Sweet Surprise (22 page)

Chapter 15

S
hift changes were often hectic, and you never knew who’d be on duty until they walked through the firehouse door. With Jackson’s wedding coming up fast, Mike didn’t know if he’d show up or if he’d taken time off for the preparations. And while he respected that Jackson might be approaching the happiest day of his life, the subject at hand needed to be discussed.

Sure, the timing might not be perfect, but as his grandmother always said, if everything in life were planned, there’d be no surprises. His falling like a house without walls for Fiona was definitely going to be a revelation his best friend wouldn’t have seen coming. Mike hoped it wouldn’t be the end of their friendship. But in this moment if he had to choose, he’d have to bid Jackson
adieu.

There were no guarantees things would work out between him and Fiona, but he wanted them to. He wanted that chance to have her and Izzy in his life even though he’d never expected them to be there.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Fiona at the charity auction until this morning when he’d left her at her door, she’d become important to him. He’d moved past smitten and cannonballed into hooked. She was every bit as delicious as her cupcakes. Every bit as addictive.

The feeling was nothing like he’d ever experienced, and he probably wasn’t handling it as well as he could. Like the name of her cupcake shop, Fiona was a sweet surprise. She’d caught him off guard. He was eager to find out what made her happy–between the sheets as well as out from under the covers.

To proceed, he had an obstacle that needed to be handled.

Inside the fire station, he stowed his gear in his locker and headed toward the meeting room to check the duty charts to see what he’d been assigned on station upkeep. He hoped to God he hadn’t pulled window duty again as there seemed to be a million in the building, and each needed to be cleaned inside
and
out. As he hit the doorway of the meeting room, all heads already in attendance looked up as the station alert sounded.

Engine 1, Engine 3, Engine 11, Rescue 1, Truck 1, respond to multiple-level apartment structure fire. Huebner Road at Eckhert. Flames are visible. Structure remains occupied.

Everyone leaped from their chairs and ran toward their gear. Within seconds, they were all inside their prospective engines as the bay doors cranked opened.

At the last second, the truck door opened, and Jackson hopped into the seat beside Mike.

“Nice of you to show up, Crash.” Scott Smiley, often the instigator of good-humored ribbing amongst the guys, didn’t miss an opportunity when Jackson barely made it into the engine on time. “Were you too busy picking out flowers and testing cake samples to get your ass in gear?”

Jackson flipped him the bird with a smile. “At least I can get someone to sleep with me.”

“Yeah.” Scott leaned back in the seat, his voice lifted above the siren. “She
sleeps
because you’re a boring lay.”

“Boys.” Captain John Steele’s gruff tone cut through the bullshit. “Let’s focus. Shall we?”

A round of “yes, sirs” floated through the cab.

“And, Wilder?”

“Yes, Cap?”

Captain John Steele didn’t bother to turn and look into the back to deliver his censure. The heat of his words carried all the impact needed to make his point. “I don’t care if a troupe of Victoria Secret’s models want your body, you show up on time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mike chuckled with the rest of the guys. The brotherhood he’d never known when he was a kid growing up with all sisters never ceased to fill him with a unique sense of belonging. He glanced at the man next to him. Aware of the conversation they needed to have, his gut tightened.

Jackson gave him a nod as he buckled his coat. “You make it on time?”

“With half a minute to spare.”

“I’d blame being late on traffic but . . .” A grin slid across Jackson’s face. “Abby thought she’d share an early bachelorette party gift.”

“Ah, shit.” Smiley kicked Jackson’s boot. “Spare the details for the poor single souls.”

“Thought you and Shari were an ongoing thing,” Mike said to Scott.

“More off than on.”

Jackson went in for the kill. “Jealous?”

“Fuck yes.” Smiley shoved a hand through his short brown hair. “Can’t remember the last time Shari surprised me with something slinky and see-thru.”

“Maybe you two should go off to somewhere romantic and rediscover each other,” Mike said, realizing too late that he sounded like a fucking counselor. Or a chick.

Jesus.

“Nah.” Scott frowned. “I think it’s time to move on. I need someone who’ll put a big-ass dose of fire in my blood. Shari’s fallen into the ice-queen category.”

Relationships were two-way streets. Mike had learned that lesson the hard way. He’d met Shari, and he wondered why Scott would give up so easily on a relationship with what seemed like a really nice girl. Then again, it wasn’t any of his damn business. When he and Heather had gone through their shit, the guys had pretty much left him alone to wallow in the cesspool called divorce.

Everyone had left him alone except Jackson.

The two of them had bonded over lost loves and big mistakes. They’d found a wordless understanding about the loss of a sibling. They’d shared hopes and dreams for the future and the trials and tribulations of being firefighters. Hell, they’d even fallen through the roof of a fully engulfed roofing factory together. A couple of guys couldn’t get much closer than that. And if they did, Mike didn’t want the details.

Hands down, Jackson Wilder was the closest Mike would ever have to a brother.

“What about you?” Scott asked Mike. “Any new prospects?”

“Why?” With the entire crew present, now was not the time to let the proverbial cat out of the bag. So Mike jumped on the bullshit bandwagon. “You looking for leftovers?”

“Fuck you, Hooch.”

On the surface, Mike laughed, when really, he could feel the sweat trickle down his neck. There was no rhyme or reason to the way he felt about Fiona. But she was a fire in his blood and a balm to his soul he didn’t want to let go.

A moment later, the engine rolled up on a high-end apartment complex where flames licked out the windows of several ground-floor apartments and one on the second floor. Thick black smoke swirled up into a wicked plume high in the sky. Clusters of residents stood in the parking lot, dressed in everything from nightgowns to business attire. Some were biting their nails, others had obviously found their morning entertainment.

Mike wanted to tell them there wasn’t a damned thing entertaining about fire.

Jackson looked out the window and gave a long whistle. “Gonna be a long shift.”

“Yep,” Mike said. “Lots of fuel for a hungry blaze.” A fire like this one could take an entire shift to put out and completely overhaul.

They were first on scene, and as soon as the engine stopped, they all piled out. While the crew hurried to their designated stations, the captain quickly gathered details, then started initiating orders.

“Floors aren’t cleared. Hooch and Crash, start a door-to-door evac. If it hits the third floor, we’ll ventilate.”

Mike reached for his flame-resistant hood and pulled it over his head. He slipped on his air pack and adjusted the straps, while Jackson did the same.

“So what do you think?” Jackson asked, eyeing the structure. “It’s early morning. Neglected candle or bacon grease?”

“Maybe someone was burning up the sheets,” Smiley pitched in.

The crackle and roar of the flames grew louder, and a window shattered from the heat.

“Hard to say at this point.” Mike pulled on his helmet. “But it looks like it’s about to get ugly.”

He looked up while he adjusted the strap to find Jackson staring at him, brows pulled tight. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Mike checked for his rope and alarm, then grabbed the axe off the truck. “Just this damn fire.”

“Bullshit. When something’s bothering you, you get that look in your eye.”

“Yeah,” Tim “Meat” Volkoff, their engine driver added. “Like Bambi in the center lane of the highway.”

Mike pretended not to hear as he headed toward the building. Lives could possibly be in danger. Any discussion of his love life or lack thereof could wait till later. Prepared to do battle, he and Jackson headed toward the structure.

“You take the second floor.” Jackson pointed. “I’ll hit up the first.”

Mike nodded, and they parted ways at the stairs. Unwilling to waste time or endanger lives, his boots thudded heavily on the concrete slabs as he charged up to the second floor. The first two apartments were vacant. He knocked on the door of the third apartment, right above the flames.

“Fire Department. All residents need to evacuate.”

Though no one answered, he swore he could hear a baby cry. He knocked again and heard the cry again, only this time it sounded weaker. He tested for heat on the door, then tried the doorknob.

Locked.

He put a call out through his radio to see if there could be a child in the apartment. While the captain questioned the crowd, Mike heard the cry again.

Definitely weaker.

Out of options, he backed up and kicked the door open. Smoke billowed out and he took a step back to allow the majority to roll out. Wasting no more time, he went inside to look for the source of the cries. A few feet inside the door lay a cinnamon-striped cat. It looked up, then closed its eyes and gave him a pitiful, weak cry.

Mike scooped up the limp cat in his arms.

“Don’t give up on me, little guy.” He did a quick search of the apartment for occupants, then as he ran downstairs, he put a call out on the radio to ready the pet oxygen mask and send another man to finish the door-to-door evac.

After all, a life was a life.

He dropped to his knees on the grass near the truck, tore off his helmet, and took the oxygen mask from Lil Bit, one of their two female firefighters.

She knelt at his side. “Still breathing?”

“Barely.” He cupped the mask over the cat’s nose and mouth and stroked its limp body. “Come on, kitty. Breathe deep.”

The wail of a small child split the air thick with smoke and spectators. Mike didn’t have time to look up, but the next sound he heard over the usual ruckus of firefighting was a mother yelling, “Brenden! Come back here!”

In an instant, a little towheaded boy no bigger than a grasshopper was screaming “My kee. My kee.” At first, Mike thought the child was calling his name but quickly realized the cat in question was the boy’s beloved pet.

Shit.

Come on. Come back, kitty.

Mike continued to stroke the cat’s body, hoping to restore some circulation while he held the mask to its heart-shaped pink nose.

The mother of the boy scooped him up before he got tangled in the equipment lying on the ground. The little boy reached his arms out, opening and closing his hands in a “give me” fashion.

“Will he be okay?” the mother asked while trying to console her hysterical son.

Mike glanced up at the boy’s tear-streaked face and lied his ass off. “You bet.” Hopefully. “What’s your kitty’s name?”

“Me whoa.” The name spilled out with a sob.

“Milo,” the frazzled mother translated.

Mike looked back down to the cat and rubbed its head. “Come on, Milo, your buddy Brenden is here.”

Please Milo. Wake. The. Fuck. Up.

Finally, Milo gave them a weak meow.

“That’s it.” Mike kept stroking the cat’s head.

Next to him, Lil Bit chuckled. “You are such a marshmallow.”

When it came to kids, animals, and certain shapely cupcake makers, yeah, he was as soft as the Pillsbury Doughboy.

Milo sneezed, and his eyes popped open.

Mike let go a heavy sigh of relief when the cat made a sudden attempt to get away.

A few minutes later, the cat was breathing fine, but Mike knew there could be lung damage. When he handed the cat off to the mother, he said, “It’s probably a good idea to have a vet check him out. Just in case.”

She nodded. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You just did.” Mike gave her a smile and ruffled Brenden’s hair. “Looks like they’ve got the fire under control now. I hope there won’t be too much damage to your home. But you are going to need a new door.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got everything that means anything right here.” She kissed her son’s forehead while he tried to rub noses with the slightly groggy cat.

As she walked away juggling the cat and her son, Mike realized that really, at the end of the day, the only thing that mattered were the ones you loved.

T
he alarm had been silent since the early-morning apartment blaze. The guys were now seeing to the other daily duties, and, for the moment, life was status quo.

Though any one of Mike’s fellow firefighters would have done the same thing in saving the cat, they didn’t miss the opportunity in good humor to call him everything from a cat whisperer to a pussy lover.

He and Jackson had been assigned to do safety checks. Except for the two of them and the trucks they were about to inspect, the truck bay stood empty. No better time than the present to open his vein, bleed out his secret, and gee, maybe even get his ass kicked.

Pencil tucked behind his ear and clipboard in hand, Jackson opened the door on the side of the engine to do an air-bottle check.

“Got a minute?”

Jackson looked up. “You finally going to tell me the reason for that long face you’ve been dragging around all day?”

“Yeah. And I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it.”

“Oh?” Jackson checked the air pressure, then shoved the can back on the shelf. “Why’s that?”

“Do you remember on the way to the fire Smiley asked me if I had any new prospects?”

“Ohhhhh. I get it.” Jackson nodded. “You’ve got a new girl you want to bring to the wedding. As far as I know, your invitation should have been for you and a guest. So bring whomever you want.”

“I’m bringing Fiona.”

Jackson stepped back. “What?”

“Look.” Mike squared his shoulders and looked his friend straight in the eye. “Since that charity auction I’ve been attracted to her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. But you’re my friend and I respect you and I wouldn’t ever have broken guy code and acted on it except your mom . . . shit.”