by Carol Lynne
Aaron shrugged, unsure of what to say.
“There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t either feel sorry for myself or hatred for the man who stared back at me every time I looked in a mirror. When Luke asked me to help you, I couldn’t say no, not necessarily because of you, hell, I didn’t know the first thing about you, but Luke’s the only real friend I’ve made since Bobby died. So, yeah, I agreed to help you. Once I started digging, I saw the similarities in the two of us. I may not’ve lost Bobby in the same way you lost your friends, but I knew we both carried the same survivor’s guilt. I guess I thought I could heal myself by helping you through it.”
Aaron uncrossed his arms and shoved his shaking hands into his pockets as Deacon continued.
“The more I learned about you, the more I wanted to know. That’s why I dug into your childhood. Then when you walked in here that day after staring at that damn bed through the window for weeks, I finally was able to stand face to face with a man I felt I knew inside and out. But, I didn’t, did I? And that’s when my feelings towards you began to change. After that first night of greasy tacos with you, I knew I wanted more than just to help you. You made me laugh, something I hadn’t done in years. It might sound like a little thing but to me it was everything.”
“I know the feeling,” Aaron mumbled, interrupting Deacon.
“You make me feel alive again. That’s why I want to be with you, not because I feel sorry for you. Do I sympathise with you? Of course I do. Because I know what it feels like to be buried in guilt, but that’s not the reason I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Aaron took a deep breath at the declaration. “I love you, too, but how can two fucked up people begin to build a future together?”
“One day at a time,” Deacon whispered. He stood and eased his way over to Aaron. “Before you walked out of O’Brien’s I thought we’d been doing a pretty damn good job of it. Was I wrong?”
Aaron took a step towards Deacon and shook his head. “I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. I was sitting there thinking about all the nice things you do for me and how hot you are, then I looked at myself and saw…nothing.”
Deacon dropped his cane and pulled Aaron into his arms. “We’re quite a pair because I see just the opposite. I’ve been wondering why a young handsome man would want anything to do with a crippled middle-aged man who has a tendency to be grouchy on days that end with a y.”
Aaron couldn’t help but smile. “I think you’re pretty cute when you’re grouchy. Besides, I figured you liked that about yourself which is why you named the kitten Groucho.”
“Huh? I named the cat Groucho because of his thick black moustache. He reminded me of Groucho Marx.”
“Who?” Aaron wondered if he was some Soviet politician or something.
“Groucho Marx? One of the Marx brothers?”
Aaron shook his head.
“He had a whole comedy thing he did with his brothers in movies and stuff in the thirties and forties?” Deacon tried again.
“Sorry.”
Deacon sighed dramatically. “What am I gonna do with you?”
“Kiss me?”
* * * *
It was after ten, two nights later, when Aaron finally made it to Deacon’s apartment. With half the department down with the flu, he’d pulled an extra half-shift. Luckily, Assistant Chief Leo Burkowski understood what it meant to have a pet and had given Aaron permission to return home to check on Groucho several times.
The moment he opened the apartment door, Groucho came running. “Have you been waiting for me?”
Aaron dropped his overnight bag and sat on the sofa. “Well, come on.” He patted his lap and waited for the kitten to join him. As happy as Groucho seemed to be to have him home, the kitten was definitely miffed that he’d been left alone for so long. He stared at Aaron for several moments before turning and walking from the room. “Damn, I didn’t know you were gonna hold a grudge.”
He looked around the empty apartment for something to do. Despite being tired, he was still riding an adrenaline rush from an earlier call. Aaron picked up the television remote and started surfing. After about twenty minutes, he turned off the TV and stood. He spotted Groucho staring at him from the kitchen. “Are you really going to stay mad at me?”
Aaron entered the kitchen and checked the food and water bowls. Satisfied Groucho wasn’t going to starve anytime soon, he sneaked out of the apartment and down the steps, figuring he might as well finish the cat tower. Who knew, maybe Groucho would be so impressed by the fine workmanship he’d forgive him.
With a flip of the switch, the shop came alive. Aaron grabbed the woodworking apron Deacon had given him on his way to his project. The first thing he noticed was the sturdy dowels holding up the large platform of the cat bed. Damn. An attached note no doubt explained why Deacon had finished the construction.
Please don’t get angry. I knew you’d want to work on this while I was gone, but I don’t feel right about you running the saw while I’m not there. I should have everything else you’ll need to finish there in the shop. Good luck and I love you, Deacon.
Aaron tapped the note against his lip as he studied the structure. With four different levels, the kitty condo was a lot bigger than he’d originally planned. Still, it looked fucking fantastic. Aaron reached over his shoulder and literally patted himself on the back. “Good job.” He refused to give Deacon any of the credit for installing the dowels because he knew he could’ve easily done it himself. Sure, he understood Deacon’s fear of him using the chop saw without supervision, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have done it.
Aaron ran his hand over the dowels to see if Deacon had sanded them before fitting them in place. Smooth as a baby’s ass. He silently cursed Deacon. Unbelievably, he actually enjoyed sanding. Hell, he’d enjoyed the entire process so far. Aaron went to the supply cabinet and pulled out a clean rag and the huge container of tung oil Deacon had suggested he use.
Silly or not, Aaron was proud that he’d used scraps from the mahogany bin to design and build the tower. He found a pair of thin latex gloves and put them on, wrinkling his nose at the fit.
Aaron stopped for a moment and considered going up to check on Groucho, but decided to get the first coat of oil on first. According to Deacon, the tung oil would need to dry between coats anyway. He could check on the pissed off kitten then.
After pouring a good amount of oil on the pedestal, he began to rub it in with a clean cloth, delighting in the way the oil brought out the richness of the wood. It was immediate gratification at its finest. One swipe of the cloth and already the mahogany took on a gorgeous sheen.
Aaron doubted he’d feel as giddy after the fifth or sixth coat, but he knew for a fact Deacon had put eight coats on the bed. He stopped only long enough to turn on the small dusty radio in the corner before going back to his work.
By the time he finished the first coat on the entire structure it was almost twelve-thirty in the morning. Intending to apply at least one more coat before going to bed for the night, Aaron stripped off the messy gloves and tossed them to the drop cloth beside the rag.
Stepping back to admire his work, Aaron couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. “I made that,” he announced proudly to the empty room.
Aaron arrived back upstairs and glanced around for the kitten. “Are you still mad?” He grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and noticed a good amount of Groucho’s food was gone. “You’re not supposed to eat when you’re upset, that’ll make you an emotional eater, not a good combination,” he said, walking towards the couch.
He sat down and put his feet up on the coffee table before turning on the television. Aaron took a swig of beer just as Groucho launched himself from the arm of the sofa, hitting Aaron’s arm in the process. “Dammit.”
Aaron wiped at the spilled beer on his shirt. “Come here, you knucklehead.” Shirt forgotten, Aaron pulled Groucho onto his lap. “You’ll have me to yourself all day tomorrow, I promise.�
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Obviously a forgiving animal, Groucho settled on Aaron’s chest and closed his eyes. Aaron turned on the television and stretched out on the couch, careful not to wake the kitten from his slumber.
Claws sank into Aaron’s skin causing him to bolt upright. He blinked several times, slowly becoming aware that he’d fallen asleep on the couch. The abrupt movement sent Groucho running to parts unknown as Aaron coughed, realising the room was filling with smoke. “Shit!”
He jumped up and ran to the door that led to the shop. He felt the panel, pulling his hands away at the intense heat coming from downstairs. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck…” he continued to chant as he searched his pockets for his cell phone. “Groucho? Come here kitty.”
“Nine-one-one operator, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“Fire, sixteen-oh-one Main.” He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Getting himself and Groucho out of the apartment was his top priority. He made kissing noises in an attempt to call the frightened kitten. There were too many hiding places in the apartment for him to check them all and still make it out alive.
Aaron ran to the kitchen and grabbed a dishtowel off the counter. After running it under cold water, he put the sloppy mess to his face without taking time to wring it out. Unlocking the back door that led to the alley, Aaron made one last attempt at finding the kitten. He grabbed the small cardboard tube of treats Deacon had purchased several days earlier and started shaking it. “Groucho. Treat.”
Aaron coughed again, using the bottom half of the towel to wipe at his burning eyes. Just when he’d given up hope, he saw a series of black spots through the thick smoke. Afraid of scaring the kitten, he dropped to his knees and shook the container again. His efforts were rewarded when Groucho climbed into Aaron’s lap.
Aaron shoved the kitten under his shirt and ran to the door. He took the steps three at a time, nearly dumping himself on his ass. Flames billowed out of the shop window licking towards the night sky as Aaron fought to control his coughing. Shit. From the size of the fire, Aaron knew there was a strong possibility it would spread before the fire department could contain it. He thought of the other apartments that lined the upper floors of the downtown buildings.
With only a moment’s hesitation, Aaron tucked his shirt into his jeans to secure Groucho before he started to yell. “Fire!”
O’Brien’s Pub was the closest, so he started there. “Fire!” he screamed again. He found a stray board beside Deacon’s shed and used it to break a small window on the first floor. The moment the glass broke, a loud alarm sounded. Thank God. “Fire!” he repeated, his lungs starting to give out.
When a light in the apartment above turned on, Aaron shouted the warning once more before moving down the block. He heard the sirens and hoped they would help alert people to the situation.
Aaron ran up the back stairs to the apartment above the small hardware store. He pounded on the door several times with no response before breaking the window. Groucho protested the action and swiped at Aaron’s chest with his claws, scrambling to get out of the protective cocoon. “Shhhh.” Aaron did his best to calm the kitten with his free hand. He waited for a light to go on, but when the interior remained dark and no alarm sounded, he worried the smoke was already overcoming the occupant.
With only a moment’s hesitation, Aaron finished clearing the glass from the window and stuck his head inside. “Fire! Get out!” Although not as thick as the smoke in Deacon’s apartment, it was obvious the fire was spreading. He untucked his shirt and grabbed Groucho, giving him a quick snuggle before setting him down and urging him down the steps. “You can’t go in here with me, baby.”
As he crawled through the window, an errant shard of glass he hadn’t seen scraped along his back. He swallowed the curse, saving his energy for his task ahead and prayed Groucho would find a safe place to hide out.
Aaron had no idea who lived upstairs, but he had seen a light on before. Having lost his wet rag when he’d ran out of Deacon’s apartment, Aaron was forced to use his T-shirt to try and stem the amount of smoke getting into his lungs. “Fire!”
He dropped to the kitchen floor, coughing. “Fire,” he tried again in the midst of a coughing fit. Staying low to the floor, Aaron crawled through the apartment towards where he hoped he’d find a bedroom.
When he saw spots instead of the room in front of him, he knew he was in trouble. Vision useless in the thick smoke, Aaron felt his way through the living room. He continued as straight a path as he could manage until he felt the wall. Rising to his knees, Aaron felt around until he located one of the large front windows. He blindly searched for something to break the glass, hoping it would draw the fire towards him, but like most fires, the smoke was his immediate concern.
He threw the first object he managed to find and was rewarded with the sound of breaking glass. The noise from the gathering crowd grew louder as Aaron struggled to stand enough to stick his head out the window. Smoke from the interior of the apartment followed his upper body as he struggled to get a fresh breath of air.
“Up there,” someone below shouted.
Aaron gulped at the air, drawing both air and smoke into his lungs. The floor under his feet began to feel hot as the rescuers franticly tried to smother the flames. It was obvious to Aaron the entire bottom floor had already started to burn.
Aaron pushed at the broken glass, knocking more of it free as he tried to climb out on the ledge.
“Aaron?” Chief George Manning called up.
“I think there’s someone in the bedroom,” he managed to say, still coughing.
“Hang on,” George shouted.
Aaron wiped at his tears as they continued to flow. The ladder hooked to the side of the fire truck was quickly removed by two of the volunteers and carried to the building. With an oxygen tank strapped to his back, George scaled the ladder. Once he reached the ledge, he took a moment to check on Aaron. “Can you get down?”
Aaron nodded. He’d been prepared to jump if that’s what it took, so tumbling down a ladder was worth the risk. “Bedroom,” he managed to say before George disappeared into the apartment.
Aaron scooted closer to the ladder before reaching out to grab it. He’d taken a few steps down when a solid body pressed against his back. “Lean on me,” Sammy Lee yelled in Aaron’s ear.
As he leant back against the comforting wall of strength, Aaron gave himself over to the blackness that had threatened to take him since entering the apartment. His last thought was for Groucho.
Chapter Six
Deacon held Aaron’s hand as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He’d never been so glad he’d given up his secret as when he’d received the call from Priest on his agency phone.
He’d been in the middle of a heated discussion with the President when he’d received the call. Expecting an update from Midnight, Deacon nearly hung up and returned to his meeting until Priest uttered Aaron’s name.
After being told of Aaron’s condition, Deacon had ended the call, told the President his decision was final and ran to the elevator that would get him out of the underground bunker.
Aaron’s eyelids fluttered for several moments before opening fully. He reached up and moved the oxygen mask to the side. “I’m sorry.”
Deacon scooted closer to the bed, despite the protest from his knee and leaned against the mattress. “Shhh. It was just a building. The important thing is you’ll be fine.”
Aaron started to reach for Deacon but winced and drew his hand back.
“You did quite a number on your back crawling through one of those windows.”
Aaron gestured to the small pitcher of water. “Thirsty.”
“It’s empty. I’ll have to ask.” Instead of leaving Aaron’s side, Deacon pressed the small button on the side of the bed.
In a matter of seconds, Dr Isaac Singer stepped into the room. “Good to see you awake.” He walked over to the bed and used his stethoscope to check Aaron’s lung function.
“You’re damn lucky. We had to airlift Shane out of here.”
Aaron’s blond eyebrows drew together. “Who?”
“Shane Rendell, the man whose life you saved by breaking into his apartment. Damn stupid move, by the way,” Isaac reprimanded.
“I saved? He’ll be okay?” Aaron sounded as if he’d had strep throat for days.
“Can I get him some water?” Deacon asked, interrupting the conversation.
“Ice would be better. There’s still a chance he could throw up, the less in his stomach, the better.” Isaac helped Aaron to a sitting position. “Let me take a look at your stitches.”
Deacon grabbed the pitcher and left the room. He knew Aaron would ask about Shane until he’d been given an answer, and Deacon didn’t want to tell Aaron the young man was in a coma. Apparently, Shane had been home sick with the flu for two days. He’d made the mistake of taking a large dose of cough syrup in an effort to help him sleep and hadn’t awoken since. Even though he was still breathing when George and Sammy pulled him from the burning building, the combination of medicine and smoke had combined to throw Shane into unconsciousness.
“How’s he doing?” Dr Sam Browning asked.
“He’s awake. Asking questions.” Deacon opened the small ice dispenser and filled the pitcher.
“Here.” Sam handed Deacon a small cup and spoon. “Feed it to him from that.”
“Was anyone else hurt?” Deacon hadn’t asked about anyone else. He’d only discovered the information about Shane because he’d overheard Sam and Isaac talking in the hall earlier.
“Everyone else came out okay. Evidently Aaron broke a window at O’Brien’s which set off their security system. They managed to get safely out the front door and run around the side of the building to check on Moby’s mom who lives across the alley.”
