America's Bravest (19 page)

The woman laughed and took Tony’s stool when
his friend left. “If it isn’t the hero. Hear you got your hands
slapped.”

“I did. It was worth saving a kid.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“Sure. Go ahead. If I can ask you
something.”

“I might not answer.” She gave him a look
Brody recognized as one of pure female interest. “Then again…”

“Why this vendetta against the fire
department?”

Her color rose. “It isn’t a vendetta. I think
public employees have a good gig going, and I’m not sure it’s
always deserved.”

“Tell that to the mother whose kid was in the
fire.”

“Touché.”

She snagged the bartender’s attention. “I’ll
have another shot of bourbon. And get my friend here one.”

Five shots later, Brody ended up in a Lexus
belonging to the reporter. He’d gotten his shirt off and unbuttoned
hers, where he found another layer of clothing, when she stayed his
hands. “Brody, stop for a minute. This is fun but I’m not…just
stop.”

The statement was a bucket of cold water on
his head. He was blinded by a flash of Emma insisting they have
fun
with the video camera, Emma asking for different
positions when they made love, Emma insisting they order some toys
from an online catalogue.

What the hell was he doing making out with
another woman?

Shaking his head, he drew back. “You’re
right. We have to stop.”

Her keys were in the ignition, and he was
sober enough to remove and pocket them. Taking out his cell phone,
he punched in numbers. After several rings, he heard a groggy,
“’ello.”

“Rye it’s me. I had too much to drink and so
has my companion. I’m in the parking lot at Badges. Come get
us.”

oOo

Emma faced her kids on the last day of school
before Christmas vacation. Miserable, she was trying to put up a
brave front so she’d dressed in a bright red Santa sweatshirt and
pasted on a smile. “I thought we’d do our reading lesson with the
book
The Polar Express
.” She held up a copy of the popular
Christmas story. She was comfortable sharing this book for the
Christian holiday because she’d read Kwanza books and Hanukah
tales, too. “How many of you have read it?”

Almost all hands went up.

“Oh, dear,” she said, sounding disappointed.
“I guess we should pick something else.”

Twenty-five faces scrunched in dismay.

“No, no Ms. Walsh.”

“Please, we
love
that story.”

More of the same from the rest of them.

She grinned. “Then push the desks out around
the perimeter and sit on the floor.” Her room sported a nice Berber
carpet. “It’ll be like when you were little kids.” They were all of
nine now.

Controlled chaos abounded as chatter filled
the room, the excitement of vacation hard to quell. At least their
antics took her mind off Brody, his reaction to the pregnancy scare
and his disappearance from her life. Damn him. At one time she’d
pictured him reading a story like this to their kids. Shopping for
toys for their little girl and boy. Spending Christmas morning as a
family. Now, none of that would ever happen. She remembered the
conversations she’d had with her sister this week.

Lucy thought Brody had been leading her
on.

Lucy believed neither O’Malley brother could
commit. Emma had forgotten her sister had skid marks from dating
Ryan when they were in high school.

And Lucy contended that Brody was still the
same self-absorbed teenager who’d broken up with Emma to play the
field. As soon as there might be something serious to deal with,
something that might require a commitment, he’d freaked.

It all fit, and though Emma felt incredibly
sad about the fact, she wasn’t going to delude herself about the
kind of man Brody O’Malley really was.

When the space was cleared, Emma sat down in
a group with the kids and asked for quiet. Then she began to read
the story of the boy who takes a midnight train to the North Pole.
Once there, Santa gives him some sleigh bells; he puts them in his
pocket, but he loses them on the trip home. They turn up on
Christmas morning, but only he and his sister can hear the bells
jingle. Their parents can’t.

“So, what’s the message of this story, guys?”
she asked after she closed the book. Twenty-five excited faces
greeted her and made her smile genuine.

Two boys raised their hands. “Peter.”

“Christmas is great.”

The kids and Emma laughed. “What else?
Tommy?”

The boy, who was very precocious, said,
“Grownups can’t hear the bells because they’re too busy
shopping.”

“
Very
good.”

After more suggestions, Emma added, “I think
the story also shows that you can’t forget what’s important to you
when you get busy for the holidays. What should be more important
to you than presents?”

“Nothing!” little Terry, the boy who’d wanted
to know about Brody’s injury at the fire house that day,
answered.

“Mom and Dad.” A girl wrinkled her nose. “My
brother, too, I guess.”

“That’s right. This is a book about
priorities. Do you know what they are?”

“My mom says my dad’s priorities are messed
up. It means he works too much.”

Story time wound down and Emma put on some
Christmas carols as the kids moved the desks back in groups, then
went off to music class with an aide who’d come to get them. The
fourth-grade and fifth-grade students were presenting a concert to
the school this morning. Emma planned to head down to the gym/stage
in fifteen minutes.

Sitting back down at her desk, as she
listened to the season’s tunes, she thought about priorities.
Christmas
was
too full of material things. She and Brody
had decided not to swap presents but give to an annual
firefighters’ Toys for Kids in the city. For the hundredth time,
she wondered if his priorities had shifted from her to…whatever? Or
was she ever really important to him?

“Emma.” As if she conjured him from a genie
bottle, she looked over and saw him at the doorway. Her heart
skipped a beat, reminding her of how he’d broken it.

“Hello, Brody.”

“I watched.” His voice was a bit hoarse.

“What?”

“I watched you read to the kids. I stood off
to the side so they couldn’t see me. You’re great at vocalizing
parts.”

“I was a bit distracted today.”

Entering the room, he shut the door behind
him. “Yeah, I bet I know why.”

She glanced at the clock, trying to calm her
pulse. “I’ve got about ten minutes before I have to go to the
gym.”

Nodding, he came close. He’d showered,
dressed in nice jeans, a ski sweater and vest, but his eyes were
bloodshot and his face drawn. Even his color wasn’t good.

“Rough night?” she asked.

“Rough few days. For you too?”

She nodded, trying to determine his mood.

“I came to apologize for what happened at my
house the last time we were together.”

“Apology accepted. Sit down.”

He took the adult chair she kept against the
wall and drew it close to her desk. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in
touch.” He linked his hands between his knees and stared down at
the floor. Then back up at her. “I, um, flipped about the pregnancy
scare.”

“Yes, I got that.”

“Actually, I went off the rails. You might as
well know everything. I was suspended from work.” He told her about
the kid he’d saved.

“I can’t say I’m sorry you saved a baby, but
your chief’s right. You told me firefighters know their boundaries
and don’t cross them in fires.”

“This time, I didn’t know mine. I’ve been
acting crazy for days.” He ducked his head sheepishly. “Last night,
I almost did something really stupid.”

Her pulse escalated as he told her about
Parker Allen. Heartache was replaced by anger. “You almost screwed
the woman who’s singlehandedly trying to destroy the fire
department?”

He shrugged a shoulder, and she could see him
turning on the O’Malley charm. “I think
almost
is the
operative word.”

“Do you know how she could use that against
you and all of your friends?”

His face blanked. “I, um, hadn’t thought
about that.”

“And now,” she said, gathering steam. “Now,
what do you want from me?”

“I’m not really sure. I just know I bungled
it between us.”

“But you’re not sure you know what you
want?”

Running his hand through his hair, his
expression was annoyed. “Look, all I know is I woke up today and
had to see you. Had to make this right between us. I want to start
going out again.”

Emma watched the man she once loved in high
school, the man she maybe loved again. “This is by far the worst
apology, the worst attempt at asking for a second chance that I’ve
ever heard.” Standing she threw down her pen. “You know what,
Brody, go to hell.
I
don’t want to see
you
again.”

With that she stalked out of her
classroom.

Text #1, while Emma and Lucy waited for the
plane to Florida:
You’re right, it was a lame apology. Guess
I’m not used to making them :)

Text #2, when she landed in Sarasota:
Hoping you’ve been flying. Text me back. Say I have another
chance.

Text #6, while she and her mother sat on the
back porch Christmas Eve day.
Look, okay, you have a right to
be mad. I blew it on Friday, too. Please, please, text me back and
tell me you’ll see me again so we can at least talk.

Text #11, Christmas Day:
Happy Christmas,
love. Can’t believe I’m not with you this year. Did you know every
Christmas we were apart those fifteen years, I thought about
you?

Text #16:
Work today was tough. We lost a
victim in a fire. I was good, though, no heroics. I’m learning,
babe. And changing.

Text #20:
Please, I’m dyin’ here. I can’t
eat or sleep. Contact me.

oOo

“Another text, dear?” Cara Walsh, Emma’s
mother, lounged next to her in the sand under a rainbow umbrella at
Siesta Key Beach where the two of them had gone to relax while Lucy
fished with her father. Emma’s mom was sixty but looked a decade
younger. Though her hair was shot with silver, it went well with
her almost unlined face. She wore an orange tankini suit.

“I’m afraid so.” Emma closed her phone and
flipped down her sunglasses against the glare coming off the Gulf.
Its waves whooshed and receded, which usually calmed Emma but
didn’t today. “Why doesn’t he stop trying to contact me?”

“Why don’t you delete the texts before you
read them?”

Emma smiled over at her mother. All her life,
the woman had been able to prod her daughters into admitting what
they’d prefer go unspoken.

“I should. I honestly believe he’s not
committed to this relationship. He never was. But he still wants me
in his life. And damn him, his texts make it impossible for me to
ignore him.”

“Hmm. Then that’s a problem. I guess you have
to think about why he’s able do that to you.”

A cool breeze wafted over to them from the
water, ruffling Emma’s skirted bathing suit. “What do you
think?”

“I was very sad that he broke your heart when
you were teens. But as I told you then, I thought you were too
young to be committed, and that he was right to date others.”

That time came back to her in Technicolor.
The hurt curling inside her when he first uttered the words. The
fear that she’d been just another one of Brody’s girls. The
incredible ache at missing him. “I remember all that. But I meant
what do you think about now?”

“You say he’s shown he’s not ready to commit,
but he seems to want to give the relationship more time. Can you
take a chance on that, honey?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I want to. But he did
exactly what he said he wouldn’t do—treat me like a fling—and his
contrition sucks.”

“I’m guessing that boy doesn’t know his way
around an apology. Him or his brother, Ryan.” Her mother’s smile
gave the sun competition. ”If it were me, I’d make him grovel.”

“Then what?”

“You, sweetie, have to decide if you can try
again with him. But don’t let him go because he made an ass out of
himself. He is a man, after all.”

At her mother’s advice, for the first time
since Brody had run out to get the pregnancy test kit, Emma felt a
spurt of hope that there was a chance for them.

oOo

It had been six days and thirty-seven texts
since Emma left town and still no word from her. Brody clicked off
his phone, vowing he wouldn’t contact her again unless he heard
from her first. Damn it,
this
was not what he wanted.
Loneliness so acute it hurt him during the day. And erotic dreams
at night that made him wake in a sweat.

“You still moping around here like a kicked
puppy?” The question came from Felicia, who, he knew from
experience, had little patience for matters of the heart.

“I think it’s time to stop.”

“Thank God.” She sat down at the kitchen
table and buried her nose in
Firehouse
magazine. After a
moment, big hazel eyes peeked over the top of the pages. “Wanna
talk about it?”

“Maybe.” She put down the magazine.

“You ever been in love, Licia?”

“Nope.”

“That was a pretty quick answer. How
come?”

“Too cautious.” She shook her head. “I got
engaged to this guy early in my career as a firefighter. I thought
I loved him, but he said the only thing I was really committed to
was the fire department. I broke it off.”

“So you
didn’t
love him?”

“I wouldn’t
let
myself love him.”
Her expression turned thoughtful. “I’d completed my arson
investigator certificate and wanted to climb to the top of Fire
Investigation, similar to what Eve Callahan did before she joined
the HCFD as our lead arson person.”