Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
SAVANNAH
Pulse pounding, I round on Brodie in the locker room. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
He squelches to a stop, water pooling at his feet.
“Well?”
He opens his mouth as if he’s going to speak but promptly closes it again, giving a small shrug. The movement sends another splattering of water over the floor tiles, which only serves to ramp up my anger a million percent more.
I shake my head. “I told you not to get involved. The captain was clear how fucking dangerous that drill was and now, because of your stupidity, he’s probably going to write me up.
I haven’t had one bad mark against my name the entire time I’ve been here and now you arrive and it’s all gone to shit.
It’s not fair, Brodie. I’ve worked too hard and risked too much to allow you to come in and fuck it all—”
“I’m so sorry.” His breathing is still labored and I’m not convinced he was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t hurt. He looks at the floor, shoulders rounding.
Reaching up, I tear back the Velcro of his soaked bunker coat and unfasten the hooks inside. “We need to get you out of your wet uniform.”
The coat weighs a ton and I dump it on the bench behind.
He peels off his helmet and hands it to me, then shucks off his boots and slides down his suspenders, letting the pants fall to the floor.
I gather his things, hanging them up, and then do the same with mine before mopping the floor.
He still hasn’t said a word, but I can hear the rattle of his lungs.
Glancing over, I realize he’s shivering. “Jesus, you’re soaked through. Your clothes need to go in the dryer.”
He nods.
“Talk to me Brodie, please. What’s going on? Is it that you feel like a dick for doing something so stupid, or are you injured?”
His teeth chatter. “Both? I don’t know. I’m not even sure what day it is right now.”
I can’t help but soften. With his trembling limbs and mortified expression, he’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him.
“Come on.” I reach down and take his hand in mine, leading him to a door at the rear of the locker room where there are three industrial-sized washer-dryers. “Take off your shirt and jeans—we’ll put them in the dryer for ten minutes.”
He looks from me to the dryer, his forehead drawing into a frown.
“For god’s sake, Brodie. Your clothes are soaking wet and you’re freezing cold. We need to get you dry.” I glare at him. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”
He raises one eyebrow and then slowly lifts his hands to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons.
He’s shaking so much he struggles to do what I’m telling him.
Batting his hands away, I step in. It’ll take forever otherwise.
I search for something to distract me while I’m doing what needs to be done.
Unfortunately, everything I’ve ever known, seen, read, or listened to has literally fallen from my head, leaving me entirely empty and only able to focus on one thing.
Three years ago, I thought I’d never see Brodie again, yet here we are, in a fire hall of all places, me removing his clothes.
My hands are shaking now.
Forcing myself to concentrate on the present, only the present, I undo one button at a time until his shirt falls open and I’m able to slide it down his arms. Yeah, okay.
I lied. I haven’t seen it all before. I mean, I’ve only seen Brodie the student without his clothes, not Brodie the man, and, well, I’m not disappointed. Holy shit, he’s cut.
I squeeze his shirt in my fist, sliding my gaze over his chest—
“Fuck. Brodie, you are hurt.” I drop his shirt and place my hands on his torso. The skin’s inflamed, large patches of bruising already forming. “Is this painful?” I gently press over the area with the flat of my palm, testing and checking for more than surface injury.
He winces. “I’m fine. It’s just sore.”
I sigh, meeting his eyes. “What were you thinking?”
“I messed up.” He sniffs. “I thought I could do it. I wanted to show…” His voice trails off and he shakes his head, another shiver rippling through him.
“We need to get you out of those pants.” Flushing as the words land, I turn away, placing his shirt in a dryer and adding a couple of Bounce sheets.
Facing away from him, my senses are heightened.
I grip the edge of the dryer as I hear the grind of a zip and then the soft brush of fabric.
When I turn back, he’s standing barefoot in just a pair of tight black boxers.
He holds out his jeans and socks. I hesitate and then take them from him, placing them in the drum with his shirt.
Slamming the door shut, I switch the machine on.
It whirrs to life, slowly churning the clothes, the zipper on his jeans clattering rhythmically against the metal interior.
Meanwhile, I stand rooted to the spot, Brodie facing me in only his underwear.
I’m aware I’m staring. I can’t help it. Not when he’s right here in front of me, almost in his birthday suit.
I draw my lower lip between my teeth as I drop my gaze and then slowly trace up his body.
His calves and thighs are strong, knotted with muscle.
Underneath the increasingly purple bruises marking his torso, there’s an obscene set of abs.
And his broad shoulders are sculpted to within an inch of their life.
“It clearly wasn’t a lack of strength that made you let go of the line.” Once again, the words have fallen from my mouth before I’ve considered how they sound. Now he’ll know I’ve noticed his body. Although, of course I’ve noticed his body. He can see full well that I’ve noticed his damn body.
His gaze meets mine.
I look away. “What were you going to say just then?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. What did you want to show?”
He swallows. “I wanted to show you I could do it.”
“Do what?”
“Handle the job.”
“Why? It’s not your job. You don’t have to handle it.”
His jaw locks. “I know, but I got triggered. By Brock.”
“What did Springer do?”
Brodie averts his eyes, color flooding his cheeks. “He made you laugh.”
Suddenly it all clicks into place. “Oh my god. You were jealous.”
He takes another raspy gulp. “Brock played me today. He knows exactly how to push my buttons, setting me up the moment he mentioned the drills, and using every whisper in your—”
“Brodie, you sound like you’re five, blaming your big brother for your own stupidity.”
“I’m not blaming Brock. Not at all. He set things in motion, but it’s me who responded. I thought I’d gotten better at ignoring him, but truth is, I handle Brock by avoiding him. A few days in his company and look at me.”
I roll my eyes. “Yep. Barefoot and shivering in your boxers. So glad you chose to play out your stupid rivalry here.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks. “It’s just…
it’s been a lot, being back in a fire hall.
So much shit from the past resurfacing. Memories I didn’t even know I had.
” He fixes me with his eyes, dark and brooding.
“But in among all of that there’s you and everything you’ve become since we last saw each other.
You’ve got this strength I didn’t see before.
What you’re doing here, how you’re using what happened to your mom to inspire you, it’s incredible.
I’m still stuck right where I was in college.
Struggling to back myself and playing stupid games.
But you… you’ve become something great.” His damp hair falls over his forehead.
“I am so fucking proud of you, Savannah.”
A rush of emotion sideswipes me.
I stumble backward into the dryer, the sting of tears pulling at the back of my throat.
I won’t cry. I can’t. Not here at work. And definitely not in front of Brodie. But his words hack through my armor and into my soul.
He’s worked out the connection to my mom without me saying anything.
He thinks I’m doing something great.
He sees me. All of me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t say that to upset you.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re crying.”
“No. I’m not.” Dammit.
The tears fall and I swipe at them. Brodie at my side in an instant.
I sense the comfort of his arms moments before he wraps them around me, and my head and heart go to war.
I make every effort to keep some semblance of distance, but my body has other ideas, and as his arms hold me tighter I can’t help but sigh against him, my tear-stained cheek pressing against the bare skin of his chest.
The moment’s visceral. Instinctive. His body speaking to mine in a way that my head can’t control, clasping at the memories barreling in. I breathe deeply, the familiar scent of his body spray, earthy and sensual, flooding my senses and enveloping me.
I may be all tough firefighter now, but I’m nowhere close to being able to resist this.
Letting myself go completely, I meld my body with his. “You smell the same.”
He holds me tighter. “So do you.”
“You feel the same too.”
“So do you. It feels—”
The door to the laundry room bangs open.
Brodie and I jump apart to find Springer facing us in the doorway.
He looks from me to Brodie and back again, his eyes astutely assessing everything laid out in front of him and adding it all together to probably make something way more than it actually is.
But what else can the man do? Brodie’s almost naked.
We were in each other’s arms. And I must look like an absolute train wreck.
It’s easy to add this two and two and make way more than four.
I brace myself, expecting some kind of sneering innuendo, but Springer remains mute. Which only makes the situation all the more awkward.
I stutter to life. “Brodie’s clothes were wet. They’re in the dryer.”
Springer raises an eyebrow.
“This isn’t what—”
“Wanted to let you know that the cap’s on the prowl. You probably don’t want him finding you like this.” He turns on his heel.
I step to the dryer and open it, removing Brodie’s clothes. “Get dressed.”
He nods, wrestling with his jeans and socks before shrugging on his shirt. He’s in the midst of buttoning it when the captain walks in.
“There you both are.” He peers at us.
I hold my breath, waiting on tenterhooks to find out if Springer shared what he saw.
Cap doesn’t give anything away, his face as steely as ever. “How are you, Brodie?”
“Bruised. Physically and mentally. But other than that, I’m fine.”
“You’re lucky. What you did out there was foolish.”
“I’m sorry.” Brodie dips his head like he knows he’s skating on thin ice.
“Sir, I need you to know that Savannah had nothing to do with this. She did exactly what you asked her. Told me what not to do and why. I didn’t give her any reason to think I wasn’t on board until the last moment when I made a run for it.
Please, throw the book at me for being stupid, but it really wouldn’t be fair for Savannah to get written up because I’m an asshole. ”
I blink at Brodie. Hearing him back me. Solemn and serious like he genuinely cares. My internal battle lines are drawn again, another lump forming in my throat.
Cap focuses on me and then Brodie. Eventually, he nods. Once. “Fine. East, I still need to talk to you, but for now, go join the rest of the crew. Brodie, come with me. I want to see you in my office before you leave.”
Brodie frowns. “Leave?”
Cap’s stare is locked and loaded. “Your ribs just took a blast of water at two hundred PSI. You need to rest. Use the time to do something useful like work on the damn feature you’re meant to be writing.
” He delivers the last sentence like a father telling his kid to take this as a learning opportunity.
I glance at Brodie, an awkwardness hanging in the air between us. He looks back at me, his eyes imploring something I can’t decipher.
Cap clears his throat and nods at the door, his foot tapping impatiently.
Guess we’re not getting the chance to talk any more today.
“Cap.” Ducking low, I exit from the laundry room and head upstairs to join the crew.
But my head remains downstairs. Stuck on how it felt being back in Brodie’s arms. Remembering all the good times from before.
Oh god.
This is bad. Really fucking bad.
I only let my guard down for a second, but that’s all it’s taken.
A full punch-to-the-gut, heart-opening, I-can’t-go-back transformation.
And I have no idea where that leaves me.