chapter six
noah
Why do I care? I stand there for a moment, silent, trying to find a response. I can ’ t. My gaze drifts back to Jared, lying in her lap, and something inside me tightens. There has to be something going on between them.
“I care because you live under my roof,” I say, but I know there’s more to it than that. I shake my head, heading into the kitchen.
When I got back this morning, I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to apologize. I don’t want her to think I see her as some helpless kid. But when she didn’t come home all day, and the guys invited me out to the bar, I figured, why not? I don ’ t usually go out, and a few drinks didn’t sound so bad. Now, though, I regret how much alcohol is still in my system.
She ’ s irritated with me, and I get it. I was an asshole. She should be able to come and go as she pleases. I shouldn’t care that she wasn’t here this morning. So, why the hell do I?
Quiet footsteps sound from the hall. I glance up and see her, her body framed in the doorway. She eyes me before heading straight for the fridge, trying to reach for a bottle of wine that ’ s just out of her grasp. She lets out a frustrated breath.
What do you think you’re doing?”
She ignores my question. Walking over to the counter, she hoists herself up onto it, her ass now at eye level. My hands fist at my sides. It’s taking everything I have right now not to touch her.
“You’re too young for that,” I scold.
“Bite me,” she says, smirking, grabbing a bottle, and jumping down.
My mind goes to imagining exactly where I want to bite her. God, I shouldn’t be alone with her right now. Grabbing a glass off of the rack, she pours herself a hefty serving and brings it to her lips.
“Don’t worry, I know it’s my bedtime,” she says, turning away from me and sauntering up the stairs. She stops momentarily and looks back, “Oh, and I was at the studio.”
I’m starting to think her staying here will be more difficult than I first thought.
When I go downstairs the next morning, Kira stands at the stove in her pajamas and fuzzy socks, cracking eggs into a pan. Her hair sits in a low ponytail. My eyes trail down to the hem of her cropped sleep shirt. A sliver of skin is exposed above the waistband of her bottoms, and my hands itch to trace it.
Prying my gaze off her, I open the cabinet above the coffee maker. My hand reaches for a mug but stops when I notice a few I’ve never seen before. They each have a distinct design and color theme.
“Did we get new mugs?” I ask primarily to myself.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Sorry, good morning, Kira. Did we get new mugs?”
“They came from my apartment. I made them,” she says, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
I finally put it together. She mentioned that she went to the studio last night. I completely forgot she’s into ceramics. I pick one up, inspecting it. It’s a speckled cream color with a landscape of different blues, greens, and browns. It’s beautiful. Flipping it over, I see a signature on the bottom.
“You are really good at this.”
Looking over at me, she smiles as her cheeks flush.
“I guess I’m not too bad at it. Darla actually asked me to teach some classes at her studio. You can use that cup if you’d like,” she shrugs, nodding to the mug in my hand. “You don’t have to, though.”
“I want to, princess.”
I pour coffee into the mug, grab the creamer from the fridge, and add a splash.
“Want some?”
“Oh, sure, thank you!”
Reaching up, I find another of her mugs. This one boasts flowy coral and fuchsia flowers with deep green stems. After filling it, I place it on the counter next to her.
“Still like it black, right?”
She nods, smiling, as she dumps the scrambled eggs onto a plate and hands them to me. The food is even more delicious because I didn’t have to make it.
The rest of the morning passes by relatively quickly. After breakfast, Kira has to go to work, so it’s just Jared and I left in the house. In true Jared fashion, he doesn’t get out of bed until sometime after noon, and by that time, I’m already getting ready to leave for work.
When I first step into the station, I know today will be a hectic shift. Half the crew is already out on calls and the air reeks of anticipation. Hurrying to the kitchen, I work to finish dinner as soon as possible. The guys will be thankful for it when they get back. Dave strolls into the kitchen as I pull the pot off the stove.
“Howdy partner, whatcha cookin’ ? ”
“Does it matter? You’ll eat it regardless.”
“You are not wrong.”
Dave is somewhat of a black hole. He’ll eat anything you give him without complaint, which makes my job easier.
“You know how Al is retiring soon?” Dave asks.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I wonder who’s going to replace him as commissioner.”
“I have no clue. Al is a great boss. I don’t know anyone that could fill those shoes.”
“I think you could, but you’d have to admit that first,” he deadpans.
Before I can respond, a voice barks over the intercom.
“Fire spotted at 479 North Grace Street, possible victims trapped inside.”
Dave and I break into action, racing down to the garage. I pull on my suit and climb into the truck. Dave hoists himself up, joining me in the passenger seat. The rest of the guys file in the back. As the garage door opens, the flashing lights reflect off the windows. We pull out onto the street, sirens blaring.
“Update: there is known to be a child still in the home. The fire seems to have started in the basement.”
I glance over at Dave, his face hardening. Pressing on the gas, I maneuver the truck through traffic. We’re only about a minute or two out, but some cars refuse to get out of the way. Nothing pisses me off more than when people don’t pull over for us. Is your destination really more important than someone’s life?
When we pull up, the house is engulfed in black smoke, flames licking at the sides. As soon as we’re parked, I jump out. Running toward the house, a panicked woman approaches me.
“Please, we can’t find our son!”
“I’ll find him, don’t worry. What’s his name?”
“Brendan, he’s only five!”
My stomach drops.
I turn to Dave, “Call for backup and get the hose ready. I’m going to go get the kid.”
The front door is wide open, smoke heavily flowing out of it. I push through, scanning my surroundings. The fire has started migrating from the basement, turning the walls black. What looks like the living room to my right is almost totally consumed.
“Brendan, are you in here? I’m here to help!”
I’m finding this kid, and he’s going to be okay. There’s no other option. I’m not losing another kid.
Not seeing anyone on this level, I climb up the stairs and call out again. Searching each room one by one, I realize they’re all empty. Suddenly, I hear a cry off to my left. The smoke makes it almost impossible to see more than a couple of feet before me, but I see him. He’s crouched in the corner of the last bedroom.
“I’m here, Brendan, don’t worry!”
I rush over to him, scooping him into my arms. His eyes are tear-soaked and terrified.
“It’s okay, buddy, I’ve got you.”
I start back down the stairs. The blaze has gotten worse. When I reach the end of the steps, I notice the flames almost wholly blocking the front door. Debris plummets from the ceiling in front of us. We need to get out now. Pulling him tight to my chest, I move to the back of the house, hoping to find another door. Relief floods me when I see one. The knob won’t turn, and the lock is broken. Stepping back, I slam my heel into it, knocking it off its hinges. Finally outside, I look down at Brendan, checking him over.
“Are you okay?”
He just cries, shaking his head.
When I round the house, I hear a scream come from his mother. She runs up to me, gasping for air.
“Brendan, oh my god, are you okay?”
“I’m going to bring him to EMS so they can check him over to be sure, but he seems to be alright.” She’s on my heels as I take him to the ambulance.
“He looks okay, but we’re still going to take him in to be sure,” the paramedic says.
I let out a breath. Thank god. His parents climb into the truck with him as they leave for the hospital. We get to work on putting out the flames. It takes us a while, but we get it done. The home is a shell of what it once was. This isn’t going to be easy for the family, but at least they all made it out. I shudder at that.
“Hey, are you doing okay?” Dave asks me.
“I’ m fine, ” I reply a little too quickly.
He looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe me but shrugs it off.
“Well, good work, son. You took the initiative and saved that kid’s life,” Al says from behind me. He must have shown up while I was still inside.
“It was what had to happen. Any one of the guys would have
done it.”
“That may be true, but they didn’t. You did.”
When we return to the station, I head straight for the showers. Stripping off my clothes, I twist the knob, and the water sputters to life. I let the stream hit my face, the coolness grounding me. Today was rough, but he made it. He ’ s going to be okay.
My mind drifts to Kira. What is she doing right now? Probably home from work, maybe lying in bed in one of those oversized shirts she loves, her nose buried in a book. I think back to how good she felt on top of me the other night, her soft body pressed into mine. I can feel myself stir at the thought. Fuck, what am I doing? I slam my fist against the tile, and the water instantly turns ice-cold.
By the time I leave the station, I ’ m more than ready to get home. My fingers glide over the steering wheel as I turn down the driveway. Kira ’ s car is in its usual spot, but Jared ’ s is gone. I throw my truck into park, hop out, and head inside.
The windows are open, letting in the fresh air. Michigan in the spring—warm during the day, cool at night, and in the mornings—is one of my favorite times of year. The slider ’ s open, but the screen ’ s closed. As I move toward it, I spot Kira on the deck. She ’ s sitting at the patio table, earbuds in, molding clay into what looks like a hand. Her legs are covered in smears of clay, and she looks like a mess.
She’s so gorgeous like this. Nothing else matters to her right now outside of that sculpture. She looks happy and more relaxed than I’ve seen her in a long time.
Like she can sense my presence, she looks up, jumping when her eyes notice me. Pulling her earbud out, she asks, “How are you always sneaking up on me?”
“It’s my house,” I say, stepping onto the porch. She rolls her eyes. “What are you working on?”
“It’s just a little project.”
Now that I’m closer, the details are more evident. I was right. It’s a hand positioned to look like it’s waiting to receive something. It’s so realistic, and the proportions are perfect.
What’s it waiting for?
Feeling her eyes on me, I look over at her. She wants a response, to know what I think of it.
“It’s amazing,” I say, not taking my eyes off her. Her freckled cheeks heat as she looks up at me. Images flash through my mind of her looking up at me like that for other, more sinister reasons.
“How was your shift?” she asks.
“Not great. I’m glad it’ s over, ” I answer.
Concern grows in her features as she turns to me.
“Why, what happened?”
I can’t put that on her. She doesn’t need my problems right now.
“Nothing, it’ s fine, ” I say, wishing I hadn’t said anything in the first place.
“It’s not good to keep those things bottled up,” she says softly.
I want to tell her that it’s not anything she needs to worry about—that I can handle it myself, but something in the way she’s looking at me makes me comply.
“There was a house fire today. A kid was trapped inside,” I explain. “He’s fine, I got him out, but it just brought up a lot of shit that I wasn’t ready to deal with.”
I pause, looking away, trying to steady myself. My throat feels tight, the words hard to push through.
Her eyes soften, and she steps closer, her gaze gentle, like she’s trying to reach something buried deep in me.
“What do you mean? What happened?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I swallow hard, the memory clawing at the edges of my mind. I haven’t told anyone about him—not since it happened. Afterward, I shoved it down, locked it away in some dark corner of my mind, hoping it would stay buried. But it doesn’t. It resurfaces at the worst moments. Like today.
My chest tightens, the weight of it threatening to crush me, and I try to breathe through it.
“Noah,” she says again, her hand reaching out, fingers brushing my arm like a lifeline. “You can tell me.”
I flinch at the touch, the hesitation hanging between us thick enough to choke on.