Chapter 9
NINE
SAVANNAH
Obviously, there are no circumstances in which I should be turned on by what just happened, but seeing Brodie so pumped, muscles bursting from his shirt?
Holy crap.
And now I have another reason to be angry with myself. Piled on top of the million others, including not having the backbone to stand my ground with the cap.
Springer saunters out, death stare locked and loaded at Brodie.
Brodie turns, head dipped, eyes on the floor as if scuffed hardwood is the most fascinating thing in the world.
Good. If he keeps his gaze lowered, he won’t see the turmoil I’m experiencing in response to his battle scars.
Eyebrow split, a trickle of drying blood running down the side of his face.
Dark hair sticking up on end. Light-blue shirt untucked, three of the buttons undone to reveal an ample glimpse of his pecs.
Jesus. He was always the right side of stacked, but he’s clearly found his form in the gym since college.
My mouth waters. Dammit. “Let’s sort out your eye. Lucky for you, I’m a fully trained first responder now.” The words fall out way flirtier than intended.
I stomp from the office, skirting the apparatus bays. The station alarm blasted as Kendall was breaking up the fight. The crew on shift must still be out because the place is deathly quiet.
I take the stairs two at a time and open the first door on the right, switching on the fluorescent light. Our first aid room is small. Stark and white. Smelling sharp and clean. One wall lined in shiny stainless steel. The other with a bed.
My stupid heart patters as I look at the bed.
“It’s like a mini hospital in here.” It’s the first thing Brodie’s said since apologizing to Linda. His voice is laced with embarrassment.
I direct him to sit as I snap on a pair of latex gloves.
He perches on the bed, still slouching like he’s a kid in trouble.
I steel myself and grasp his cheek, angling his face toward the light to survey the damage caused by his brother’s fist.
It takes a monumental effort to make myself speak. “Don’t think it needs stitches. I’ll get the blood cleaned and bandage it up. You may want to go to the ER, though, to get it checked out.” I glance down, my eyes meeting his.
I hadn’t realized just how close we are, my face inches from his as I stand between his legs.
It’s the closest we’ve been since before everything went wrong.
When my world imploded, but I forced myself to keep going.
Refusing to cry while I endlessly questioned all the things I might have done to push him away.
I internally zip everything shut but my hand betrays me, twitching to smooth his hair. “You’re probably going to have a nice little scar for a while.”
His breath teases my cheeks. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I work in a fire station full of oh-so-macho men. It’s not the first fight I’ve seen.” I will my face to remain neutral but it once again betrays me, flushing hot.
His gaze dips to my mouth and back up.
Fuck off, hormones. “Okay, let’s clean this up.” I gather supplies, my fingers trembling.
Just clean the cut. Bandage him up. Send him on his way. That’s it. Nothing more.
Clean. Bandage. Goodbye. Clean. Bandage. Good—
“Savannah.”
I look over. His honey eyes hold an intensity that could change the course of the sun.
I swallow. “What?”
“I’m also sorry that I’m even here. I did do what you asked. I walked away. But Kendall called me in. He really wants it to be me who writes about the ladder.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And he really wants you to be the story.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you want to do?”
I place the supplies I’ve gathered into a small, stainless-steel bowl and return to him, this time making sure I stand to one side, not tucked between his legs. “I want you to do up the buttons of your shirt.”
We both look down at his shirt, gaping open, his muscled chest on full display.
Our eyes collide again.
I go back to focusing on my breathing. Steady. In for four. Out for four. “Please.” The word comes out like I’m begging a vampire not to bite me. While also begging to be eaten alive.
Brodie’s eyebrow does its thing and then he nods, fumbling with his buttons.
“Thank you.” Squirting some alcohol onto a gauze pad, I apply it to the wound, gently dabbing away the dried blood.
My nose twitches at the tart scent of the liquid. He winces with a drawn-out hiss.
“I should have warned you. This is probably going to hurt.”
“It’s fine. If I’m stupid enough to still be letting my brother punch me, I need to be able to handle the punishment.” He holds still, the muscles of his thighs bunching under his jeans.
I focus on the cut to stop myself from fixating on his legs. “So, what made Springer punch you?”
Brodie scoffs. “He was being a dick. Riled me up so I gave as good back. Clearly prodded something because…” He gestures to his eye. “It was like old times. We drove Mom mad when we were kids.”
“I don’t get it. What’s his problem? He’s never usually like this around here.”
“Like what?”
“Such a dick.”
Brodie lets out a dry chuckle. “Brock’s problems are about more than just me, but they’re always worse when I’m around. Brad would say it’s not his fault. Brock’s the oldest. Had the toughest love. Problem is, it turned him into an asshole carbon copy of my dad.”
“Makes total sense why you never invited him out for one of our college nights.”
“Until now, I’ve made it my mission to keep Brock far away from my entire life. And especially when it comes to girlfriends. Learned the hard way not to make that mistake again.”
I drop the gauze.
Girlfriends. Plural. Reminding me I’m not the only woman Brodie has history with. How many other girlfriends have there been since me? What if there’s someone in his life now? And why the fuck is that making me want to scratch someone’s eyes out?
I summon all my strength to remain passive, picking up the dropped gauze and replacing it with a clean piece. “What did he do that was so bad?”
“Made Becky Prescott dump me when I was eight.”
I laugh, releasing some of the tension in my neck. “And what about now? Who are you keeping away from him?”
He meets my eyes. “There isn’t anyone.”
The silliest relief betrays me. I duck away to hide it. “You knew he was working here, right? When you were given this assignment.”
“Yeah. And I was dreading spending time with him. But then I found out you’re here. Every cloud and all that.”
I keep busy, too many contradictory thoughts rattling through me.
Seriously pissing me off because, no, I shouldn’t be wanting to spend the whole rest of the day tending to Brodie’s fucking face.
“Cut’s clean. I’ll apply some antibac and cover with a couple of Steri-Strips.
” I unwrap the strips, my hands doing more of their annoying trembling.
I grapple for a diversion. “Did you know?”
“What?”
“The real reason he moved to Eight.”
“Who? Brock?”
I nod.
“Do you know?”
“After what the cap just shared, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Same.” He swallows. “He told us it was a promotion. Guessing Mom and Dad don’t know the truth.”
“Are you going to tell them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, for the record, whatever he did or didn’t do in his last fire hall, he’s been incredible to me here. Ironically, like a perfect big brother.” I finish applying the strips and go to step back. “There. Good as new.”
Brodie grasps my wrist, holding me close. “Savannah, what do you want me to do about the story? Can I write it with you as the focus, or do you still want me to walk away?”
“You’d still walk away if I asked?”
“I’d do anything for you.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Always.”
I blink through a tsunami of emotions, my heart warring with my head. “Not always. Unless you broke my heart for my benefit.”
He pales, his hand pulsating where he’s still holding me. “I’m—”
“Forget it.” I snap myself free. “What happens to the article if you walk away? Will someone else write it?”
He swallows. “My editor knows there’s something to uncover.”
“Meaning?”
“She’ll send someone else and push them to dig. We both know it won’t take them long to uncover the same info we have today. Think that’s why Kendall called me in. Guess he’s assuming I’ll be on Eight’s side thanks to my family connections.”
“Is he accurate with that assumption, or are you out to dish the dirt?”
Brodie fidgets, the bed creaking under him. “I have to be honest, my head’s spinning so fast from all this, I’m having trouble distinguishing my ass from my elbow. I need time to think before I answer that question.”
“So, that’s basically a yes. You’ll go for the scandal.”
“No. Not necessarily. But I can’t hand in a puff piece either. I need a different hook to connect with the Herald’s readers. Something with depth. And heart.” His focus remains on me.
I take a step back, hating how I want to do the opposite. “You sound like the cap.”
He frowns, his stare intense as he studies my face. “Guess he also wants me to write something with heart.”
“Stop talking about heart.” I clear the things I’ve been using to patch his eye, my gestures short and sharp.
Drawers slam. The lid to the sterile garbage container swings ferociously in my wake.
“If I do this with you, what happened in college needs to stay there. We’re working together, that’s it.
” I wash my hands and snatch at the paper towel to dry them.
Turning to him, I will my body, face, and voice to all work with me and not reveal the internal mess I’m crumbling into.
He studies me, his eyes searching mine like he’s thinking a thousand things he doesn’t want to voice. Eventually, he steps from the bed.
Making his way to a small mirror over the sink, he checks out my work and then meets my gaze in the reflection. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For this.” He points to the bandage.
“You’re welcome.” I shrug.
He turns. “And thank you for finding a way for us to work together.”
“I’m not doing it for you.” I hold his gaze, my pulse echoing in the silence. “I’m back on shift next Tuesday. Be here at eight.”