by Emma Nichole
It’s amazing how much damage can be done by a boat when alcohol is involved, but when a speedboat collides with a family’s pontoon boat tied to a dock, where children are swimming and playing, the worst comes to pass.
“We all did everything we could, Black. Between us, EMS, and PD, we did absolutely the best we could do.”
“No, we didn’t. A little girl died in the dirt on the banks of the bay. That’s not our fucking best.” I slide my hands through my sweat and water-soaked hair. “These are the days I hate this damn job.”
“None of us want to lose anyone, ever, but there were people saved tonight. Without action across the board, we could have lost more or even everyone. In, out, onto the next. You have to do that otherwise you’ll never be able to lead a normal life. You know it was hard as shit for me after everything that happened with Drew, but eventually, I had to… step up and do my job because it’s an important one.”
“You think I don’t know that? It doesn’t mean watching someone die is easier.” I stand, wanting to just be alone for a bit.
“You’ve always struggled with this part of it, especially since LA.”
“I don’t like talking about LA, so don’t start that shit, Malone.”
“Don’t start what shit? Being a veteran on this crew and trying to fucking talk to you after a hard call?” Grady rises and starts pacing back and forth; clearly showing this call took a toll on him too, even if he’s trying to talk me through it.
“I don’t need nor want to be talked to right now. What I want is to go up there, shower, help clean up the truck; then lie down until we have to leave again. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No,” he says matter-of-factly. “I just want to know you’re going to be all right if another call comes through in five minutes.”
“You know I will be. It’s just… fuck. It was a kid, man, a kid. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten. She was on a boat with her family, enjoying herself, thinking today was going to be a normal day and it ended up being her last. Because of a shitty decision an irresponsible motherfucker made. Don’t drink and boat. How fucking hard is that to understand?”
“I ask myself that question every, single time we have to go out on a call involving alcohol.”
“It’s so fucking senseless, and now a little girl is gone. I shouldn’t wish bad things on people, but I hope that asshole who was behind the wheel of that boat feels so much guilt it eats him alive for the rest of his life.”
Maybe what I’m saying is taking it too far, especially as a professional, but this is Grady I’m talking to. I feel like I can have a moment of ugly honesty with him.
“I’m sure that it will when he is finally able to understand the gravity of what has happened.”
The driver, or who we assume was the driver, wasn’t conscious when the ambulance took him away from the scene. We haven’t, and likely won’t, know much more about him or about exactly what happened.
That’s not our job. We respond. We don’t investigate or follow up. That is also something I’ve always struggled with. Especially since LA.
“I wonder if I’m even the right person for this job anymore,” I admit in a moment of vulnerable honesty.
“Don’t start that shit, Black. You’re the best fireman I know, besides me, obviously.” He raises his arms up and back, then links his fingers behind his head with a grin on his face, and when he sees I’m not smiling, he sighs. “Talk to someone about all of this. We have resources for it. Use them. There isn’t any shame in that.”
“Says the man who pushed back on that for months.” I glare at him.
“Do as I say and not as I do. Isn’t that the saying?” he replies, as he claps a hand on my shoulder. “Are you still seeing that girl? Isabelle? You should get out of the house tomorrow and put this out of your head.”
Fuck.
Isabelle has been calling me for a week now and I haven’t been returning her calls or texts. A certain teacher has been occupying my mind, and I haven’t felt like an asshole about it until right now.
“Actually, I think there might be someone else.”
“That tone makes me think the uncrackable Isaac Black is starting to wear thin when a pussy is concerned.”
“Considering I haven’t slept with her; your theory doesn’t hold any water.”
“Who is she?”
“No one you’d know.” I tell him, even though he did meet her briefly at the career fair at Sunnyville High.
I want to keep Sawyer to myself for now, as much as I can, at least until I see where it could potentially go.
Grady and I chat a bit longer as everyone descends into the truck bay, kitchen, and communal rec areas, but I don’t stick around much after that.
I stop by my locker and check my cell phone, finding a text message from the same number that has repeatedly called me wanting to interview me about the wildfire anniversary.
The story is going to run regardless. We’d love updated input from you, Isaac. Call me.
God, these people don’t give up.
I head up to shower, letting the water rush over my head and drown out all the noise so all I can hear is the whoosh in my ears.
With my eyes closed tightly and my hands pressed into the wall, the horrific scene I saw today drowns away and is replaced by Sawyer in a blue sundress, smiling and happy.
I never expected to feel much toward her, because if history is any indication, I never feel much for anyone.
But… is Grady right?
Has Sawyer Westbrook managed, in such a short time, to make herself a home in my heart?
I’m not sure I have an answer to that yet, but what I do know is I crave her presence and the more I’m with her, the more I want to be around her.
So that’s what I’m going to do.
Chapter 10
Sawyer
I’m not sure I’ve ever deep cleaned this house as much as I am right now. I’m cleaning shit I didn’t even know existed. I refuse to let him see even a speck out of place, even though at the end of the day, I’m a pretty messy person.
Not “eww, you’re gross” messy, but I’ll just leave the laundry piled in the basket and use it all until it just ends up in the washer again. It’s a cycle that works for me, and what’s the point in changing things now?
I’m proud of this home and everything I’ve done with it. I fell in love the moment I stepped inside with its open floor plan, expansive windows, and hardwood flooring. So much light is allowed in and that added vitamin D in my everyday life has made settling in Sunnyville easier than I could have imagined.
The knock on the door sends my heart rate through the roof. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I’ve never been around him before.
It’s just different with him being inside of my home. It’s like… another level.
With one quick glance in the mirror that hangs in my entryway, I pull the door open to find the most delicious version of Isaac I have ever seen.
He is wearing dark, navy blue slacks with a white collared shirt that hugs his biceps in the most incredible way. His hair is a bit messy, but it looks intentional, and his sneakers are pristine white. He has this swagger about him that makes it hard to remain upright.
“Hello, beautiful,” he says in that caramel-like voice, with his hands in his pockets, casual as ever.
“Hi.” I lean against my doorframe and just take him in for a moment, because it would be a shame not to gawk, at least a little bit.
“Hi,” he repeats, then leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead. “Can I come in or are you going to stand here and stare all night?”
“What’s so bad about that?” I joke then step aside. “Come on in.”
He walks by me and into my entryway and I close the door behind us.
“Wow, Sawyer. This place is nice. It’s cozy.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted it to be. It’s what I needed.” I step around in front of him. “Are you t
hirsty? Hungry?”
“All of the above, actually.”
“Follow me. I’ll make you something to drink and dinner should be nearly finished.”
“You didn’t have to make dinner for me, Sawyer. I would have been thrilled with an ordered pizza and beer.”
“Well, I wanted to because I think cooking is fun, and as for beer...” I open the fridge and grab two frosty bottles. “I have that covered.”
“You’re beautiful, funny, adorable, sweet, and you have impeccable taste in beer? Pinch me.”
“Now you’re just laying it on thick,” I giggle. “Make yourself at home.”
I watch him walk around my living room with his hands in his pockets, looking at the artwork on my walls and the few pictures I have on the mantle.
“Do you need help with anything?”
“No, I think I have everything covered. It’s just in the oven,” I twist open my beer with my forearm, just like my Dad taught me, without even thinking anything of it.
“Whoa. We aren’t just going to ignore what you just did and not even acknowledge it,” he says, with wide eyes as he places his beer on the counter.
I nearly choke on my beer when I start to laugh. “What are you talking about?”
He mimes out what I did, “Uh, the thing with the beer and the opening. It was fucking impressive and hot.”
“Oh.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “My dad always teaches me off-the-wall shit. That was on the list. I think I was around thirteen when I learned. Which I see now was inappropriate,” I laugh. “But I always have fun when he teaches me.”
“I think it’s badass and one hell of a party trick. You’ll have to show me one day.”
“Sure, I’ll show you anything you want.”
The smile on his face at my words makes me realize just how laced with innuendo they were. “Oh, well, I mean… you know what I mean. Not like that,” I giggle.
“You always blush when you get nervous. It’s pretty.” He reaches out and touches my heated cheek. “I’ve been keeping my distance since I walked in because I don’t want to push you, but I’d really like to kiss you right now.”
“Asking for permission?”
“I’m asking if you have any objections.”
I pretend to ponder, counting on my fingers for dramatic effect before shrugging, “Can’t think of a single one.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he says and takes my face in both of his hands. “I’ve needed this all week.”
His head dips down and our lips connect with the same spark I felt on my doorstep after our last date.
I place my hands on his chest and curl my fingers into the fabric, giving him a tug closer.
He steps forward, using our newfound closeness to his advantage, and forces me to step back and back until my ass connects with my cold, white counters. He’s so much bigger than me, I’m sure if someone were to see us like this from the living room, they wouldn’t even see my body. I’m being hidden completely by him, shrouded from the world so all that exists in this moment is this kiss.
Our tongues move together, mixed with sucks and bites. It’s tender, erotic, and wholly perfect.
I can feel his breaths growing harsher and his touch becoming rougher. I like it. I want it, but this is happening so fast that my mind, heart and body are struggling to keep up with one another. My body is taking off in a clear lead and rushing to the finish line with outstretched arms. My mind is more logical, because slow and steady keeps us from tripping and falling into something we will regret. My heart is still wary, scared of being hurt or broken if she gets involved too soon… or at all.
I can’t let my body take over on this one.
“Wait,” I pant out, giving the slightest push to his chest, forcing us to break apart. He steps back and moves his hands to the counter by my waist, dropping his head. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, watching him closely.
His head swings back up so our eyes connect, “Why in the world are you apologizing to me?”
“Because that kiss got pretty… heated, and I stopped it.”
“Never apologize for making sure you stay comfortable. I should be the one apologizing. I had a rough night last night, and I just… lost myself for a minute with you.”
I reach up, cupping his cheek in my hand. For a moment, he nuzzles it against my palm, letting the stubble scrape against my skin. He looks so sad in this moment.
“What happened?” The timer for the oven dings behind me, and just like that, he pulls away from me, like that moment of vulnerability didn’t happen. “Have a seat. I’ll plate up our food and then we can talk, if you want to, I mean. You don’t have to.”
He nods. “Do you need help? I know you said you didn’t earlier, but I want to make sure.”
“You,” I point to the table with a grin, “sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes me then goes to the table.
A few minutes later, I’ve got music playing softly from a Bluetooth speaker and we are both digging into the bowls of baked pasta I’ve made for us.
“This is amazing,” he says, taking another forkful.
“Pasta is a no-brainer. It’s hard to mess up.” I swallow my own bite then wash it down with some water. “So, if you want, talk to me about what happened last night.”
He stares down at his beer bottle for a moment, picking at the label before he begins to speak, “Did you watch the news this morning?”
I shake my head. “I try not to. It’s too depressing sometimes.”
“This won’t be any different,” he sighs heavily. “There was a boat accident up at the docks, just south of here. The man driving a speedboat was heavily intoxicated and wasn’t paying attention. He was going way too fast, lost control, and ended up colliding with a small pontoon boat tied to the dock.”
I cover my mouth because I have a sick feeling in my stomach that I know exactly where this is going. These things never end well for anyone involved.
“There was a family of five on the pontoon and a little girl was playing on the dock. Everyone was pretty severely hurt, but she,” he leans forward a bit and clears his throat, “she didn’t make it. She was gone before EMS even got there. We were on scene first, so we tried to do what we could for everyone.”
I close my eyes and my hand goes to my heart. Jason’s face enters my mind immediately and I try my best to shake it off.
“Oh my God, Isaac. That’s awful. I’m so sorry you had to be a part of that.”
“I knew when I took this job as a first responder, I would see things like this, but that doesn’t mean it gets easier. It gets harder, actually.”
“I’m sure it does, but it takes a special person to be able to do it.”
“And here I thought you hated firemen.” He forces a grin.
I look down at my bowl and push the pasta around. I don’t hate fireman, not all of them at least. I just wish the ones who came to help in LA had tried harder to save my brother… but they didn’t. They let him die.
I don’t say that, of course, because I don’t want the looks. I don’t want the pity and sadness that is always present in their eyes when someone finds out how Jason died. I can’t go there. Not with him. Not yet.
“I think one in particular is growing on me.”
Isaac
I’ve been inside of her home for nearly four hours. It’s nearing eleven and I feel like I’ve only been here a few minutes. Being around her is different and so much easier than the other women I’ve been with over the years. Work takes up most of my time, so having anything more than a quick romp or two is a rare occurrence.
After one of the most incredible meals I’ve ever eaten, we migrated to her living room with more drinks, a bit stronger now in the form of some gin mixed drink she whipped up. Her home is quaint, small, and somehow perfectly her with the bright white walls and deep hardwood floors. There are pops of color in her pillows, candles, and artwork. It’s fresh and light. It’s her.
&n
bsp; As we sit in her living room, talking about everything under the sun, we slowly end up moving closer and closer together.
She started on one side of her L-shaped sectional and me on the other, but now, a few hours later, we are so close together in the curve of the sofa that our legs are touching.
“What’s your favorite memory?” she asks, tilting her head curiously.
“Memory in regard to?”
“Life. Anything. Just your favorite memory.” She shrugs one shoulder and takes a sip of her drink, letting the ice clink against the glass.
It’s a loaded question, and it doesn’t have the easiest answer. There are so many memories in my life I could consider positive, but I don’t know if they’d qualify as my favorite. There is one, however, that pops into my mind rather quickly.
“My family and I went up to the mountains for Christmas when I was ten years old. I had never seen snow before, and I remember thinking it was the most incredible thing. My granddad even tried to teach me to snowboard.” I laugh. “And that’s how I broke my first bone.”
She giggles, “And it’s still your favorite memory?”
“I wouldn’t change a thing about it. It was my favorite Christmas.”
“I love that, actually. You know it’s a great memory when the good outweighs all the bad that happened.”
I place my glass on a coaster on the coffee table in front of us and reach down, pulling her feet up and into my lap, resting my hands on her ankles.
“What about your favorite memory?”
I watch as she lays her head back on the cushioned sofa with her eyes closed for the briefest moment before a smile appears on her face.
“My brother, Jason, always wanted to go skydiving. He talked about it constantly. Obviously, since he was under eighteen, he wasn’t allowed. Not even with a parent signing off. God, that made him so upset.” She swallows more of her drink, crunching on a small piece of ice. “Anyway, we went on vacation to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee one year. I had just turned eighteen and was going to college that fall in California. We wanted one last summer vacation as a family.”
