When Ashes Fall

by Marni Mann

  Even though I knew what was covering my body, I looked down as I passed a large group of men. “Skinny jeans, a lightweight sweater, and knee-high boots.”

  “Did you have a glass of wine before you left?”

  I wondered if I would ever reach a point in my life when she stopped asking that question. “A half of a glass.”

  “Good,” she responded. “I hoped you would celebrate even if I wasn’t there to force you to.”

  This was another moment.

  At least she believed it was one.

  I didn’t want to think too much about it, so I changed topics and said, “What are you and Terry doing tonight?”

  Terry was Rose’s fiancé. They’d started dating shortly after we all moved in together, which was about the same time I’d met Dylan. When things turned serious between Terry and Rose, they got their own place, and two firemen from a different station moved in with me.

  A few months later, I’d left, too.

  Just as I began to unzip that memory while Rose was telling me what their plans were for tonight, I heard a sound.

  It was one I couldn’t ignore.

  One I’d been tuned in to for years.

  It was the sound of someone who needed help.

  My feet stopped, and I scanned the area in front of me and on both sides until I found the source. There were two men just steps inside the mouth of the alley up ahead. One was sitting on the ground, hunched forward. The other was hovering over him, trying to evoke a response.

  It took less than a second to assess the situation.

  My heart began to race, my hands trembling to the point where I almost dropped the phone.

  The man kneeling was shaking the unconscious guy’s shoulders.

  There was still no reaction from him.

  My experience told me he would only get worse without a medical intervention.

  He needed an EMT, and then he needed to be brought to the hospital.

  It was a process I was quite familiar with.

  But, even if I wanted to help him, I didn’t know if I could.

  God, I needed to pull myself together.

  I needed to slow down my breathing and stop my body from quivering.

  To start, I blinked.

  Hard.

  And I saw that I was standing in the center of the sidewalk.

  Frozen.

  There were people moving by me in both directions.

  I still had the phone pressed against my ear, and Rose was blabbing away.

  I shook my head. I stared at the two men, and I forced myself to focus on what I needed to do.

  “… and we’ll order some sushi—”

  “Rose, I have to go,” I said, cutting her off.

  I disconnected the call and filled my lungs with as much air as they could hold. Then, I willed my body to loosen enough that I could rush over to the entrance of the alley. When I got there, I said, “Do you need help?”

  The guy who was kneeling quickly looked up at me. “Are you a doctor?”

  There wasn’t time to tell him about all the training I’d had. Instead, I slid in next to them and lowered myself until I was at their eye-level. “I’m someone who can help. What’s his name?”

  “Joe Marino.”

  I pressed my fingers against the side of Joe’s wrist. “Joe?” I used a sharp, stern voice. “Joe, can you open your eyes and look at me?” His pulse was extremely slow. “What has he taken?”

  “Just a lot of booze.”

  I pushed Joe’s upper body until he was no longer slumped forward, and his back was resting against the building. Now that his head was lifted, I evaluated him again. His lips were beginning to turn blue. His cheeks were flushed, telling me his temperature was rising. I lifted his eyelids to see how his pupils would react to the flashlight on my phone. They were dilated.

  “Are you sure that’s all he’s taken?” I asked.

  Joe’s jaw slacked, and I heard crackling coming from the back of his throat.

  “His wife served him with divorce papers this morning. I guess it’s possible he could have popped something before I met him at the bar. But, shit, I don’t know.”

  I turned off the flashlight and brought up the keypad on my phone. “Who are you?”

  “Smith Reid, his best friend.”

  “When was the last time you saw him conscious?”

  I kept my eyes on Joe while Smith said, “Just a minute ago. We were in the bar, and I could tell it was time for him to go home. We made it through the door, and he fell on me. I carried him over here to check him out and see what the hell was going on. You showed up a few seconds later.”

  Without responding to Smith, I hit nine, one, one on my phone. Once the call was answered, I said, “I’m dispatcher eight, four, nine, nine, three, seven for Boston. I’m in an alleyway between Beacon and Fairfield Street with an unresponsive male, approximately thirty years of age, experiencing a slowed heart rate, dilated pupils, cyanosis, and a restricted airway. From my observation, he’s showing visible signs of an overdose. Please send an EMT.”

  “I have an ambulance in route,” the dispatcher replied. “ETA is three minutes. What’s the male’s name?”

  “Joe Marino,” I said into the phone. “He’s here with his best friend, Smith Reid. There’s full access to the alley, nothing blocking the entrance. Tell the paramedics to bring a stretcher.”

  “I’ll let them know right now,” she said. “Will you be staying with Smith and Joe until the paramedics arrive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, you’re free to end the call.”

  As soon as I slipped the phone into my bag, my eyes connected with Smith’s. “Can you hold up his chin? If there’s any liquid in his airway, we have to make sure he doesn’t choke on it.”

  Smith moved closer to Joe’s side and positioned a hand at the base of his neck with another at the back of his head. “How long until they arrive?”

  “Around two minutes.”

  “Is he going to be all right?”

  In training, I’d been taught to never answer questions like that. So, I kept my attention on Joe and said, “I really don’t know.”

  With my hand now on his forehead, it felt warmer, and his skin was turning even clammier.

  There was nothing I could do to treat him. I didn’t have any medical equipment in my purse, no Narcan or fluids.

  “Do you really think he’s overdosing?”

  There was so much concern in his voice. As I quickly glanced at him, there was just as much in his face.

  “With no way to test him, I can’t confirm what’s happening inside his body. The only things I can confirm are his symptoms.”

  “And they’re showing you that he’s …” His voice trailed off, and he lifted his hand from Joe’s neck and ran it through his hair. “Jesus fucking Christ, Joe. Open your eyes and look at me, buddy.” When Joe didn’t respond, Smith put his hand on his friend’s chest and shook it. “Open your goddamn eyes. I know you can hear me right now.”

  I didn’t stop him because I didn’t think movement would hurt Joe’s condition.

  “What the fuck did you take?” He got closer to Joe’s face. “You didn’t have to do this. We would have figured it out. I would have helped you; you know that.”

  Just as Joe’s pulse slowed a little more, I heard the sound of the siren. By how loud it was, it couldn’t have been more than a few blocks away.

  “They’re almost here,” I said to Smith.

  My fingers stayed on Joe’s wrist, constantly monitoring his heart rate in case it lowered to where I needed to give him CPR. My eyes were glued to him, taking in the coloring of his skin, the movement in his face, every rise of his chest. And my ears were focused on the sounds that came from his mouth.

  When the paramedics got out of the ambulance and approached us, I gave them Joe’s pulse, and then I said to Smith, “Follow me.”

  “You’re asking me to leave him?”

  I looked over my s
houlder. “I’m just asking you to step aside, so they have room to work on him. Once they get him in the ambulance, they’ll let you on, and you can ride with them to the hospital.”

  Without another word, he got up and followed me to the sidewalk, moving several paces down the building.

  The medics placed the stretcher outside the alley and took our places in front of Joe.

  I turned around to face Smith. “Are you all right?”

  His eyes didn’t leave Joe, but from where we stood, we couldn’t see much. “That’s my best friend over there. I don’t know if he’s going to make it. Fuck no, I’m not okay.”

  There was nothing I could say to assure him that Joe would make a full recovery. It just depended on what his vitals showed, how his body continued to respond, how the EMTs medically treated him on the way to the hospital.

  What I knew was, every second Joe went untreated, it decreased his percentage of survival.

  The medics working on him knew that, too.

  “Let’s wait over here,” I said to Smith and led him to the side of the ambulance.

  A crowd had started to form by the alley. I didn’t want Smith to get forgotten once they had Joe on the stretcher.

  “They need to fucking hurry up,” Smith said. His arms were crossed over his chest, his breathing so much more rapid than his best friend’s.

  “They’re good at what they do,” I assured him.

  Boston only hired the best, so he didn’t have to worry about that.

  He took a few steps forward and the same amount back. His hand shifted from his bicep to his hair to cupping the open door of the ambulance.

  Since I still wasn’t able to see much of Joe, I took the opportunity to evaluate Smith, something I still hadn’t done yet.

  The muscles in his jaw were tensing.

  He was smashing his lips together, rubbing them against each other.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  But it was his expression I understood the most.

  The pain, the helplessness.

  It filled his eyes.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  He stopped pacing and glanced at me, but our eyes only connected for a second because, suddenly, there was movement in the alley. The medics were putting Joe on the stretcher, buckling him in and rolling him toward us.

  “This is Smith Reid,” I said to the paramedics, pointing at him. “He is Joe’s best friend. He’ll be riding with you to the hospital.”

  “No problem,” one of the medics said as they got ready to lift the stretcher inside.

  When Smith’s eyes landed on me again, I said, “Good luck.”

  I didn’t wait for him to respond.

  I just immediately walked away and didn’t stop until I saw the familiar row of dark red brick and the five front steps that led up to my townhouse.

  I unlocked the door.

  Keys were placed in a bowl on the table in the entryway, and I set my bag on a barstool in the kitchen.

  I grabbed the bottle of red and carried it along with my phone into the bedroom. As I dumped my jewelry in a drawer on the right side of the closet, I saw Dylan’s handwritten note on the bottom shelf next to a pair of heels.

  He always left them in the craziest spots.

  I read his words.

  I love you, too, I thought as I stripped off my clothes and dropped them in the hamper, my boots staying wherever they fell.

  Keeping my makeup on, not even brushing my teeth, I carried the wine and my cell over to the bed, and I climbed in. Once I got comfortable and had several swigs of the red down my throat, I looked at the texts that were filling my screen.

  Rose: Why did you hang up so quickly? Is everything okay?

  Rose: Why aren’t you texting me back?

  Rose: Peter said you haven’t shown up to the restaurant. I’m freaking out right now, Alix. Where are you?

  Rose: CALL ME.

  I would call her once I caught my breath.

  Once I replayed everything that had just happened and I got it settled in my mind.

  Because what had just gone down was a moment.

  One that needed to be celebrated.

  I would get there.

  It was just going to take me more than two seconds.

  Seven

  Dylan

  Three Years and One Month Ago

  Alix walked up the stairs to exit the Downtown Crossing station and stepped onto Summer Street. She looked to her right and then slowly turned toward her left.

  That was where I was standing.

  Fifteen feet away.

  Our eyes locked.

  Her smile pounded my chest like a goddamn mallet.

  In that moment, everything made sense.

  Answers filled my head.

  All of them had to do with her.

  Alix Rayne.

  The woman who was about to change my whole fucking life.

  Eight

  Alix

  Present Day

  Within thirteen minutes of entering my townhouse, I was in bed. Naked. The blanket pulled up to my neck, a bottle of wine in my hand that I rested on top of the mattress.

  HGTV was playing on the television.

  Muted.

  Both bedside table lamps were on.

  In the last several seconds, I’d played and processed my encounter with Smith and Joe.

  I’d celebrated the moment internally.

  It was another milestone after all.

  And it had been a big one.

  Now, it was time to call Rose, whose panicked texts I still hadn’t replied to.

  I opened my call log, found her name, and pressed it.

  “Alix, are you okay?”

  I shouldn’t have waited so long to call.

  I should have phoned her when I’d gotten inside my townhouse.

  But I couldn’t have.

  My return couldn’t have gone in that order.

  I’d had to unlock the door first, then drop the keys and my bag, grab the wine, get undressed, and climb into bed.

  “Yes,” I promised. “I’m fine.”

  She sighed, and I could tell how relieved she was. “What the hell happened that caused you to hang up, not return my texts, and not show up to dinner?”

  Dinner.

  Shit, I’d forgotten all about it.

  “Please apologize to Peter for me.”

  I had his number.

  I never planned on using it again.

  “Alix, seriously, start talking.”

  My stare dropped to the bed, to the empty spot that was just to the right of me.

  The spot Dylan should be lying on.

  He should have his shirt off, wearing a sexy pair of boxer briefs. The blanket low on his waist, his hands crossed over his abs.

  He had no idea how badly I needed him to come home tonight.

  Or maybe he did.

  “On the way to the restaurant, I came across two men in an alley,” I confessed. “One of them needed help. I’m almost positive he was overdosing.”

  “Oh God, Alix.”

  “I stopped and helped them, and then I left.”

  “You’re home now?”

  “Yes.” I tightened my grip on the bottle, lifting it to my lips, chugging down several mouthfuls. “Ask me if I’m celebrating.”

  “Are you?”

  “I skipped the glass and went straight for the bottle.”

  “I’m proud of you, babe.” She was silent for several seconds. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” And, because I knew her so well, I added, “I’m okay, I promise.”

  “How about I come over and sleep at your place tonight?”

  This wasn’t the first time she’d offered to do that.

  “No, I’m really all right. I’m just going to go to bed.”

  “Understandable.” The concern in her voice was gone. “I’m going to call you in the morning.”

  “I figured,” I sai
d. “Good night.”

  I hung up and placed the phone on the nightstand, setting the wine next to it. I then hit the screen of the tablet to turn off the lights and lifted the blanket up to my nose, rolling until I faced Dylan’s side of the bed.

  I was just about to shift positions again when I heard him.

  Excitement immediately filled me.

  As I waited for him to come into the bedroom, my lids squeezed closed, my body tensing up with anticipation.

  He was giving me what I needed.

  I wondered if he knew that.

  The noises got louder.

  And then, slowly, I felt movement and a wave of warmth as he got into bed behind me.

  “You’re here.” I took a breath.

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  Guilt began to pound through my chest.

  I’d left the house to go on a date.

  With Peter.

  Because Rose wanted me to get laid.

  But she didn’t know about Dylan’s visits.

  I couldn’t tell her about them either.

  “Tonight was so hard,” I whispered, not knowing why those words had left my mouth. “I was on my way out and …” I paused as I felt his lips touch the top of my shoulder. “There was a man who needed my help.”

  I knew why he wasn’t saying much.

  I just wished he wasn’t being so quiet.

  “I didn’t work on him,” I continued. “But I assessed him and I called for help and …”

  The rest didn’t matter.

  I’d covered the points that had been cause for celebration.

  I smashed my lids together even harder as I waited for him to tell me he was proud, that I’d done a good job—things that would mean more to me than anything.

  But all I got was a hug.

  A long one.

  One that I felt around my whole body.

  He always knew what I really needed.

  And an embrace was certainly it.

  “Please stay,” I said softly.

  There were several moments of silence before I felt movement, and he was pushing himself off the bed.