Chapter 12
Jack
Fourteen Weeks
Ever since the sleepover with David last week, I’ve only left Abby’s house for work and to pick up new clothes from my apartment every few days. She never explicitly asked me to stay, but she didn’t ask me to leave either. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it.
So when a delivery truck with a new pull-out sectional showed up yesterday when Abby was out with Ellie, I didn’t ask questions–I just helped move the green chesterfield sofa into the future nursery and let the guys from the furniture store set the new one up in the living room.
After they left, I went straight to my place and packed for the long haul.
When I got back, Abby was putting new bedding on the couch, looking satisfied with her choice.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” I say, trying not to snort when she startles dramatically.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she scolds. “Don’t you know I’m fragile?”
“The last word I’d use to describe you is fragile,” I point out, pushing off the door frame and helping her tuck in the final corner of the duvet. “And I didn’t sneak up on you, I literally yelled ‘hey, I’m back’ when I came in.”
“Well I didn’t hear you, obviously,” she scoffs.
“And yes, I did have to do this. I was going to have to buy something either way, and it made more sense to replace this couch instead of buying one specifically for the nursery. And since I’m getting rid of the guest room, you need somewhere to sleep where your feet aren’t dangling off the edge. ”
“That’s very thoughtful, thank you,” I say, giving her a quick hug before flopping down on my new bed. “You know what, this is actually way more comfortable than the old Murphy bed at the station. I’m going to get spoiled.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll call Granny to tattle on you if you start getting too prissy.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh I absolutely would,” she says, grinning wickedly. “And don’t you forget it, Jacky boy.”
I give her a sarcastic salute, and she swats at me before disappearing into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to eat?” she yells. “I can make something.”
“Nah, I have to head up to the station,” I groan, begrudgingly removing myself from the comfortable padding. “I’m on a 24/48 starting at six.”
“Oh,” she says, reappearing in the living room with a frown. “So you won’t be home until tomorrow night?”
“Unfortunately,” I sigh, lacing my boots up and grabbing my work bag. “But I called Ellie, and she said she can come over tonight. Something about girl-dinner and regency romance?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot there’s a new season,” she says, instantly looking more cheerful.
I’m not going to bother asking what there’s a new season of. Something tells me it's not for me.
“But you’ll be back tomorrow right?” she adds in a small voice.
“Of course I will,” I reassure her, crossing the room and folding her into my arms. “I’ll always come back, as long as you want me to.”
“Okay,” she says, and I realize with utter alarm that her lower lip is trembling.
“Hey,” I say, bewildered. “What’s wrong, Abs?”
“Ugh, I don’t know,” she says, furiously swiping at her eyes. “I think I’m just hormonal. I just get scared anytime someone leaves that they’re not going to come back. Especially you.”
Fuck, I’m stupid. Of course she is. Why wouldn’t she be after what she’s gone through?
“Look at me,” I say firmly, squaring her shoulders and leaning down until we’re eye-to-eye. “I will always come back to you, come hell or high water. God himself would have to strike me down to keep me from showing up for you. You don’t ever need to worry about that.”
“But what if you don’t?” she says, voice taking on a panicked tone. “What if something happens, what if there’s a bad fire and you get hurt, what if–”
“Slow down,” I say soothingly. “Deep breaths. I’m not going out into the field right now, it’s okay.
The worst danger I’m in right now is getting a gnarly papercut.
Or a concussion from banging my head against my desk when Tyler does something stupid.
I will be back tomorrow, right on time, and in one piece. I promise.”
She nods, using her sleeve to wipe away the single tear that broke through. With another quick hug, I say goodbye and head to my car, sick to my stomach with guilt. I know I’ll be spending my entire shift counting down the minutes until I can get back to her.
I hate leaving her, knowing she’s worried the way she is. I also hate the way I’ve been feeling more and more like she’s mine to come home to.
****
When I walk into the station, I can immediately tell something’s wrong. There’s no yelling, no mayhem, no divorced dad rock blaring–none of the things I’ve come to expect when Garrett and Tyler are on the same shift.
“Hello?” I call out, setting my bag down in my office before wandering into the main area. When I turn the corner to the cove where the couches are, the sight in front of me is not a pretty one.
Tyler is perched on the coffee table, and I watch him hand a small trash bin to Garrett, who looks–well, he looks fucking awful.
“Uhhh, Garrett?” I ask slowly. “Why are you green?”
He looks up at me, then heaves into the trashcan with a sickening splash.
“I don’t think the gas station hotdog I ate for lunch is sitting right, chief,” he says weakly, emerging from the depths of the can and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“Why would you even eat a gas station hot dog?” I ask, my nose involuntarily crinkling in disgust. “How long have you been like this?”
“He’s barfed no fewer than five times in the last twenty minutes,” Tyler says, looking queasy himself. “I think it’s only a matter of time before it starts coming out the other end.”
“Don’t say that,” Garrett moans, resting his forehead on the edge of the bin. “Don’t put that into the universe, man.”
“Garrett, go home,” I order. “No offense, but you’re absolutely useless like this. We don’t need you puking–or worse–out in the field, and I don’t trust you not to yak all over any paperwork either. Go get some Pedialyte and sleep it off.”
“But then it’s just the four of you,” he argues. “And you’re not going into the field right now.”
“We’re not the only station in town anymore, remember? There’s always back up. We’ll be fine without you. Now go home,” I repeat, pointing at the door.
He nods, coming to terms with his plight.
“Are you going to be okay to drive?” I call after him as he starts walking through the open garage door.
“Yeah man,” he says, waving me off. “It can’t be any worse than every hangover I’ve driven home with before. I’ll pull over if I need to.”
“Alright, keep us updated. Feel better dude.”
With a noncommittal grunt, he gets into his car and drives away.
“You sure you’re okay with this, boss?” Tyler says, concern etched on his face. “With the possibility of going into the field?”
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine, Tyler. I don’t need you to babysit me. I can do my job.”
“No one is saying you can’t,” he says calmly. “But you haven’t been out since Aaron. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”
“Like I said,” I snap. “I’ll be fine.”
The first twenty hours of my shift pass by uneventfully. Every call has been a minor one, and the guys have managed those going out just the three of them. In the home stretch of my twenty four hours though, the inevitable happens–a house fire that could require the two-in, two-out rule.
“Alright, let’s go,” I shout, hopping into the truck as Tyler turns on the sirens. We speed down the main street of Larkspur before turning into a neighborhood, where there’s a single-story house with smoke billowing out of one of the windows.
“I don’t know what happened,” a woman says through tears. “I heard a popping noise, and my son came running out of the kitchen screaming fire, and next thing I knew there was smoke.”
“Is anyone else inside?” I ask while Tyler and one of the new guys work quickly to connect to the fire hydrant.
“The dog,” she sobs. “I didn’t have time to grab him.”
“We’ll do what we can, I promise,” I say, the sound of spraying water filling the air.
Tyler and I work quickly to drag the hose into the house, hoping that the fire is still contained to the kitchen.
When we get inside, there’s a slight haze, with the smoke getting heavier as we hustle to the kitchen.
An appliance on the counter is up in flames, which have spread to the curtains, but at first glance that seems to be the worst of it.
It doesn’t take long to quench the blaze, leaving the room covered in water and blackened from the heavy smoke damage.
The missing dog comes barreling into the room with us, barking loudly and rolling around in the puddles of water now standing on the linoleum.
"Guess he's fine," Tyler mutters, reaching down to scratch under the pup's chin.
Once the hose is shut off, we look more thoroughly at the source of the fire. The appliance turns out to be a microwave, the front completely burned away to reveal a melted bowl covered in a sheet of charred metal.
After making sure everything has been unquestionably contained, we head back outside. The woman looks wistfully at her house, her tear-stained face taut. Her son peeks around from where he’s hiding behind her legs, looking distinctly guilty.
“Hey kiddo,” I say, kneeling down until I’m eye level with him. “Do you think you might know what caused the fire?”
His mom whirls around, anger replacing the distress of a few moments ago.
“Benjamin Reed, you better tell the truth right now.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he says in a small voice. “I didn’t know it would do that.”
“That what would do what?” his mom demands, and I hold my hand up to her in a silent request to let me get the information from him.
“Did you maybe put some tin foil in with your bowl?”
“Momma always covers my food when she microwaves it,” he pleads, eyes swimming with tears. “I thought that’s what you were supposed to do.”
“It’s okay, buddy,” I say soothingly. “You didn’t know better. I bet you’ll never do it again though, right?”
He shakes his head furiously, burying his head into his mom’s legs and bursting into tears.
“It happens all the time, ma’am,” I say to the woman, who looks equal parts exasperated and empathetic. “Just let him know next time to cover his stuff with a paper towel or a tupperware lid.”
“You got it,” she says, patting the still sobbing boy on the head. “Thank you for your help.”
“Your kitchen will need a remodel, and you should probably hire some cleaners for the smoke smell, but the rest of the house is completely fine,” I explain. “Best case scenario, given the circumstances.”
We finish up what we need to, then head back to the station. I’m completely drained–apparently my time away has lowered my stamina. Removing my helmet, I wipe the sweat from my brow and heave a sigh.
“Damn, old man,” Tyler says with a grin. “You’re out of shape. Before you know it, you’ll have a gut to match the chief’s.”
“Shut up,” I say, shoving him. “I’ve just been out of practice. I’ll be back to running circles around you in no time.”
“Doubt it,” he chuckles. I glance down at my watch, choking when I see the time. I promised Abby I’d be home by six, and it’s currently five forty. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“Everything okay?” Tyler asks.
“Yeah, I’m just going to have to haul ass to get home the second we get back,” I mumble. “You think you can manage the shift change without me?”
“I do it all the time,” he shrugs. “Who knows, maybe I’ll stage a coup and take your job.”
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes and him, tapping my foot anxiously until we pull up to the station. Jumping from the engine before it’s even stopped moving, I race inside, snatching my bag and my keys and hastily yelling a goodbye before peeling out of the parking lot.
I have sixteen minutes to make a twenty minute drive, but I’ll be damned if I break my word to Abby. My hands white-knuckle the wheel, and I silently plead with the universe for green lights and unmonitored stop signs.
Fuck traffic laws–I’ve got someone waiting on me.