The Heat Is On (Boston Five Book 1)

by Anderson, Poppy J.

  Yes, he loved her and wanted to stay with her. He wanted to marry her and have children with her. He wanted to change their diapers and teach them to ride a bike. And in fifty years, he wanted to sit on the verandah with her, holding hands while the grandkids were visiting.

  But would he still be around in fifty years?

  What kind of life could he offer her if he always had to bear in mind that he might not come back from a shift? He didn’t want her to lose the man in her life for the third time.

  After a heavy sigh he murmured, “Hayden, we have to talk.”

  “I agree,” she said softly, sitting down on the armrest. Her hand moved to his back and stroked him tenderly, which made him wish he could just get up and run. “Love, the date didn’t mean anything. You know that, right? You are the only—”

  She stopped when he stood up, evading the touch of her hand.

  “Before you go on,” he said, “you should know that I’m not coming back.”

  He could see that his words hadn’t filtered in yet. Her expression showed merely confusion.

  “Hayden—”

  “Wait a minute,” she whispered hoarsely, brushing the tousled hair from her face. “I don’t understand. You’re here with me, Heath. We just had sex.”

  “Hayden,” he said, trying to sound exasperated. “So we had sex. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Of course it is!” Her voice sounded deeply troubled, promising tears and despair.

  He shook his obstinate head while he slipped on and buttoned his jeans. He wanted to leave the house as soon as he could. Though his heart was beating so hard it felt as if it might burst any moment, he tried to sound nonchalant. “It was no more than a little sex born from the heat of the moment. After more than three months, I just needed a fuck.”

  The choked cry that escaped her throat felt as if it had the power to erode or corrode his internal organs, but it didn’t change his outwardly dismissive attitude.

  “How could you say a thing like that?”

  Heath shrugged, picked up his t-shirt from the floor, and put it on. “It’s the truth.”

  “Is that the reason you came here?” she croaked, adding icily, “Because you just needed a fuck?”

  He clenched his teeth, searching for something to say, and then his eyes lit on his stereo, which was still standing in its normal place, though all the cords had been removed and lay next to it in neat little coils. “I came to get my stereo.”

  Her sarcastic answer burned through to his core. “And sex was merely the cherry on top?”

  He glanced briefly at her face, but had to look quickly away because her blue eyes were brimming with tears. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Fine.” She stood, obviously shaky. “Take your fucking stereo, Heath, and don’t forget the boxes in the hall, or I’m going to throw them in the harbor tomorrow.”

  When she ran past him, his entire body stiffened painfully. He felt the urge to pull her close and hold her tight, but he stayed where he was, staring intently at the white wall in front of him for a few moments. Paintings Hayden had painted hung on that wall.

  “Heath.”

  He turned around to see her standing on the first step up to the second floor. “Yes?”

  “Don’t ever speak to me again,” she demanded, icy determination in her voice. “Ever again.”

  He was drunk.

  Absolutely wasted, and no longer in control, as he dimly realized while looking at the half-filled beer glass in front of him, asking himself whether he should call it half full or half empty. He had never understood the point of this debate. He only knew that right then, he was not half full, but filled to the brim. He had started this drinking bout the day before, after coming home from his disastrous encounter with Hayden. Even though he’d woken up with a murderous hangover, he’d finished off all the remaining alcohol in his apartment. When he was all buzzed up again, he’d decided he wouldn’t drive to the store and buy more, wouldn’t risk the lives of all the other people who might be out in the streets. So instead he staggered over to O’Reary’s, threw up in a back alley, and sat down at the bar of the pub. He couldn’t remember how many pints of Guinness he’d already had, but he knew it wasn’t nearly enough.

  He ignored the meaningful glances Mike, the proprietor of the pub, was giving him from time to time. He didn’t look at the wall to his left, because it held a lot of photos of the fire department, which Mike’s brother had once been a member of, too. With a sarcastic smile, he raised his glass, pretended to cheers the other wall, and drained the rest of his beer in one giant gulp.

  “Mike, gimme another one.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Fitzpatrick?”

  “I think I want another beer,” he grumbled, feeling a stupid pride at his ability to still form a coherent sentence. A Fitzpatrick did not slur his speech. He might drink until he passed out, but he would never slur his speech. Ever.

  When Mike set down the next pint before him, he harrumphed. “This is your last one. I’m only glad your brother just came in, so he can take care of you now.”

  Heath groaned and put his head on the bar for a moment. The counter smelled of stale beer and old peanuts. “Which one?”

  “The loudmouth.”

  “Be a little more precise, will you? We’re all loudmouths.”

  “The loudmouth who deflowered my niece and then broke her heart.”

  Shane. The day could not get any worse, Heath decided.

  Mike gestured toward the door, his expression dark. “And he brought his new partner, the guy my seventeen-year-old daughter thinks is hawt, as she says. I think I hate cops.”

  Heath was instantly wide awake again. He sat up straight and jerked his head around. Through the alcoholic haze, he fixed his eyes on the man who had just patted Shane on the shoulder and was now laughing loudly. His own brother—the traitorous bastard—joined in the boisterous laughter. Before Heath knew what he was doing, he’d slipped from the barstool and moved to stand in their way as they looked around for a table.

  Shane’s laugh was immediately wiped from his face, replaced by a deep frown. “What are you—”

  “Are you Shane’s new partner?” Heath glared at the blond guy.

  The man looked completely unfazed and raised a blond eyebrow. “Yes, I—”

  He couldn’t utter another word because Heath’s fists took over the talking.

  Putting all the anger he felt into the punch, he hit the man squarely in the face, feeling the bridge of his nose crunch under his knuckles. With a downright perverse sense of satisfaction, he took the retaliating punch that came a few moments later, feeling it hit his eye, knowing it would lead to a blooming shiner. The new detective yelled at him. Because Heath was so drunk, he barely felt any pain, but he could hear chairs topple and voices scream. He swung again, his fist connecting with the side of the man’s jaw, even though he’d aimed for his mouth. Then a hard punch landed in Heath’s stomach, and he feared he would throw up his liquid lunch. He was still out of his mind with jealousy, so he ignored the sickening blow and swung a third time, finally hitting the man’s mouth this time.

  “Leave him alone, you crazy bastard!” Shane’s furious voice reached his ears, and then his brother dragged him violently away from his partner, who panted and held his bleeding nose.

  “Hey, you asshole!” Alec shouted. “What is your friggin’ problem?”

  Heath tried to shake Shane off, jabbing his elbow into his brother’s ribs, still shaking all over with rage. “Keep your hands off my woman or you’re a dead man!”

  The other patrons were chattering excitedly. Some of them had left their tables and fled the bar, where the three men were raging like wild beasts. Mike barked at everyone, demanding peace in his pub. A few glasses must have tumbled to the ground, because there was broken glass everywhere.

  The blond guy narrowed his eyes at Heath and grabbed a napkin to stem the blood flow from his nose. “Your woman? Do you
mean Hayden?”

  “Yes!”

  “Didn’t you break up with her?” The man sneered at him and tilted his head back. “She can do whatever she wants, pal.”

  Heath struggled to free himself from his brother’s grip, but Shane held him in an unrelenting stranglehold. “Dammit, Heath! Have you lost your mind?”

  Heath ignored him and went on threatening his opponent. “I swear on my father’s grave: If you touch her with your filthy paws, I’ll kill you.”

  “Shut your mouth, Heath,” his brother snapped behind him.

  Mike threw his rag down onto the counter and started yelling. “Shane, get him out of here, or I’m calling the cops!”

  “We are the cops,” Shane said, irritation mounting in his voice.

  “Great,” the pub owner spat. “Well, I have a baseball bat here behind the bar. I’m going to split your brother’s skull if he ever tries to demolish my pub again.”

  “Alright, alright. We hear you!”

  Heath continued to struggle, but his brother dragged him toward the door. His eyes were still fixed on the man who had dared to ask Hayden out. It seemed to him that he was looking through a red mist, and he bared his teeth at the guy like a rabid dog. “I mean it. Leave her alone!”

  “Shut up,” his brother snapped at him. “Alec, I’m very sorry about this. My brother is batshit crazy, I guess.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” his partner snorted.

  “Get out of here!” Mike had come around the bar and was now standing in the middle of his pub. He kicked a toppled chair aside angrily. “You Fitzpatrick boys only know how to cause trouble!”

  “You’re welcome.” Shane opened the door and pushed Heath out before him. Then he feigned a friendly face and called back into the barroom, “Hey, Mike! Say hi to your niece for me!”

  Heath woke up with a piercing headache. He looked around, feeling disoriented and unable to see much, but finally recognized his brother’s living room. He was lying on Shane’s couch and had been drooling on the garish cushion Kayleigh bought on a shopping trip to Stoughton. She’d wanted to play a joke on Shane by giving him this ugly pillowcase as a surprise.

  Heath struggled to sit up and wondered how he’d gotten here, and why he felt like he’d been mangled by a combine harvester. His hand felt numb, his stomach was ready to give up its contents, and his left eye was swollen shut. He could barely see anything. And on top of all that, his throat felt as if he’d gargled with thumbtacks.

  Groaning, he rubbed his face, and immediately flinched at the pain that lanced through his head.

  Then he heard the squeak of the front door. He slowly turned his head and saw his brother come in, wearing running clothes and carrying two steaming to-go cups.

  “You’re awake.” Shane kicked the door shut with a foot. The bang reverberated painfully in Heath’s ears and made him cringe.

  “Thank you, dear brother.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Shane said gruffly, holding out one of the cups. “When I left for a jog, I didn’t dare check on you for fear of finding you dead.”

  “How considerate of you,” Heath murmured and took a cautious sip, hoping it would calm his stomach. It was coffee.

  “It had nothing to do with consideration. I just didn’t feel like carrying your carcass down two flights of stairs, especially after I barely managed to carry you up here last night.”

  “You’ve always been the benevolent one.”

  “You were making so much noise I wouldn’t be surprised if the landlord sends me a notice soon.”

  “Ugh … What the hell happened, anyway?” Heath murmured.

  His brother clicked his tongue disdainfully. “You don’t remember?”

  “Shane …”

  “Shit, Heath. Before the alcohol manages to kill the last of your brain cells and you have to get on the waiting list for a liver transplant, you should really think about getting back on track.”

  Heath took another sip of coffee and stretched, which was a very bad idea, for every inch of his body seemed to protest. He felt pain in all kinds of familiar and unfamiliar places.

  “Was I run over by a bus?”

  “Close.” Shane pulled a chair close, and the sound of its legs scraping the floor made Heath want to scream.

  He squinted and immediately groaned at the sensation, because his swollen eye burned like fire. “Shit!”

  “That’s Alec’s work.” Shane pointed at the eye. “But the rest is your own doing. You fell in front of O’Reary’s.”

  “Alec?” Heath’s brain didn’t recognize the name. He had no idea what his brother was talking about. “Alec who?”

  Shane leaned back comfortably and stretched out his legs in front of him. “Alec. The man you said you were going to kill with your own hands if he touched ‘your woman.’ You even swore on Dad’s grave. Oh, and Mike banned you from the bar—and me, too. Thank you for that. Yesterday, you managed to not only beat up my new partner, but also get me barred from my regular haunt for who knows how long.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “I wish.” Shane wrinkled his nose. “And on top of all that, you threw up in my car. I don’t know how I’ll ever get that stink out.”

  At first Heath was rather sure Shane was lying, because he had never thrown up from drinking too much. Well, apart from yesterday, he dimly remembered, when he’d puked in some alley. But considering the state he was in and the awful taste in his mouth, a bout of vomiting in his brother’s Chevy was no longer out of the question.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll pay to get it cleaned.”

  Shane waved a dismissive hand. “No need. When I think of your babbling last night, I really wouldn’t want to be in your skin.”

  Heath looked up, suddenly tense and insecure. “What did I say?”

  His brother studied him, thoughtful and silent. Then he placed his coffee on the table. “Do you know why I didn’t talk to you after Dad died?”

  Heath wasn’t ready for a conversation about it all. The way he felt at the moment, he couldn’t argue with his brother about his father’s death.

  “Heath?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he sighed, facing Shane. “You think Dad’s death was my fault.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Shane frowned as if that was a completely absurd thought. “Of course it wasn’t your fault.”

  Heath ground his teeth, suddenly feeling angry again. “Then why didn’t you say so?”

  “Because everyone else did! Heath, you are a pigheaded idiot who doesn’t need to be coddled by Mom, by Hayden, by Kayleigh, and by every single goddamn fireman in your department. Can’t you see what it’s done to you? Everyone treaded on eggshells around you, and that’s only made it worse …”

  Shane’s strange psychology didn’t seem at all logical to Heath, so he snorted loudly. “You could have told me it wasn’t my fault! You’re my brother! You put me through hell!”

  “You put yourself through hell,” Shane objected immediately. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “You know full well that Dad’s death had nothing to do with you.”

  Heath swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Did you have to wait three months to tell me that?”

  His brother actually rolled his eyes. “You’re a Fitzpatrick, not a whining sissy. If you don’t like your situation, or if you think someone is treating you unfairly, you fucking tell them. You don’t hide and sulk the way you’ve been doing the last few months.”

  “But—”

  “For three months I’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses and beat me up. I’ve been waiting for you to get sick of the silent treatment. Jesus, you’re so bullheaded!”

  Heath should have waited and let that sink in, but the relief at having his brother back was stronger. “They suspended me three days ago,” he mumbled.

  “I know,” Shane said lightly. “Kyle asked me to talk to you.”

  “Which you didn’t.”

  Shane shrugged. “True. B
ut I’m doing it now.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Let me ask you a question instead.” Ever the pragmatist, Shane asked, “Do you like being a fireman?”

  “You know the answer to that.” Heath inhaled deeply. “Of course I do.”

  “Do you want to do anything else?”

  “No.”

  Shane tilted his head to one side, raised an eyebrow, and smiled dryly. “Then all you can do is drag your sorry ass to that psychologist, tell him you’re fine, apart from the fact that your brother has a far bigger package than you, and then march back to your gang and play the hero again.”

  “Since when do you give sermons?” Heath asked grumpily.

  “Since you started acting like an asshole.” Shane leaned back in his chair and balanced it on two legs. “And then you need to apologize to Hayden and get on your knees to thank her for taking you back with her usual patience and graciousness.”

  Heath closed his eyes for a moment. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Bullshit.” Shane snorted. “I don’t know anybody who’s as understanding as Hayden. For months, I’ve been telling her that you’re a stupid prick, but she defended you every time. Of course she’ll take you back.”

  “No, she won’t.”

  “Listen.” Shane leaned forward, brows knitting together. “There’s nothing going on between her and Alec. They only went out for dinner once, and that was at his insistence.”

  Heath’s eyes immediately lit up with unholy anger, and he forgot that his hand felt as if it had been beaten with a meat mallet. He punched his brother in the chest.

  “Ouch!”

  “What the hell were you thinking, hooking her up with a cop? With a cop, for God’s sake!”

  “Hey,” Shane complained, rubbing his chest and glaring at Heath. “I didn’t hook her up with anyone! I actually told Alec to keep his hands off her, because she’s your woman.”

  “A cop!” Heath still couldn’t believe Hayden had gone out with a cop, of all people. “Jesus Christ, Shane! I break up with her in order to protect her, and then you introduce her to a cop! Are you fucking insane?”