Hot Damn(38)

He starts wrestling with me again, trying to throw me off balance, and suddenly I hear a scream. Something big and gray lands on the stair rail, making the most god-awful hissing, shrieking racket I’ve ever heard.

It’s Thor. I realize this a split second before Curry does. He’s just staring at the cat, uncomprehending, and while he’s distracted I grab him and shove him toward the stairs. He goes down, thumping and shouting, until suddenly he’s not shouting anymore. I grab Thor and fling myself down the stairs.

Curry’s sprawled at the foot of the stairs, not moving. I step over him on my way out. The smoke has gotten so thick I can barely see the door, but I know where it is, and a few seconds later I’m out into the fresh air.

I hand Thor to the first person I see, who happens to be Whitaker, and turn around to go back in.

“King! What are you doing?” he yells after me.

“Curry,” I throw back over my shoulder. “He’s still in there.”

Head down, I plow back in, through the smoke.

Curry is still at the foot of the steps where I left him, but he’s gotten back to his feet. He seems to be having some difficulty getting oriented—like he can’t figure out where the door is. I grab him by the front of his jacket and drag him toward the front door then outside. Once we’re on the sidewalk, I give him a hard shove, and he ends up back on his knees.

Not for long. I grab him by the collar and jerk him back to his feet then rip his helmet off his head with my free hand. I’m so pissed I can’t even speak—I just start pounding him with my fist.

He could have killed her. He could have killed Maddy. Nothing else matters right now—not my reputation, not my job—nothing but pounding the shit out of this asshole who almost killed the woman I love.

I only manage to get in a few punches, though, before strong hands drag me away. It’s probably for the best, since it might be harder for me to get elected fire chief if I’m indicted for murder. Still, I fight them as they drag me away. Whitaker is yelling at me and it takes me a few seconds to get my head clear enough to understand what he’s saying.

“Back off, King. Maddy’s waiting for you. Maddy wants to see you.”

Maddy. I let the guys steer me across the street to where she’s standing with Christopher in her arms. She’s next to a paramedic truck, and I can see when I get closer that Thor is sitting on a gurney with a tiny oxygen mask over his face. He doesn’t look very happy about it, which I hope means he’s okay.

I run the last few steps toward them, grabbing Maddy up, nearly crushing poor Christopher between us. He’s crying and saying, “Jesse, Jesse,” over and over in his little-boy voice, and Maddy is crying, too. I glance over at Thor, who blinks up at me, and with a laugh I offer him a scratch on the head. In response, he hisses inside the oxygen mask. All I can do is laugh at him.

“Jesse,” Maddy says. “God, Jesse, I was so worried. Are you okay? Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine.” I pull her tighter and feel Christopher’s fists punching at my chest.

“Gotta breathe!” Christopher says, and we all laugh.

I back off a little and tousle Christopher’s hair. “Sorry about that, little guy.” I kiss his forehead.

Then my eyes are all for his mother. I lean down and catch her mouth with mine, kissing her hard, consumed with relief that she’s okay. After a moment she draws back and looks up at me through tear-filled eyes.

“I love you,” she says quietly, so I kiss her again, and hold her close while the guys go back to save whatever they can of my house.





Chapter 13





Maddy




A week later I’m still flinching every time I smell smoke, but at least I know I’m coming home to Jesse every night. While the insurance companies are evaluating the damage to his house, we decided to move in together—again—in a new apartment that belongs to both of us.

We could have moved into my place, but this feels better somehow. It’s a new start, even though probably a temporary one. It’s also bigger than my old place, which is nice.

Jesse lost so much in the fire, but not everything. I was relieved to find out he still had things in storage that had belonged to his sister, and that he also had a good amount of possessions stashed in his basement, which was left nearly undamaged. We have plenty of furniture and clothes, and we’re together. That’s the most important part.

I took a few days off work to help him get things sorted, so I’m at home unpacking boxes when the doorbell rings unexpectedly. Perplexed, I go to check the peephole, and my stomach plummets.

It’s my parents.

Neither of them looks particularly happy, but then again they rarely do, especially when they’re dealing with me. They also hardly ever visit, so I’m wondering why they’ve shown up unannounced. I open the door and let them in.

Christopher runs toward my mom, holding his arms up. She picks him up, albeit not very enthusiastically, but once he’s in her arms, she smiles and tweaks the collar of his shirt.

“Hello there, Christopher.”

“Hi, Nana.” He immediately becomes fascinated with her earrings, poking at them as they swing and give off little sparkles of light.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Nice to see you.” I really want to jump right in with, “Why the hell are you here?” but I suppose that would be rude.

Mom’s attention flicks from place to place in the room, taking everything in—the open boxes, scattered packing materials, things lying about in disorderly piles. I can’t help but read judgment into her examination. I bite my lip to keep from responding, though.

“This is your new place?” she asks, her tone neutral.

“For now. Jesse’s looking into having repairs done to his house, or we might decide on someplace new to live.”

“I see.”

I wait, because I know sooner or later she’ll get to her point.

“Is he here?” she asks.

“No—he’s at work. I have today off, so Christopher and I are just hanging out.” I smile, but the tension is so thick I can feel it pressing on me.

“So you two are okay after the fire?” Dad asks.

“We’re fine. It could have been a lot worse.”

Mom makes a clucking noise with her tongue and sets Christopher down. He holds both arms out straight and makes airplane noises as he runs back to his room. I smile at him. He’s adjusting just fine.

I turn back toward the box I was emptying. “Can I get you guys a drink or something?”

“No, I think we’re fine,” Mom says. She moves toward an armchair and perches on the edge of it, hands folded primly between her knees.

“I could use a glass of water,” Dad announces, heading toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry—I can get it myself.”

I take him at his word and take a seat in the living room, grabbing a box so I can keep going through things while Mom and Dad talk, or whatever they’re here to do. After a bit, Dad returns carrying a glass of ice water and the printed-out copy of my first semester schedule for vet school.

I’m immediately swamped with dread. Why did he bring that in with him?

“This looks like quite a course load,” he says casually.

On guard, I answer, “It’s what the guidance counselor suggested for the first semester, to get as many prerequisites out of the way as possible.”

He shakes his head slowly. “There’s no way you can carry this kind of a schedule and still work and take care of your son. You realize that, don’t you?”

I’m silent a moment, my throat going thick. I was just having the same thoughts when I went over the classes, writing them all into an online calendar and trying to work out what my day-to-day will look like once classes start. How does he always know exactly where to hit where it’ll hurt the most?

“I’ll probably take a lighter load, then just take longer to finish. I’ve waited this long—it’s not like I need to hurry.” I try to laugh it off, but he’s just watching me steadily, with that even, neutral look that tells me he’s about to drop an anvil on my head.

“Has it occurred to you that if you hadn’t been out…doing whatever you were doing, that your boyfriend”—he says the word “boyfriend” like it’s filthy—“might not have lost his home?”

My mouth drops open. Is he even listening to himself? “Are you nuts?” His eyebrows wing up, but I don’t care. “I was on my way home from work. If I’d been there, or if I’d been home fifteen minutes sooner, Christopher and I could be dead right now.”

“You could have called the fire department. They could have been there earlier, instead of having to rely on the alarms in his house.” How Dad knows this much about what happened that night is beyond me. Probably one of his connections at the local paper or the police department.

“It wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill kitchen fire, Dad. It was arson. The man who did it had gasoline tanks in his truck. It moved very fast, and my being home would have just endangered me. And Christopher.”

Mom makes a sniffing sound. “It seems to me that just being around that man endangers you.”

“What?” The conversation isn’t even making sense anymore. “What are you talking about?”