Finding Nick

by Janis Reams Hudson

  “I know.” He rested his forehead against hers.

  “I wouldn’t ask about it if I didn’t care.”

  “I know.”

  “You have to let people care about you, Nick.”

  He raised his head and looked up at the stars. “Why can’t everybody just forget about my hip and leg? Why does it have to matter?”

  Shannon pulled back to see him better. “You talk like you’re ashamed of it.” She felt a stirring of anger, both toward him and on his behalf. “Like it’s somehow your fault that you were injured.”

  “I do not.”

  “You do. Oh, yes, you do,” she repeated when he started to deny it. “That’s why—”

  “Why, what?”

  At least he was as pissed off now as she was, Shannon thought. “We’ll save this discussion for later. We’ve got an audience.”

  Nick jerked back as if he’d been shot. He looked around and, sure enough, at least a dozen students stood within earshot of them, several of them staring blatantly.

  Nick was furious. Not at them, or Shannon, but at himself. He, who prized his privacy above nearly everything, had let himself be pulled into a deeply personal conversation in front of a bunch of teenagers.

  “You’re right.” He forced a slow, deep breath. “We’ll save it. I’m sorry I brought it up at all.”

  “You didn’t,” she said quietly. “I did, and I’m sorry you took it wrong. If you recall, last night you were making jokes about the very same subject. But let me bring it up, and oh, no, can’t do that.”

  “You weren’t joking,” he said tersely. “That was pity.”

  “I beg to differ. It was caring, concern. It was not pity.” She glanced around again at all the eager ears and wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. “Come on. Let’s go back in. I’m thirsty.”

  He took her by the hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Shannon?”

  Finally she looked up at him. “Yes?”

  “Can we rewind, here? You’re right, I overreacted. I feel like I’ve just punched a hole in something that wasn’t meant to have a hole in it.”

  She stared up at him for a long moment, the lights from the parking lot and the front of the gym casting her face in a garish light. Then suddenly she burst out in laughter. “Something that wasn’t meant to have a hole in it? You are definitely not the writer of this duo.”

  Relief eased the tightness in his gut. They were back on an even keel. He gave her a mock glare. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Definitely. And I plan to do it again, real soon. Come inside and buy me a drink.”

  “Would you like a can, or a can?”

  “Hmm, I believe I prefer a can. That’s a dirty trick the organizers played, having tubs of canned soft drinks on ice and no punch bowl.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, “but it’s harder to spike each individual soda can than it is a big bowl of punch.”

  The band started up with a slow ballad, and Nick led her to the edge of the dance floor, where the crowd was thinnest, the lighting dimmest. “This,” he whispered against her ear, “is my kind of dance.”

  Shannon felt the length of him pressed against her, hard and warm and right where she wanted to be. Had she been angry only minutes ago? Never mind that now. Now, he was holding her. Now they were swaying to the music. If now was all they had, she would live in the moment and be glad for it.

  With her head resting against his chest, she felt a deep vibration and realized he was humming along with the song. Shannon smiled and fell a little bit more in love with him.

  Chapter Ten

  The dance officially ended at midnight, but it took another hour for everyone to clear out. Shannon was content to sit back and watch Nick maneuver the stragglers out the door as quickly as possible without offending any of them. He was good at it. Very good. The kids respected him, that much was plain. But they also liked him.

  What did it say about a man, she wondered, that kids liked him, contemporaries sought his advice, women—at least this woman—found him irresistibly attractive, and his true calling was walking into burning buildings?

  To her, it said one thing: Hero.

  For now, she would keep that thought to herself.

  The man in question came strolling back to her, his limp barely noticeable, even after all the dancing. But she wouldn’t mention it. Not until she got him alone. And when she got him alone, she didn’t want to talk. She wanted to hold him close and never let go.

  The look on her face nearly took Nick’s breath away. She wanted him. Him, Nick Carlucci. And she cared. Maybe more than cared, if she was feeling the things he felt, and from the way she looked at him, he would guess she did.

  Yet she would leave him soon, unless one of them broke down and asked the other to cross the country. He wouldn’t do that, not to either of them. He wouldn’t go back to New York, not if he couldn’t do the thing he was meant to do—fight fires. The city would be a constant reminder of how much of himself he had lost. He wouldn’t last three months before he’d be unfit to live with.

  And he wouldn’t ask her to move here. Her life was in New York. Her job. No journalist gives up a job at the New York Times if writing for them is what they want to do. And Shannon did want that. If she gave that up for him and moved to Podunk, Texas, she would end up hating him.

  They had this night, and tomorrow, at least. Until she finished the interview. They couldn’t keep postponing it. She couldn’t stay away from her job forever.

  He walked beside her to his car, leaving the English teacher, who was in charge of the dance, to lock up for the night. At the car, he opened the passenger door for Shannon, then got in and started the engine.

  “I would like to be able to take you home with me.”

  Shannon laughed. “Wouldn’t your aunt love that?”

  “It would be awkward, you know? It’s her house.”

  “You don’t have to explain, Nick. No way do I want to get up in the middle of the night and run into her in the bathroom. We would both have a heart attack on the spot. I don’t mind going to my place.”

  “Your place. You deserve better.”

  “Better than the Tribute Inn?” She smiled. “I’ve stayed in better. I’ve stayed in worse. Much worse. The only thing missing from this place is room service.”

  “You know I don’t mean the room.”

  “You better not mean you.”

  Nick did not answer, and she did not pursue the subject. It seemed taboo and huge, and it sat there between them as Nick drove the short distance to the motel.

  How foolish of him to bring up the subject in the first place. One of Shannon’s most attractive qualities—and there were many—was her intelligence. She knew the score. She was away from home, having a fling with a man she would never have to see again. Good for a few laughs, a little sex—okay, a lot of really hot, steamy sex—but not much else. She was going places with her life, while he…he’d already been to all the good places that had been there for him. This damn leg of his was never going to let him do what he was meant to do. It would always hold him back. Shannon deserved better than that.

  Nick had known these things and come to accept them years ago. Funny, though, how they all faded away when he held out his hand for Shannon, to help her from the car. When he was touching her, he felt whole. Invincible.

  “Are you going to tell me what you meant?” she asked as they climbed the stairs to her room where the two wings of the building met.

  “No.” He stopped at her door and stood aside while she unlocked it.

  Once they were in, with the dead bolt latched, the lights on low, she turned to him. “I’d like to challenge you about that, about my deserving better, but I doubt anything I say would change your mind.”

  He pulled her close and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “You always think I’m more than I am.”

  “And you think you’re less. When you keep pushing people away, Nick, they eventually get the message.”


  He tightened his hold on her, pulling her deeper into his embrace. “I’m not pushing you away. I’m not. But you’ll go anyway, no matter what, so why don’t we leave it alone for now?”

  She flexed her hands across his back. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Nick turned his head, just as she turned hers, and their lips met. Tonight there was no sudden eruption of passion. This was a slow, poignant simmer, one to savor with lingering touches, long glances, hearts beating together. It was slow and gentle, and they climbed the slope and reached the peak together.

  Neither spoke. Nick didn’t know what to say. He’d never experienced anything so moving in his life. She touched something deep down in his soul, and it was both frightening and soothing, even as it aroused.

  Shannon couldn’t speak. Her throat was too tight with unshed tears. She had to keep her eyes closed so he wouldn’t see, but she feared they would leak any minute. She knew goodbye when she felt it. That’s what this had been. The most bittersweet goodbye. Her heart was shattered.

  But she couldn’t give up without at least a token effort, could she? She took a deep breath and dove off the cliff. “Come home with me, Nick.”

  For a long time, Nick didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He was afraid even to breathe. Those words, those precious words, sang softly in his blood. Come home with me.

  She made it sound so easy. Pack a bag, walk out the door, get on a plane. Come home with me.

  Slowly he turned, with her still in his arms, until they lay on their sides facing each other. “I have never,” he said softly, his heart swelling in his throat, “been so flattered, so blessed to have you ask me that. I am humbled, Shannon. And stunned.”

  “Why stunned? You have to know I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  “You have to know you’re not alone there, right? I’ve fallen just as far for you.”

  She trailed her fingers lightly over his cheek. “Well, then? Shouldn’t we do something about that?”

  “I can’t go back to New York.”

  “Will you tell me why?”

  He pulled back and eyed her critically. “Are you going to put this in your book?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  He thought about it a minute, then gave a single nod. “It’s hard to admit. Where I come from a guy does not talk about his feelings. A real man doesn’t have feelings.”

  Shannon nodded sadly. “I know exactly what you mean. I’m just luckier, because girls are expected to have feelings and it’s perfectly acceptable to let them out whenever and wherever. Usually.”

  “Not us. We were big, macho men. Firefighters, all three of us. It wasn’t just what we did, it was who we were. We were the job. Like you. You’re not a writer only when you’re actually writing, or sitting at your desk. You are a writer, no matter where you are. It’s the same with me. I’m a firefighter, but it goes deeper than that. I couldn’t live in New York and not do what I was born to do.”

  “Maybe if you—”

  “I tried, Shannon. I tried for two years, and it nearly killed me. I started drinking to numb the ache inside that wouldn’t let up. I drank for most of those two years. I was a mess. A pathetic mess. When I finally crawled out of the bottle and cleaned myself up, I knew the only way I could live was if I left the city.”

  “There are jobs that don’t—”

  “Desk jobs. That might be fine for some, but not for me. Talk about your reminders of what you can’t do anymore, surround yourself with able-bodied firefighters.”

  Shannon rolled onto her back and threw her arm across her eyes. “It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Every minute of every day.”

  She rolled back to her side and stroked his face again. “I am so, so sorry, Nick. Sorry you’ve lost such a big part of yourself. I’m sorry you don’t want to go back. If I could do or say anything to make it easier for you, to take away your pain, I would. That’s not pity,” she added, placing her fingers over his lips to keep him from speaking. “It’s love. I love you.”

  The words crashed into Nick like a wave, inundating every cell, every nerve, lifting him higher than he’d ever been. They stole his breath. They stopped his heart, then sent it racing. She loved him. Shannon Malloy loved him.

  He looked her in the eyes and spoke. “I have never been given such a treasured gift in all my life. I love you, too, Shannon. It doesn’t change the fact that you have to go home, and I have to stay here, but I love you.”

  Elation and sorrow fought for supremacy in Shannon’s heart, making it hard to breathe. She inched away from Nick, hoping for more air. “You give me hope then snatch it away in the same sentence. Is that what love is to you?”

  Nick’s eyes closed. “No. To me, love is about caring and honesty and respect. It’s about wanting what’s best for someone else, over and above what you might want for yourself.”

  Shannon sniffed. Her eyes were about to leak. She sat up and hugged her knees, her back toward Nick. “Is that what you’re doing? Deciding what’s best for me?”

  “No, that’s just a side benefit of knowing what I am and am not capable of.”

  She hung her head and swallowed twice. Once for her tears, the other, her pride. “I notice you aren’t asking me to stay here.”

  Nick couldn’t stand to see her huddled there, alone and hurting. Because of him. He sat up and took her in his arms. “I would ask in an instant—I would beg—if I thought we had a chance in hell of making it work between us.”

  Silence was his answer.

  “You know I’m right, don’t you?”

  She sniffed again.

  “You’re just getting your career in gear. You’d have to leave the Times. Your newspaper career would be reduced to a weekly gossip column in the Tribute Banner. You’d eventually blame me for your career going south, and even if you didn’t, I’d blame myself. Then we’d both be miserable.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “That’s because you blame yourself for everything.”

  Look at her, he thought in awe. He had just kicked her in the teeth and she was cracking a joke. Sort of. “I guess I do. Right now we’re both pretty miserable. That’s my fault.”

  “Oh, pul-eeze.” She rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself, Carlucci.”

  “I guess that love thing comes and goes, huh?”

  She gave a decidedly unladylike snort of laughter. “You’re the one who said love was about honesty. I just calls ’em as I sees ’em.”

  “Wanna argue about it?”

  Her smile softened. “What I’d rather do is finish our interview.”

  Finish, so she could leave him once and for all. But how could he tell her no? He could put it off a little while, but it wasn’t going away. He would just have to do as she’d suggested and get over himself.

  “All right,” he agreed. “But I’m not being tape recorded without my pants on.” He scooted to the edge of the bed and reached for his slacks.

  She snickered and crawled out of the bed. “It’s an audiotape, not video.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not doing this naked.”

  In furtherance of separating business from pleasure, she decided to make the symbolic gesture of conducting the interview at the small table instead of on the bed. She set up her recorder, got out her pad and a couple of pens, along with her laptop, and asked Nick to take the chair opposite her.

  After stating the date and time for the tape, she asked Nick if he would mind telling her again, with the tape running, what he’d told her earlier about why he’d left New York.

  He agreed, but she had to practically pull the information out of him one word at a time.

  “You don’t want this sob story in there,” he protested.

  “This is exactly the type of information I want in here,” she argued. “It’s this information that might help lead to better counseling options for first responders across the board.”

  Nick eyed her carefully. “So tha
t’s what this is all about.”

  “In part, yes. If you’ll talk about your experiences with the media, it might enlighten a few of them, too.”

  “An enlightened media? You’ll pardon me, but I think that’s an oxymoron.”

  “Shame,” she said with a mock frown.

  And so Nick hashed it all out again, this time for the tape. All his rotten experiences since waking up in the hospital and being told he would never walk again. Being told he was a hero.

  She took him through it all, the hospital, the therapy, the euphoria over getting his legs back, the devastation in learning he couldn’t do the job anymore. The refusal to believe it. The grief for the department, his father and brother, the loss of his career. The drinking and the blur of months that passed in an alcoholic haze.

  Nick gave her everything she asked, up to and including his satisfaction in pushing a broom all day.

  “You really like it?” she asked.

  “I do. I mean, I’d rather be with FDNY, but this will do.”

  “Custodian. Janitor. You know some people look down on a job like that,” she stated.

  “Some snobs, maybe. Even I did at first, but it’s a big job with an incredible responsibility, being in charge of the entire physical aspect of the school, from maintenance to appearance to security. I’m even in charge of jump-starting cars with dead batteries,” he added with a grin.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope, it’s official. The principal even announced it at the assembly at the beginning of the term. If you have car trouble, Mr. Nick will help you get going.”

  She cocked her head. “Do you see yourself as a loser?”

  He paused. “Not a loser. More of a has-been,” he said candidly.

  “Can you explain the difference to me?”

  “In my past, I have been exactly what I believe I was born to be. A New York City firefighter. I’ve lost that now.” His voice quieted. “But that doesn’t make me a loser, because a certain woman I know says she loves me, and she’s a really smart lady. She wouldn’t fall for a loser.”