When the Smoke Clears (Interracial Firefighter Romance) (6 page)

Two of my guys rushed behind me. Black smoke billowed out the front door. We entered the club in less than a minute, trekking through the heat and burning space. Even with my jacket on, my skin warmed from the high temperatures. The heat nibbled, but couldn’t get through the gear.

I said through the radio attached to my mask. “Keep your gear tight and SCBA secure.”

Hot darkness swallowed us whole, where the heat didn’t strike, black smoke did, rising and thickening the shadows. Debris fell around us. Flames roared like angry dragons on our sides. I gripped my ax harder and moved past it, searching the floor for any club patron with dumb luck.

“It’s clear on the dance floor.” Part of the ceiling cracked above my head. “Back up!”

We jumped back fast. Half of the ceiling caved in.

“Everybody okay?” I roared.

They all responded and I counted each yes.
Thank God.
Checking from side to side, I rushed over to the DJ booth. “Nothing but melting equipment in the back. Let’s move on.”

Shit boomed on our right, probably the ripping away of a ceiling or the crumbling of the foundation.

Our father who art in heaven.

I weaved through the rooms with quick speed. My guys—men and women who’d served the public and been a family to me for many years—they followed behind me.

Hallowed be thy name.

I’d lost people before.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done.

They were mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. If I lost anymore, I wouldn’t be able to cope.

On earth as it is in Heaven.

A crack boomed through the building. The entire structure rocked. My bottom lip quivered as more adrenaline pumped through me.

Give us this day. Our daily bread.

“Speed it up.” I rounded the corner barely able to see. “John John and Kathy take the rooms on the east and then get the fuck out of here. Merck come with me for the west. Everyone else go through the center and out the back.”

Kathy spoke into her mic. “Lou, what about the bathrooms?”

“Merck and I got them. Check for people and get out.”

Her radio crackled a little. “Okay.”

Continuing the prayer in my head, Merck and I did our search and rescue, yelling through the smoke with each step. “Sarasota Fire. Call out! Anyone in here? Call out!”

We moved quickly and precisely, checking the floors and squinting through the smoke. I couldn’t see him, but heard his footsteps far behind me, among the crackling of wood and roar of flames.

“Clear?” I asked.

“Clear.”

“Okay. Let’s do the bathrooms and we’re out of here.” I sighed and hoped no one heard it. The property was old. I didn’t know how strong it would hold up under fire.

Lord, thank you for getting us this far.

Merck followed behind me. “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of a Bailey’s Comet.”

“What the fuck is that anyway?”

“Bailey’s Irish Cream, butterscotch schnapps, goldschlager, rum, and a dash of cinnamon.”

“And fire?” I glanced behind me and didn’t see him. He must’ve gone in the male bathroom. I went back to heading my way. Sweat coated my whole face. Everywhere burned and hissed. Things snapped around me and I prayed it wasn’t the walls or foundation.

“Yeah. It needs some fire,” Merck said through the radio. “You mix the Irish cream, schnapps, and schlager together. Put a layer of rum on top and set it on fire. When I was a bartender, I used to sprinkle some cinnamon on the flame to make it sparkle.”

“Maybe this guy used too much cinnamon.”

“Maybe the guy is an idiot,” Merck said. “Male bathroom is clear, by the way.”

“Good. I’m just getting over to the female’s room.” I reached a glowing, silver door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. “Sarasota Fire. Call out! Anyone in here? Call out!”

No one responded.

I said into the radio, “We should have switched rooms. This one is disgusting.”

“I’m shocked,” Merck said. “Women are usually neat.”

“Never. Trust me. I grew up with four sisters. They’re worse than men.”

Thankfully, flames hadn’t spread to this space, yet. Still, smoke filled the room. I flashed the light around the floor covered in wet toilet paper and a few bloodied pads. One of the toilets had over run and spilled out murky water.

Someone coughed, several times.

I followed the sound to the last stall. “Someone’s in here.”

“I’m coming,” Merck said.

Right as I opened the stall door, Merck pounded in behind me.

A woman lay in a tiny dress on the floor. Besides the coughing, it didn’t look like she was completely conscious. Her eyes had a glassy appearance. She didn’t move. I lowered myself to the floor and picked her up. She moved a little and groaned.

“You need help picking her up?” Merck asked.

“Naw.” I grunted. “She’s barely a hundred pounds.”

“Show off. She’s closer to two hundred pounds.”

I ripped my mask off and shoved it over her face. “Breathe! Can you hear me?”

Her eyes blinked a little.

“Take small breaths. Come on.” I carried her out of the bathroom, coughing myself and damn near close to suffocating. Without the mask, my skin dripped in soot and sweat. It felt like I’d stuck my head into boiling water.

Shit. You got it. Come on. Don’t be a dumb fuck. Pick up those feet.

Pressure built in my lungs. The girl’s weight bore down in my arms, but I had no time to think of it. More ceiling crashed in front of us.

Damn it.

Merck jumped ahead of me and axed through it all. What he couldn’t tear down with the ax, he destroyed with the Halligan bar. He waved me forward and the girl shivered in my arms, telling me that she’d possibly been doing better. If she was scared, then she was alive. Pain shot through my legs, but I increased my space.

We rounded the corner with Merck serving as the guide.

When he pushed the door opened, I shifted my walking into running and gasped in the fresh air. An EMT met me halfway with a board to carry her. Every part of me hoped to collapse right there on the ground. My legs were strained. My arms ached. My lungs felt like they were about to explode.

I focused on my breaths as they took away the woman. More fighters rushed by to finish the job. No one died. My whole group got in and out, and we’d even saved someone. I turned around and calmed my chest.

For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory. Forever and ever.

People dealt with things every year. Maybe each month, week, or day. Some lost loved ones. Others killed. Many attacked, maimed, or hurt another and walked away as the victims lay bloodied on the ground, destroyed, and broken.

Shit happened to everyone.

But I believed in something greater than myself. A power that hovered above, watching and stepping in to save me, when it was necessary. Or maybe it was a force that had a plan I could never understand. Things occurred right on schedule as we all stumbled around and tried to make sense of our lives. That power. That being. That energy that couldn’t be explained. It had saved all of our asses one more night, and for that, I would gladly go on my knees in front of everyone and praise its name.

Thank you.

I hadn’t expected a real fire this week. This fall had been uneventful, but tourist season had come and things were starting to happen.

Many things.

Kassie came to mind, again. Her snappy remarks had kept me on my toes. Those curves incited nasty things in my head.

Even after a fire and I’ve saved someone, I’m fucking picturing her face.

Chapter 5

Kassie

T
he
next day, my phone’s buzzing woke me up.

I checked the screen.

Ellis:
Have Rich call me, when he gets home from school.

Really? I don’t hear from you in several months and now you demand me to have my son call you? How about you call him after school, douche bag.

Regardless, I made a note to make sure I gave Rich the phone. In the end, it was more important for him to have some relationship with his dad, even if the man was the scum of the earth.

Later that morning, a knock came at my door. Yawning, I headed that way. I’d just returned home from dropping Rich off at school and hadn’t even made my large cup of coffee, yet.

Whoever it is, they had better make it quick. I haven’t had my coffee, so my filter is nonexistent!

I peered through an eyehole.

Who the hell is this?

An old black woman stood on the other side. She was a short thing with a tiny frame. She had dreadlocks like me, but hers lay in long gray ropes that covered her tiny shoulders and reached her knees. She must’ve been growing those since birth. She wore all black with a huge, midnight colored shawl. Her sandals were the shade of coal and even her long nails glowed like the night. However, the eyes held my attention, most.

They were bright gray and big. She had cat eyes, minus the slits. The gray moved between her lids in a haunting way. Cold slithered up my spine. I turned away from her eyes and checked out the rest of her. Wrinkles graced a kind face, but the heavy wooden cane that she leaned upon appeared more like a weapon than her support.

“Who is it?” I asked through the door.

As if she could see me through the wood, she stared right at me. Her voice was a throaty boom. “I’m Mama Ganga. Open up the door, child. We don’t have all day.”

Samantha, I’m going to kick your ass. You were fucking serious! You sent a weird lady to my house!

“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath and opened the door. “Hello.”

Instead of reaching her hand out to me or waving, she studied my face and then, moved on to the rest of me. Her eyes looked from my feet to my head and then back down to my feet. An odd fragrance came from her. It reminded me of a high-end brand of cloves—earthy, spicy, yet slightly sweet.

The moment gave me time to check out her cane. With a closer look, I realized that the rest of the cane was wood, but the handle was silver.
That’s beautiful.
As it shined and glittered in the sunlight, I noticed odd figures carved into the mahogany wood. Demons roared at the tip, as if they’d been battling for their life to get out. Some of their claws tore out of the wood in onyx sharp points. Their beastly arms entangled with legs and other screaming faces. Layers of flames sliced their fingertips. Even though I knew it was a solid object, the fire seemed to sway back and forth as if it were alive.

“That’s a beautiful cane,” I said.

“You’ve got a good soul,” she said, “But you’re all types of broken. I can smell the fear coming off you, like you haven’t washed in days.”

I opened my mouth, but didn’t say anything. How did one respond to a statement like that?

She can smell fear? Stop it. Let’s just rein back the crazy and get to some exercises or something.

“I don’t do writing exercises,” she said.

I tensed.

Did she hear that? No. I’m crazy, but not truly insane. It would make sense for her to start discussing writing exercises. Right?

Mama Ganga spit a brown glob of saliva onto my porch. “Are you going to sit inside your head or are you going to work with me to begin writing again?”

“Are you chewing tobacco?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry about that spot right there. It’ll be gone by the time we leave.”

“We’re leaving?” I asked.

“Yeah. Put on your shoes. We don’t have much time.”

I’m not going anywhere with this weirdo.

Mama Ganga pointed her finger at me. “You’ll go or I’ll make you.”

Fuck. She can hear my thoughts.

I couldn’t move or even speak.

“No wonder you aren’t writing,” she said. “You’re too busy standing there and studying everything around you, instead of doing something. Put some sneakers on and come. You’ve got ten minutes.”

“Uh.” I backed up and headed to my bedroom without closing the front door. I did not intend to put on my shoes. Every part of me had decided to call Sam and curse her out. Then, that familiar ache appeared in my gut. It screamed that I wanted to write again, that maybe this weird lady had the answer.

What’s the most I have to do, besides put on my shoes and go somewhere with her?

Instead of grabbing my phone to call Sam, I picked up my sneakers.

If I can hang upside down and sit in a box, I can go with some creative expert to wherever. Maybe we’ll go to an art gallery or museum. Perhaps, she’ll actually help me.

I met Mama Ganga back at the front of my house. As she said, the glob of tobacco spit had disappeared.

“Come.” She waved her cane at a hot pink convertible in front. “You take your car and I’ll take mine. You follow me.”

“That’s your convertible?” I asked.

“No, it’s a rental. But the style is mine.”