Chasing Fire (Gilded Knights Series Book 2)

by Emilia Finn

  “Copy that. Approaching the landing now. Watch your step, Axe. Rotted beams have already started falling.” I step over a three-foot section of the ceiling, and then move around another piece, another section. “This place should have been condemned years ago.”

  “Slow steps, guys. Flames are building on the north side, Lew. You need to be fast and slow at the same time.”

  “You’re always askin’ me to do the impossible,” I smart back at Cootes. “Approaching bedroom on the westernmost side. This is where the owner says his nephew has been sleeping, right?”

  “Confirmed,” Cootes says. “Twenty-three years old, too skinny, never wears the right sized jeans. Blue eyes, brown hair.”

  “How about if I find anybody, Axe and I get them out?” My breath whooshes in. Whooshes out. “Regardless of the profile you’re giving me.”

  “That works too,” Cootes snickers. “Where you at, Lew?”

  “Approaching the door now, and wishing I was in Italy.”

  18

  Idalia

  The Worry Never Goes Away

  How can I be expected to work like a normal, functioning adult and actually get anything done, while also listening to Nixon work? It’s impossible, and yet, I walk my hotel with earphones in my ears.

  I serve guests at a charity luncheon in the new ballroom that was added with the renovations. I place fresh pots of tea down on tables, and take away used plates, and all the while, I listen to Nixon walk into a house that is on fire.

  He’s crazy, but I suspect that makes me crazier, because I’m in love with a man who willingly walks toward blazes. Despite the danger, I continue to love, and I continue to allow my life to head in this direction.

  But we’re taking it one day at a time.

  Today, Arlo and Max have gone for a walk to the park to kick the palla around, and Mr. Lockwood is pouting because I scolded him this morning when he wouldn’t stop hounding me about inconsequential nonsense.

  I’m unsure if he’s noticed I’ve started advertising the position again—since he’s clearly not working out—but if he has, that may explain his worsening behavior.

  Though I’m the owner of this hotel, the one who is apparently supposed to only look pretty and sit at a desk, I continue to add steps to my watch as I assist the waitstaff, since the Oriane is still working through staffing kinks.

  For the most part, I’ve found a well-rounded team to fill most positions: the cleaning service is good, despite Mr. Lockwood’s incompetence, the waitstaff are friendly and bubbly, the people who work the front desk are always a ray of sunshine for anyone who walks through our doors, and every other position filled means my hotel runs smoothly. But on the days we’re short, I’m happy to step in and play the part of server.

  Except today. Today, people want my attention, but I want to devote all of it to the voices in my ears.

  “Approaching the door now, and wishing I was in Italy.”

  “Swear to god,” I grumble under my breath. “If you hurt yourself, I’m going to neuter you.”

  Guests sitting at the table I’m clearing look up at me curiously, but they let me go without asking any questions.

  “Nixon Rosa, I will be so mad if you come home harmed.”

  He can’t hear me, obviously. But it makes me feel better to speak as though he can.

  “Door’s hot,” Nixon says. “Might need to bring those hoses around this way, Cootes. My spidey-senses tell me we’re about to get a nasty surprise.”

  “So don’t open the door, you idiot!” I stop in the middle of a walkway with a tray of used teacups and saucers in my arms, forcing other staff to move around me. “Don’t open the door, Rosa!”

  “Opening now,” Nixon breathes out. “Gotta check everywhere for this stoner kid. I’m gonna be pissed as hell if we find out he’s passed out somewhere in the forest, sleeping off his munchies.”

  “Aw, shit!” exclaims Axe, the guy working with Nixon. “It’s lit up, Cootes!”

  “Over there!” Nixon says. “I see something.”

  “I’ve got your six,” Axe replies. “You copy this, Cootes?”

  “Copy.”

  I say it. Cootes says it. A few other people on the radio say it too.

  “We found him,” Nixon shouts into his radio. “The ceiling has come away in here, but the roof is still on. It’s putting a lid on the fire, but it’s gonna give soon, and once she’s got her oxygen, it’s going up. Axe!”

  “Yeah, Lew. I’m following you.”

  “We’re gonna need paramedics waiting outside. Kid must’ve caught some of the falling ceiling. Lacerations on his face and chest. He’s unconscious but breathing.”

  “Copy that,” Cootes responds. “Bring him out. We have medics on standby, and we’re bringing the hoses around.”

  “Coming out.”

  Nixon grunts from somewhere deep inside his chest, but I see it in my mind; he’s picking his victim up. Slinging him over his shoulder. And when they get a clear run, he’s using the skills that earned him that third-grade ribbon, and hightailing it out of there.

  “On the right, Lew.”

  “I see it,” Nixon breathes, heavier than a moment ago, but still quite slow and calm for a guy walking through fire… with another guy on his shoulders. “Watch your step, Axe. Lead us out.”

  “Coming down the stairs now,” Axe murmurs over the radio. “Take it slow, Lew.”

  “Let’s go, Nixon!” Mitchell Rosa’s voice enters the discussion. “You know my ass ain’t allowed in there, so if I don’t see my baby brother and my patient out here in the next twenty, I’m gonna drive my rig right through that bitch and get you.”

  “Twenty?” Nixon pants. “That’s loads of time.”

  “Twenty seconds, fucker! Move your damn ass, or I’m telling the girls you’re playing with fire. Idalia will whip you.”

  “Idalia will be fine,” Nixon’s breath comes faster as he moves. He acts casual, but he doesn’t take any of this lightly. “She knows I’m being careful.”

  “Lew, I’m gonna—”

  “No, wait—Axe!”

  My heart stops when another grown man’s scream pierces my ears.

  The room around me, the people, the function, the tray of teacups in my arms, they all cease to exist when the man they call Axe cries out, and a second later, the deep thud of something falling hits my ears, just as the crash of my tray hits the floor.

  People stop to look at me, but I don’t see them, I see Nixon in my mind.

  “Mayday!” he shouts frantically. “Mayday, firefighter down. The stairs gave way, and Axe fell about fourteen feet. Axe! Axe, come in? Command, I have nowhere to go. Stairs are down.”

  “Copy that,” Cootes murmurs in a monotone.

  She sounds bored, uncaring, but she orders more crew straight in. She orders trucks to push forward, and for medics to wait by the doors. She acts bored, but what she’s really doing is taking charge and getting things done before emotion makes it impossible.

  “Ms. Mazzi?”

  Hands touch me. Voices surround me.

  “Ms. Mazzi?”

  My waitstaff work to herd me somewhere private.

  “Are you okay, Ms. Mazzi?”

  “We’re bringing the ladder in!” another male’s voice says over the radio. “Hang tight, Rosa. We’re bringing it to you now.”

  “Copy that, Command. I’ll be waiting.”

  19

  Nixon

  Promises Made. Promises Kept

  The beauty of having a medic for a brother means he’s mobile. As in, I was leaving that fireground whether anyone approved it or not, and since the medic is my brother, everyone knows he’ll keep a close eye on me.

  I drive across town, faster than the law allows, but not so fast that Turner’s gonna ticket me… probably.

  “Stop touching me, Mitch!”

  “So keep still for a fuckin’ second.”

  He knows how best to take care of a patient, how to be gentle, how to
charm an injured person who’s too nervous to sit still. But I’m none of those, and he doesn’t give a fuck about being gentle for me. So as I rip my truck around the last corner before the Oriane, he squeezes antiseptic onto the gash on my brow, and when I grunt out at the ache, he slaps a sterilized strip on top and binds me back together.

  “You’re fucking lucky they got that ladder to you, Nixon. I was about to tear the walls off to get you out.”

  “That would have been a terrible move.” I skid into the parking lot and jerk up the handbrake. “That would have fed her all the oxygen she needed, and we’d have all died. But thanks for reminding me why we never allowed you on the crew.”

  Grabbing my keys, I push out of the truck and stride along the blacktop. I don’t particularly want Mitch to follow me, but I fully expect it. Everyone knows Arlo is upstairs with Idalia, and since it’s somewhat of a special occasion—as in, Idalia’s gonna be pissed about what happened in that fire today—then Nadia is likely to be inside too.

  And if Nadia and Arlo are there, chances are high that Abby is there too. And where Abby goes, Spencer follows. Where Spencer goes, an army follows.

  Which basically means I’m in big trouble if I can’t convince everyone to stop making this into a huge deal.

  I shove through the Oriane’s front doors and pass the reception staff. “Hey, Sarah.”

  “Hey, Nix. There’s a whole bunch of people up there.”

  “Yep.” I let my eyes roll skyward. “Figured there might be.”

  “Good to see you’re safe,” she calls out as I race toward the stairs. “I’d miss you if you hurt yourself!”

  “Ditto,” I call back. “Stay in school, kid. And tell your folks I said hey.”

  “Okay,” she shouts back, but I’m on the second flight already, out of sight, and zooming up on aching legs.

  “Is Nadia up here?” I ask Mitchell. I don’t have to look to know he’s on my heels. “She with Idalia?”

  “Yep.” His breath comes a little faster than mine. “I texted her just a little bit ago. The girls are with her and Max.”

  I want to be frustrated, but in reality, relief is my most overwhelming sensation.

  “That’s good. Nadia knows what it’s like to be with a first responder, so she’ll help Idalia. And Abby has been through this a million times with both of us. They’ll help calm her.” I push onto the third floor. Then the fourth. “It’s better they’re together, even on a man-hating binge, than Idalia being alone and worrying.”

  “Agreed.”

  Mitch follows me onto Idalia’s floor, but we stop at the sight of Drake Banks at the front door.

  My feet skid on the carpet, my heart jumps at seeing a familiar face at my girl’s door, but there’s no sneer today like there was at the ballgame. No laughter. No bullshit. “Banks?”

  His eyes search mine, probing and worried, only to settle on relief. “Lieutenant. There are a bunch of folks inside who’re gonna be happy to see your face.”

  “Is there a reason we have a cop detail on my front door?”

  “Respect,” he says easily. “My colleagues are in there, but this is also someone else’s woman’s home. So I stayed put here, like a man should.”

  Just like he said. Respect.

  It washes through my veins and releases whatever animosity I’ve been holding since our day at the park. Offering a hand, I wait for him to take it and shake. “Appreciate it.”

  “She ever dumps you or needs a stripper on her bachelorette night, though…”

  “Ha!” I push past him and through Idalia’s first door. “Then we’ll fight again,” I tell him quietly.

  Approaching the second door in silence, with Mitch at my back, I place my hand on the knob and shake my head at how I test the handle for heat.

  It’s a deeply ingrained habit, a muscle memory I can’t let go of.

  When I deem it safe—obviously—I push the door open and come face to face with seven feet of army muscle, also known as Abby’s husband.

  Our eyes meet, and though he knew I was okay—there isn’t a radio in this town he’s not connected to—he still sags with relief. We’re friendly enough and all, being family, but his relief is for Abby, purely and completely.

  “Nix,” he murmurs. “I like seeing your face right now.”

  Nodding, I pass him with a clap on his shoulder, then I emerge into the living room to find Arlo sitting with Max on her thighs. Max has headphones on, and my Walkman on his lap, and between them, they work a Nintendo controller connected to the TV eight feet away.

  Beside them, Idalia curls into the corner of her couch, her knees up, her arms wrapped around those, her face pale and splotchy. She sits in silence, even with Abby sitting on the arm of the chair beside her, even with Nadia standing over them both.

  They speak, they ask her questions, and for as long as they don’t notice my presence, they work to comfort the woman I love. But Idalia chooses silence, just like she did after the last fire that tore her world apart.

  The only difference this time is she’s not alone; Max isn’t alone. And Arlo is skilled enough to distract the boy so he’s not hit quite so brutally with the silence that comes from his mother after these situations.

  “She hasn’t said a word since we got here,” Spencer mutters. “Not a single one.”

  “And Max?” I ask.

  Spencer shakes his head.

  Nodding, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and turn to face my family. Not my sister, and not my sister-in-law. But my family.

  “Idalia?”

  I try to slow my movements. My steps. My breathing. But it’s all for naught when, at my voice, Idalia springs tall on the couch. Max jumps when his mother does, he twists when he sees the panic in her eyes, then his gaze comes to me so I’m met with two brown sets. Two worrying pairs.

  I push away from Mitch, away from Spence, and clear the room in half a dozen quick strides. I grab Max from Arlo’s lap as I pass, plop him down beside his mother, then I drop to my knees on the rug and pull the crying duo in for a hug.

  “It’s okay.” I press a kiss to Idalia’s hair. Her temple. Her cheek, where I find salty tears. “Everything is fine.”

  “I knew you were okay,” she cries. “I listened until the end, so I knew you were okay.”

  “Just gave you a scare is all.” I push dark hair back, off her face. “I’m okay.” I take her hand and place it against my heart. “Not a scratch.”

  Her eyes shoot to my brow and stare.

  “Okay, well, a scratch. But they happen.” I look to Max, to his knees, hidden by denim, and then his elbows, and find a little road rash. “See? Scratches happen.”

  “I want you to quit being a firefighter,” Idalia pleads. “I’m begging you to stop it.”

  “I can’t.” I pull her closer, and when it’s still not close enough, I sit back on my haunches and bring her to my lap. “I can’t quit.” I press a kiss to her temple. To her brow. “This is who I am. I can’t change who I am.”

  “Then be with us,” she hiccups. “In our home, or in yours. Come home to us every single night, not just the nights we watch a new movie.”

  My heart gallops with nerves as I pull back and meet her eyes. “What?”

  “I don’t want you leaving after a movie, or sneaking in for a kiss. I don’t want you having to come and go. I don’t want you to be my boyfriend on the side,” she cries. “I don’t like that.”

  “So… a live-in boyfriend? Really?”

  She nods and wipes her tears on my shirt. “I don’t even like you,” she blubbers. “But listening to you today made it clear that I can’t live without you. So you need to move in here, or we need to move in there. Or we can use both homes. But Max will need a bedroom at your house. It has to be his home too, not a place he’s dragged to on weekends.”

  “Um, well…”

  “All-in or all-out,” she commands. “Except there’s no out for you, because I already decided.”

  “Y
ou did?” Happiness swells deep inside my soul. My stomach swirls, nervous but elated. “You’ve decided?”

  “Yes. I can barely tolerate you sometimes, but I can’t breathe when you’re not around, so—”

  “So we bring it all together.” I squeeze her close and wrap my arm around Max when he inches closer. He still has headphones on, my Walkman in his hands. But he’s not staying away. He’s not sitting on the outside of this conversation. “All three of us.”

  “We’ll fight a lot.”

  “And you’ll do your ice thing on a semi regular basis,” I tease. “Just wait until the first time I drop my socks outside of the hamper.”

  “But you’re the fire,” she sniffles. “And I’m the ice. You said apple pie and ice cream are your favorite dessert.”

  Laughter bursts from my chest as I hold the Mazzi duo close. “I did say that.”

  “I love you, Nixon.”

  Sighing, I press a kiss to Idalia’s lips, and smile. “I love you too. I’m staying over tonight, by the way.”

  “Every night,” she counters. “Forever. That was the deal.”

  I go to sleep in Idalia’s bed, inside Idalia’s apartment, for the first time on a Friday evening a mere two months after we met for the first time. Just like our first meeting, fire and ice somehow work together, so after we put Max to bed and he drifts off knowing Mom is in her home, smiling and happy, I take her to bed and claim what I knew from the beginning was always going to be mine.

  Sometimes, slow relationships work, with their gentle build-ups and widespread foundations. And sometimes, like in our case, passion and fire go far, and the roots of a long future together spread wide and deep, so long as both parties are brave enough to love freely.

  The night after my first in Idalia’s apartment, the three of us trialed a sleepover at my house.