Chapter 17
MILES
Sandy is never too far away from her, and I watch with a sliver of envy as they are so at ease with each other despite still being with the crew.
“Where do you want this, Cap?” London says, stopping at the long grill. I flip open the cover on the dish she’s holding.
“Over on the table,” I say, nodding to the long table that’s starting to fill up as more and more crew bring their dishes for the potluck dinner.
The grill flares, sending flames over the meat, and I turn the gas down before flipping the steaks and burgers and turning the sausages over.
Davies skips down the house’s back stairs, a bowl in his hands, tears streaking his face.
His Hawaiian shirt flaps over a forest green T-shirt and board shorts, the outfit complete with flip-flops.
I chuckle at his party clothes, and he brushes his dark hair out of his face with a hand. “Mission accomplished, sir.”
He holds out the bowl of onions like they’re radioactive.
“Great. Thanks, bud. Have a seat, you earned it.”
He drops to the bench seat beside London, and I train my gaze back to the grill. Her laugh drifts through the space, and my focus is back on her less than a minute later. Davies is entertaining her with a story, which apparently requires much gesticulation.
It’s only when Davies finishes the story and her hand cups his jaw that my grip around the tongs turns biting.
What the fuck could be so damn funny?
And why is she touching his face . . . like she’s—
“Someone’s going to get to her first, Cap, if you keep sulking and not making your move.” I turn to find Heids rearranging the cooked meats on the tray by my side.
“That’s not—”
Her hand lands on my forearm. “Yes it is. Stop worrying about everyone and everything else, just for once.”
She pats my cheek like I’m some school kid who landed sage advice from a grandparent. Picking up the tray of meats, she wanders to the long table and sets it down. As she rounds the table, coming directly behind London, she mouths something I have no desire to hear.
I think.
Someone cranks the tunes up, and the cooler is wheeled out as Cap strolls in with his family. Now we have a party.
An hour later, our rear outdoor training space—the backyard, as we call it—is pumping with a beat and too many firefighters in one space.
Randoms from every house in a ten-mile radius have turned up for our cookout.
It’s exactly what we need after the month we’ve all had.
Losing Kirwan being the most notable, for Heids and 41.
I sit at the end of the table nearest the grill and sip my beer as the crew dances and chatters. The probies are nowhere to be seen.
I sit forward, scanning the groups of folks talking and dancing.
I don’t see London . . . anywhere.
Rising, I down the last of my beer and wander through the party, pushing through the back door to the house. After walking the ground level and coming up short, I take the stairs two at a time.
I make a left and find Davies on the sofa, staring at the flatscreen, a beer in his hand. The air conditioning blasts his tropical-clothed body that’s stretched over the arm rests at each end.
“Seen Tennison?” I ask.
“Not for a while, sir.”
I nod and head down the hallway and poke my head into her quarters. It’s empty. The bunk is made up neat as a pin. Her few belongings on her bedside are lined up. The space smells like her.
Fuck.
I back out before my mind can run away with my body.
It’s hard enough keeping my errant thoughts in line without having to keep a pin in whatever effect her proximity, her fragrance have on me.
“You looking for Tennison?” Cap asks.
He’s standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, his polo shirt stretching over his girth.
“Yes sir.”
“Try the watchtower.” Without another word or smart-ass comment, he walks on down toward the lockers and bathroom.
Running a hand through my hair, I hesitate.
Is it that obvious I’m looking for her?
Guess standing in her quarters would suggest that, wouldn’t it.
Dammit.
The last thing I want is to land London in trouble with Cap.
Ignoring my rational brain, I descend the stairs and stride for the watchtower. I don’t see anyone up there, but I take the steps two at a time up each flight regardless. The higher I climb, the more faint the music becomes. Now I understand the need to be up here more with every tread I climb.
When I reach the last flight, I’m breathing heavy.
With no hoses, a run up these stairs should be a cakewalk. It’s the sight of London sitting with her back against the brick, her palms planted either side of her and her face turned to the sinking sunset that has me out of breath.
Her hair whips around her face, the breeze tugging and tossing it where it sees fit. Dark locks bounce over her collarbones, around the creamy column of her throat . . .
“You need something, Miles?” she says in a low tone, her eyes still shut.
“Only to know where you were,” I send back, the words more gravel than I intended.
Now her head rolls on the brick. Her eyes open, pinning me where I stand with a dark, penetrating stare. “Sit.”
I lower myself to the floor and lean back on the wall. We’re mere inches apart. “Not a fan of crowds, either?”
“Something like that.”
The tension between us is too much.
It’s seconds away from combustion point.
And I—
“Are you ever going to make the first move, Miles?”
That . . . I wasn’t expecting.
“London.”
“No,” she turns her head, her eyes meeting mine. “Don’t you ‘London’ me. This thing is not one-sided, at all. You know it, and I know it.”
“I never said it was, but it’s not weighted equally.”
Her brows drop.
“I’m your superior officer. You’re a probie. This gets out, and it’s not me who will lose my job. People will think I’m using you. Or you using me, which is fucking stupid.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It is. But it’s the way things are, curren—”
“So, you’re saying we can’t be—well anything, because if you make a move, you’re taking advantage of me? That’s the power imbalance?”
I nod, and she returns her stare to the wall opposite us.
“I can’t keep you safe if I can’t do my job properly, London.”
She has to understand that is more important. Her being alive and well is more important.
“Sure thing, Cap.”
She pushes from the floor to stand, and I look up as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Have a good night.”
She descends the stairs, and I can’t pull my gaze from the sway of her hips, the bounce of her wavy hair over her bare shoulders.
God, why is this so damn hard?
I wait a few moments before rolling off the wall and rising to my feet. When I make it to the bottom of the watchtower, Sandy is waiting for me, two beers in his hands. He extends one and gives me a sympathetic look I know is loaded with every worthless piece of advice he is dying to give me.
“You should go—”
I hold my hand up. “Drop it, bud.”
His mouth flattens to a thin line before he glances to the party now in full swing. “I thi—”
“I know what you’re going to say. And I won’t. It’s not worth it.”
I make the mistake of taking a sip of my beer, and while I’m mid-swallow, Sandy says, “For your information, I was going to tell you Schmiddy just followed her out.”
Fuck.
I shove my beer into his chest and take off for the house.
I fly through the garage and out the roller door that’s been left up to encourage crew inside. The city lights are on already by the time I spill out onto the sidewalk. Folks are walking home from work, and there is steady foot traffic as I weave through bodies, craning my neck to find London.
I spot Schmiddy a few steps ahead. London is walking by herself, headphones on.
Picking up the pace, I push through the crowd as Schmiddy reaches her, grabbing her arm.
London spins back, a hand swiping the headphones from her ears as they fall onto her shoulders. Her face twists, and she steps back. Her gaze flicks over his shoulder, finding me.
Schmiddy—
Hands her a phone.
Her phone.
Surprise flashes over her face before she pushes up a tense smile and slides the phone into her bag.
I rub a hand behind my neck. Fuck, that could have escalated, if I’d . . .
London walks away from him, and he turns back, three steps back this way and he’s face-to-face with me.
“What, you stalk your probies now, Hammond? Maybe you need to be written up?” Schmiddy scoffs and steps around me, not bothering to look back as he walks back to the house.
He doesn’t have a care in the world for the probies. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“Seen better views before. Don’t know about you.” London is shoulder to shoulder with me, standing in the moving stream of pedestrians.
“I thought—”
I don’t know what I thought.
This is precisely why I never should have entertained this idea. Me and London, we can’t be anything.
I can’t think straight.
Not knowing where she is. If she’s okay. It eats me fucking alive every damn shift.
But I . . . I can’t turn this off, either.
“You’re walking the wrong way. You’re not going home?” I ask.
Her shoulder presses against my own. “I was going to see my girl, clear my mind.”
I dip my head. “Mind some company?”
“Mind, no; need, yes.”
Her brown eyes lift, snagging my gaze.
Ten minutes later, I’m sliding my key into the front door lock and Petal is whining on the other side.
London chuckles. “I’m coming, baby, hold up.”
The second the door is open, Petal rushes London, who sinks to the floor and cuddles her, her body wrapping around the pup.
“I’ll give you two a minute.” I pad to the bathroom and lean on the vanity.
Maybe I should cut her off from the dog. Remove any non-work reasons to be around each other. I heave through each breath. The more I try to rationalize staying away from London, the shorter my breathing gets.
My grip whitens around the sink’s edge.
I should rip the Band-Aid off . . .
Nip this in the bud before it—
A low groan rumbles through my throat.
“Miles?”
My name is a soft plea. The type of sound that could break a heart in two in the wrong context.
I don’t loosen my grip. I shouldn’t. I can’t.
London is behind me, her palm pressed to my spine before her forehead comes to rest on my shoulder.
Christ.
Heat winds through my veins, my cock throbbing in time to my racing pulse. My body vibrates with the need to turn around.
To spin back and take her face in my damn hands and . . .
When I don’t move, she puts space between us. “Sorry, I should go.”
No.
“I’ll hang out with Petal another day.”
No. Nope.
Light footsteps pad down my hallway, getting further away with each rapid heartbeat.
Screw this, I’m done fighting.
I push off the vanity and stride for the woman currently walking away from me. I curl my hand around her biceps, and she stops dead in her tracks.
Neither of us speak for a moment. She turns back, and her palm presses over my heart. “You said—”
“Fuck what I said.” I drop my hands by my side.
Fuck it.