by Dizzy Hooper
But it strikes me all of a sudden just how imposing they are.
How thoroughly they could fuck someone up if their minds were really set on it.
I swallow, trying to look cool and unaffected by them.
I'm pretty sure I fail hard. I quiver inside, my unchecked anger still ready to boil over, my body poised for a fall. My instincts scream at me to run to them; they'll take care of me and keep me safe. But I'm all turned around. I'm ready for betrayal. I'm braced for everything and unprepared for freaking anything…
And then they're on me. Right there in front of me, an imposing wall of muscular men.
As one, the four of them turn their backs on me, and for an instant, the pain is so sharp it takes my breath away.
Until I realize it's not that. It's not that at all.
They're showing me their backs because they're standing in front of me, between me and a threat.
Sunlight bursts inside my heart.
The door to Walker's office swings open down the hall. Out spills the man himself, and by his side is Duke Hopkins. I tremble as they stride toward me.
Duke is his usual asshole self, talking loud, like his is the only voice that matters in the entire world. For so much of my life, I thought that was true.
I glance from Duke to Walker, still unsure of where we stand.
Walker's brilliant blue eyes seek mine out, connecting with mine across the distance—and how have I been so blind?
I wasn't able to read the words his eyes were blaring at me when he showed Duke in, but they're clear as can be right now.
They're the same words Corey texted me to coax me back into this station.
Trust us. Please.
I hold my breath as Duke approaches us and stops. He looks at each of the men surrounding me with a raised brow, but he doesn't seem to think much of them. His mistake—I can feel it.
He turns back to Walker. "All right, then. You got everything you need?"
"Pretty sure I did," Walker agrees, his tone carrying layers that this smug sack of shit can't begin to perceive.
"Let me know if there's anything else." He glances at me, disdain written large across his brow. "Or if you need anything else on Princess over here."
Street stiffens, and I want to touch his hand. He didn't know. The couple of times he taunted me with that nickname, he had no idea what it meant to me or how it burned. Now he does.
And that's just the kind of kind person he is, beneath his scars and his ink and his barbs. He's never going to call me that again.
And I love him for it.
I love them all.
Especially Walker, when he opens the door to the station for Duke.
And the flashing lights of a dozen cop cars swirl red and blue and white.
And an officer with a megaphone yells, "Duke Hopkins, come out with your hands up."
46
In the decade and a half I've known Duke Hopkins, I've never once seen him taken off guard. The closest I ever came was the day he confronted me about the report I'd filed against him. But even then, the throbbing vein in his temple and the set of his mouth spoke more to barely contained fury than to actual surprise. He'd had time to think about that one before he called me to his office.
That isn't the case today.
As the police officers surrounding the station begin to close in, Duke's jaw drops, his entire body recoiling back, and I swear to God, I have never witnessed anything so satisfying in my entire freaking life.
But then his jaw snaps shut. He rounds on Walker. "What the fuck do you think—"
The guardedness to Walker's expression evaporates in an instant. "I think I'm protecting my crew." His chest puffs out with righteous rage. "I think I'm protecting your crew. All of them. Every fucking person under your care, using your shitty equipment, walking into who knows what kind of hell without the proper protection—"
"You." Snarling, Duke turns to me, and Jesus. How did I ever not know he was a monster?
How did I idolize him as a child?
How did I not see through the veneer?
Well, his mask is off. His red face twists, his mouth curling into an ugly, gnarled whorl as he jabs a finger at me. "You—you—you lying cunt."
He takes a single step toward me, and in a flash, he's shown exactly why my men surrounded me the way they did before he so much as set foot in this hallway.
The guys close ranks. Sal and Street are the biggest, scariest-looking of the bunch, and they position themselves right in front of me.
Street glowers. "I think you better watch your tone."
"My tone?" Duke growls. "Listen, boy—"
I put a hand on Street's arm. I have to suppress a shudder. He's giving off so much heat, and God. God. There was a part of me that thought I'd never touch him again, much less so casually.
At just that simple gesture from me, Street exhales hard. He's still bristling with menace, but he's going to follow my cue.
They all are.
Even Walker is looking to me expectantly, pride and love written large across his face, and how did I doubt him?
How, for one fraction of a second, did I imagine that any of them could be thinking about turning against me?
All the love I feel for them is a burning coal in my chest. It's hard to breathe against the intensity of the flame.
Me. They did all of this for me, and I still don't know how. But they did.
My gratitude, my wonder at these incredible men is almost too hot to hold.
I push it down, though, focusing on the man who tried to destroy my life.
But even there, I can only keep a fraction of my rage alight.
Duke left me to burn. He screwed over every single person under his command. He put our lives at risk.
He tried to take the only career I ever wanted away from me.
But he also led me here. He pushed me into the waiting arms of the five best people I've ever known.
That doesn't stop me hating him, of course. But it softens the blow, at least a little.
With my hand still on Street's arm, I step forward. I make my face hard. "You're never going to hurt anyone again, Duke. Not one firefighter under your command." My throat rasps, the raw wounds inside it knitting together all at once. "And you're sure as fuck never going to hurt me again." I drop my hand and look to Walker, then Street and Sal. "Now get this piece of shit out of here."
Duke's face is positively purple. "You're going to pay for this, bitch—"
"No," Walker says, firm. "You are." He shoves Duke forward through the door.
Street and Sal grab Duke by the arms and wrestle him the rest of way out. I follow, my heart pounding as police officers swarm them. Street and Sal release Duke, only for two cops to grab the asshole and slam him into the side of a car. Faintly, I hear his Miranda rights being recited. Silver handcuffs gleam in the sun as an officer slaps them around his wrists.
And just like that, it's over. Duke fucking Hopkins gets shoved into a police car and carried away, sirens blaring, exactly the way he should have been months ago, except he couldn't. He was too well connected. Too powerful.
But my guys found a way.
My head spins, my body suddenly breathless. Street and Sal are still outside, and Walker's with them. I watch through hazy eyes as he tugs at his shirt and removes a wire from his chest, linked up to a recording device, and oh my God.
My eyes flood with new tears, but they're not the anguished, angry ones of a few hours ago.
They're brilliant tears. Light ones. Ones full of wonder and awe.
I turn to find Corey and Jaquan standing to either side of me. "How?" I mumble, delirious.
Corey glances past me, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Pretty sure that's Walker's story to tell."
"But you were a part of it. You all were."
"You bet your ass we were," Jaquan agrees. His grin is back.
God, I want to kiss that smile right off his hot, full lips.
But not
until the door is closed—with all of my men inside.
Finally, the circus of reporters and cops and random, curious neighbors dies down. After promising to head down to the station to make a statement after his shift, Walker turns his back on all of it. Through the still-open front door of the station, we make eye contact.
He flashes one last, tight smile at the dissipating crowd, and signals with his head toward Sal and Street.
"Duty calls," he says with a wave.
Then the three of them head inside. I step aside, letting them past. Street slams the door, and just like that, it's over. We're together.
Alone.
The thousand questions I've been bottling up for the past half an hour can finally pour out.
"How," I gasp. My entire body shakes. "How did you—?"
"How could we not?" Walker counters.
Street flexes his jaw. "How could you think we'd do anything else?"
His question is a slap in the face.
I deserve it, though.
"Guys," Corey says, holding up his hands. "Give her a break. She's been through a lot, okay?"
All of it seems to hit me at once, too. The trembling in my limbs harshens.
"Come here," Sal offers.
I fall into his arms, finally ready to let them carry my weight. Emotionally exhausted, I allow myself to be corralled down the hall to the common area, where I collapse into a puddle on the couch. Sal follows me down. After a moment's jostling, Corey sits on the other side of me.
I look up a moment later to find Walker standing in front of me, a cup of coffee in his hands. I accept it from him gratefully and take a bracing sip. Its heat seeps into me, but nothing could be as warm as the two men sitting next to me.
Like a sledgehammer, it hits me all over again—how lucky I am to be here. How amazing all of these guys are.
How insane it is that they want me, too. That they would do this for me.
And I almost lost them today. Through my own self-sabotaging stupidity.
"I'm sorry," I stammer out. My vision clouds. My hands shake hard enough that the coffee threatens to splash out of my mug. "I'm so sorry—what was I thinking—"
Walker kneels down in front of me and surrounds my hands with his own. "You were thinking we'd screwed you over. And you had every right to."
"No." I whip my head back and forth. "You all—you've been nothing but good to me, and I assumed—"
Corey puts his palm on the back of my neck. "You assumed we'd follow the pattern of every other person you've ever trusted in your life." He glances around at the rest of the guys. "None of us can blame you for that."
"Can't you, though?" I look to Street in specific, but for once, his gaze is actually contrite.
"We should've told you," Jaquan says.
A harsh laugh breaks free in my throat. "That might have helped."
"Then we're sorry, too," Sal says.
Walker's gaze is solemn. "It's my fault. I didn't want to get your hopes up. Hopkins is a powerful guy."
"Tell me about it." I switch to gripping my mug with one hand and swipe the back of my other wrist across my eyes.
He was so powerful that nothing I threw against him back upstate seemed to stick. He had allies everywhere. Internal Affairs ratted me out in a heartbeat, and I was the one who ended up getting the axe.
While he and his bullshit scheme that made him rich and endangered the men and women dedicated to protecting the city sailed on. Untouchable.
"How did you do it?" I ask.
"It wasn't easy," Walker says, sitting back on his heels.
"LT's being modest." Jaquan rolls his eyes.
"Also," Street adds, "he's a really good actor."
Yeah, I got that, actually. Earlier today, he sure fooled me.
"We set him up," Corey says.
"I approached him with some select parts of your story, but from the opposite side of it. I made it out like I wanted to replicate his success here." Walker shrugs. "He took the bait."
"And he may own everyone upstate," Sal says, "but we have just as many connections down here."
"We read in local law enforcement right away, and they got people from the state involved," Walker says. "Turns out they'd been interested in him for a while anyway; they just hadn't been able to find a way in."
I suck in a breath. "So you posed as dirty, and he fell for it."
"Pretty much." Corey nods.
I look from him to Walker to Street. To Sal and then to Jaquan. Realization starts to dawn. "So all those weird conversations I kept walking in on." I lock my gaze with Walker's. "The stuff you were saying over my head and behind my back."
His mouth turns down into a frown. "I really am sorry about all of that."
"Don't be. I just feel like an idiot now for not getting it sooner."
"We were trying to protect you," Sal says. "We saw what it took for you to talk about it in the first place. We didn't want you to have to relive it while we were sorting our shit out."
Okay, yeah. I can't hold that against them.
"But we should have prepared you better," Walker says. "I swear, I didn't know he was going to show up today until maybe an hour ahead. There was barely time to get me wired."
"I tried to find you," Corey insists.
"Yeah. I know." Again, the pain of this morning washes over me. "I should have listened…"
"We tried to protect you," Street says. "You had a right to protect yourself."
Jaquan nods. "I'm glad you did. If we really had done you like that, you better kick us to the curb."
"But you wouldn't." And my voice cracks. Because it's sinking in now. "You would never hurt me."
Walker squeezes my hands. "Not in a million years."
"Not for anything," Corey agrees.
"And if we ever do, you tell us, okay?" Street's voice is insistent. "You don't doubt us like that again. Not without giving us a chance."
Sal's throat bobs. "The idea that we could have lost you today…"
Jesus. Isn't that just what I was thinking?
Overwhelmed, I give in, the shaking inside me melting into yet more freaking tears, but can anyone blame me?
The tears become laughter. I feel like I'm falling apart, but in the very best way.
I feel like after all the pain and betrayal, after everything going so wrong—I'm finally healing. I'm shattering, but only to be remade.
These men, these incredible, perfect, amazing men—they're piecing me back together, jagged shard by jagged shard. All my sharp edges feel smooth as glass.
I feel strong. For the first time in my life I feel whole.
Leaning my head on Corey's shoulder, I laugh and cry and laugh. "How are you all real?"
Corey presses a kiss to the side of my head. "How are you?"
And I hear the awe in his voice.
Is it even possible that they feel as lucky in this as I do?
"This," I say, struggling for breath. I motion at the space between us. "It's real, isn't it? It's not going away."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Walker vows.
"Not ever," Corey echoes.
"Same," Jaquan says.
Sal nods sagely, petting my hair.
I look to Street.
That big, strong, scarred man who always held himself apart—the same way I did, when I first arrived.
And he's right here. Right in the midst of this freaking love-fest.
Voice gravelly, he agrees. "You're stuck with us. Because we're not going anywhere."
"And we're not letting you go anywhere, either," Walker says.
"Where would I go?"
Because somehow, suddenly, it's clear.
I was abandoned by my parents. Left to die by my squad.
But here? With these men?
I'm home.
47
Epilogue
Eleven months later, December 26…
"Oh, thank God," I groan, watching the clock tick over to eight AM.
/> All but tossing my clipboard aside, I salute Bob and stand. "Okay, you got this?"
"Yeah, yeah, go, get on out of here," he says, shaking his head fondly.
I'm not exactly shirking here, but I'm not going above and beyond, either.
C-shift pulled a double for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day again, and it was almost as ridiculous of a holiday as last year. We responded to nearly two dozen calls over the two days, and we're all exhausted.
So, yeah, Bob and the new crew can handle restocking the supply cabinet, thank you very much.
"Don't know how you guys do it," Bob muses, turning away.
"Hmm?"
"Double shifts, holidays. Couldn't do it myself. The wife would kill me."
I shrug, striving for calm on the outside, while inside I'm all aflutter.
In the past year, the guys and I haven't announced our relationship or anything. We haven't hidden it, either, and if anyone wanted to dig too deeply into our lives, it probably wouldn't be too hard to figure out.
We all live together now, after all. We have a big old colonial house on the north side of town that we rent. It's huge enough for us each to have our own bedroom, with an attic besides that's nothing but two wide king mattresses shoved together.
The stories that attic could tell…
Fortunately, it hasn't told any of them to Bob, though. He may have caught on that I'm happy here, but he's utterly clueless as to how.
A fact he demonstrates as he keeps talking.
"You ever think about giving it up? Getting on a normal shift, settling down?"
"Nah." My heart pounds hard. "You know what they say. Married to the job."
And I am. Career-wise, I've never been happier. I get to do the work I've wanted to do since I was a kid. I help people and save lives.
The specter that once hung over my professional future has evaporated. Thanks to my testimony and the machinations of my guys, Duke fucking Hopkins is locked up in the state penn for ten years, minimum. My record has been cleared. My prospects are bright.
But I'm not going anywhere. I'm exactly where I want to be.
Because I'm not just married to the job.