me endlessly for it.
Jameson lifts his chin, and a teasing smile forms on his lips. Yep, I look like an idiot just standing here untangling my fingers from my hair. I’m so busy fighting with my broken thumb nail caught in my hair that I don’t see him approach. Not seeing him is like some kind of freaking miracle. I always know where Jameson is. And I always know what he’s wearing. If he’s tired or distraught. The only thing I can’t ever figure out is what he’s thinking. He hasn’t pulled away since the scene at the firehouse, but he is guarded and shuts down any conversation about the case that Detective Capriotti is now taking very seriously.
“Let me.” His voice is smooth and his breath is a mix of sweet and tangy from the whiskey I stocked specially for him as he frees my stranded thumb in a few swift moves.
“My hero,” I say and quickly tear away the offending nail tip and shove it in my pocket. The last girl Hennessey hooked up with worked in a nail salon, and she told me I should try growing out my nails. As it turns out, they’re not strong enough to withstand daily scrutiny. I need to just give it up and go back to keeping them short. And figure out how to get Hennessey off the whore train and onto the Dani train. I don’t know the chick, but he likes her, and that means something.
“I got a head start while you were telling Claire how you’re in love with me,” he says and takes a pull of his beer. I fight the urge to look up at him and try to focus around the open room.
I’ve always loved how bright and open my parents’ beach house is. It’s only now that he’s standing here practically hovering over me that I’m finding the place too big. Too big and too crowded. Bailey and Rae are sharing my parents’ bedroom, with Claire in her room, and Royal and Jack each taking up a spare bedroom. Hennessey lost the toss-up with Jack and is surfing the couch tonight. He swears he doesn’t mind, but I still feel bad that there’s not enough rooms. It would be a miracle to have
the whole family here if it weren’t for the fact that since they’ve all been targeted, Chief Delgado put them on a few days’ administrative leave.
“Hate to break it to you, but that’s old news,” I say teasingly. He drops an arm around my shoulder, kisses the top of my head, and leads me through the living room and past the dinning nook into the kitchen, where Royal has designated herself the bartender.
“Mel,” she shouts upon our approach and raises a half-empty bottle of whiskey with a smile. She’s got a full setup of shot glasses just waiting for us. When Jameson’s arm slips off my shoulders and he places his hand at the small of my back, I realize how desperate I am for something to numb the intensity of the feelings I have for him. I really, really need to have sex with my boyfriend.
“I told Jay he couldn’t have more than three shots of whiskey before you even got one in or he’ll be way too drunk for, ya know . . .” She leaves it at that but wiggles her brows and smirks.
“Huh?” I say quietly, pretending I don’t know what she’s talking about. Jameson and I didn’t discuss this—how to tell people we’re together—but Royal seems to have caught on to the change in our relationship anyhow.
“Don’t play me,” she says. “The two of you are way too happy to not be together. Plus, I conveniently caught wind of the sleeping arrangements. Everyone has an assignment except for Jay, and our parents weren’t invited. I guess you’re not up for having wild monkey sex with Mom and Dad under the same roof.”
“Aren’t you a firefighter, not a detective?” I ask and try to force the blush from my cheeks. Clearing my throat, I turn the tables and give her a knowing smile. “Unless the good detective is rubbing off on you?”
“The only thing that insufferable asshole is rubbing off is himself.”
“Thanks, that’s an image I don’t need,” Jameson says and wraps his arms around my waist as he moves to stand behind me. I could probably kick everybody out and put them up at a nearby hotel or maybe just drag Jameson into the bedroom with me. I focus to keep my hands from shaking at the idea of being intimate with him. I love him. It shouldn’t be this intimidating. He reaches around me and grabs a shot glass full of whiskey. I follow his lead and so does Royal.
“To us,” I say and place my free hand over Jameson’s at my waist as I toss the shot back. We stand around the kitchen island and do a few more shots before Jameson walks off in search of Hennessey. He says they have something to discuss and kisses my cheek as he goes.
Royal and I slip into a conversation about my plans for grad school—or lack thereof. I try to sound confident and sure of myself, but I don’t think I pull it off well. I’m almost twenty-two and have no idea what I’m going to pursue as a career. I’m considering this next year a gap year, working at my dad’s company before deciding on my grad school plans.
“How’s the firehouse?” I ask, trying desperately to change the subject. Royal, just like her brothers, spent some time in another house on Engine before finishing training for the ladder company that most of the Hayes firefighters have called home. She’s tall like her brothers, but her muscled frame is still very feminine. There’s absolutely nothing feminine about the men in her family. Janet confessed to me once that she worries about Royal being on the job. It’s so male-dominated, and aside from the fact that Royal is her baby, she’s also very lean and often isn’t taking seriously. My girl kicks major ass and works twice as hard as her peers, accomplishing her goals in record time.
“It’s hard,” she admits. She lowers her voice just slightly and looks around as though she’s afraid to admit it aloud. When I met Royal, she had just graduated from the academy and was about to start on Engine in a house full of jerks that was widely known to be unaccepting of female recruits. She knew she wanted to serve at Ladder Company No. 1 just like her brothers do and their father did before he retired. “I thought all my training would make it easier, ya know? I’ve always been athletic. I busted my ass dancing in high school and learning martial arts at the community college. I want this, but I hate how hard it is.”
“What’s hard about it? I know the physicality of it must be trying, but what about the rest?” I like to think of us like sisters in a way. I’ve always been able to share things with her. I just haven’t always chosen to.
“Everything. I thought that when I earned my transfer sooner than anybody else ever had—breaking a fucking FDNY record—that I’d get a little bit of respect, but the guys are dicks. One guy insinuated that I’d slept my way to getting my transfer approved. It’s a total boys club—not as bad as the last house—but half the crew doesn’t want a woman on shift and act like I’m there to cook and suck dick.” I can’t stop the snort that escapes me. She narrows and then rolls her blue eyes.
“And the other half?”
“You’re looking at ’em,” she says as she looks over my shoulder. I turn back to see her three brothers standing around and chatting. They keep eyeing us curiously before they shuffle farther away from us. They’re talking about the thing they refuse to talk to me about.
“Anyway,” she says, “I’m done whining.” She pours us two more shots, and we raise the glasses in a toast.
Bailey and Rae walk up hand in hand. Royal smiles and pours them each a shot and slides them over to them.
“What are we drinking to?” Bailey asks. Rae nudges her and leans in to whisper something in her ear that causes Bailey to side-eye me. A large smile brightens up her face.
“Seriously?” The approval in her voice isn’t lost on me.
“To finally bagging your brother,” I say and give both Royal and Bailey a huge grin. They grimace at my choice of words. Even Rae turns her nose up at me. I raise my shot glass, and they all follow suit. We toss them back and take a moment to absorb the alcohol.
“How are you doing?” Rae asks. She places a hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. It doesn’t really help calm me down. Everybody is always offering comforting gestures, and at this point they just don’t help. Bailey gives Rae a warning look. Nobody’s had to say it aloud, but I know they’re not supposed to be bringing it up. Claire ratted Jameson out when we were in the study. He sent everyone a text telling them not to mention it to me and to act like everything was normal because I need some downtime from the trauma of the last few weeks’ events. I appreciate the effort more than he could possibly know, but I wish he could understand that even if nobody brings it up, I’m always thinking about it. All the time.
I toss another shot back and shudder as the hot whiskey slides down my throat. “Fine.”
“What’s that about?” Claire asks as she approaches. I just shake my head and grab the bottle and pour each of us a double shot.
“I’m so not drunk enough for this conversation.”
“Then let’s remedy that, shall we?” she says.
We drink until I can barely feel my tongue, then Royal cuts me off. With a wink she says, “Jay won’t ever forgive me if you get too drunk on my watch.”
My head is heavy, and my neck feels like rubber. Claire and Bailey fall into a conversation about their respective teaching positions at different private schools while Rae listens patiently. Royal and I move to the sofa with the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, abandoning any pretense of doing shots and graduating to drinking straight from the bottle. Not that she allows me much time with it. I don’t want to get too drunk to have sex or anything, but the more I drink the less nervous I am about having said sex, and thus drinking more is attractive at this moment even if I know it’s going to bite me in the ass later.
“Sometimes,” Royal says with a slight slur. Her head is resting on the back cushions of the couch, and she’s intently watching the ceiling fan above us as it whips around in high-speed circles. I look up and turn away quickly before I get sick. Yeah, no more whiskey for me. If I fill up on too much whiskey now, I won’t be able to fill up on Jameson later. “Sometimes,” she says again, “I want to ride the fire pole for fun.”
Laughter b
ubbles in my chest and escapes in a loud ruckus. I can’t help the contagious giggles that take over. I imagine myself wrapped around the fire pole as I dance saucily for Jameson. In my mind, I wrap a leg firmly around the pole and move to propel myself around in a circle but end up falling off. Even my imagination can’t make me sexy enough to seduce him. Christ, I’m hopeless.
“I’m in love with your brother,” I say without thinking about it. She already knows, but it feels so real when I say it aloud. I wanted to tell her before, I really did, but there was always a reason not to. Mainly to keep my heart from breaking just a little bit more. But I’ve drunk so much that I can’t bring myself to care how stupidly in love I sound. I want him, and I love him, and it’s all so clear. He’s here somewhere, and I want him. Not just for tonight but for every night after this as well. This started with a slow dance in a men’s room in a pretty dress, but I never want it to end.
Royal laughs and then sucks in a breath. Awkwardly, she pulls herself up from her slouched position and hangs on to the back cushion like it’s a life preserver. Pushing her dark hair away from her face, she stares down at me with the most serious drunk face I’ve ever seen. At least one of her looks serious. The other one that won’t stop moving looks a little green around the gills.
“Good. Because he really loves you, too,” she says through a hiccup that almost turns into something way more disgusting.
Clutching the bottle to my chest, I hold it tightly like it’s my heart and I’m trying to protect it from those who seek to empty it.
“He’s gorgeous,” I say with a strained breath. I’ve always been a bit of a crier when I drink, but I can’t literally cry to Jameson’s sister while admitting my obsession. That’s a bit too dramatic, even for me. “And like, he’s funny and such a good friend. And holy crap is he an amazing kisser.”
She nods with narrowed brows and a concentrated expression on her face.
