“I’m with her.” She could barely hear him over the roar of blood in her ears. “I’m not going anywhere. I need you to get back. Get them all off the pier. Make sure they’re safe.”
If it had been anyone else but Tox, she never would have done it. Grace knew she probably would have broken the back window and crawled inside the vehicle, no matter its instability, and stayed with Samantha. If the car had crashed down from the pier, at least she would have been inside it with the person she loved the most in the world. Holding her hand as they both died.
But Tox was right. None of them were safe, and what in the world would it do to Samantha if she woke up in the hospital just to find out her sister had been stupid, dying in an accident with strangers, an accident that could have been prevented.
The pier gave another baleful creak.
“Everyone, back!” Grace yelled in her loudest voice, the one she hadn’t use since she’d captained the crew team in college. It had the same effect as it had then. People’s eyes snapped to her and they did what she said. “The pier might go, we need you off.”
The man in yellow who had wanted to help raced to the far end of the pier to herd those tourists past the wreck to safety.
Grace had to physically take a video camera out of a father-of-four’s hands. “Go!”
The first engine made the turn onto First Street, followed by a fire truck and a red SUV. The sirens wailed, matching the sound Grace heard in her blood.
From the safety of the concrete sidewalk, Grace kept her eyes on the car. The front wheels had stopped their mid-air spin, and even though she heard the pier groan, Grace felt that if she concentrated hard enough, she could keep it standing with the will of her mind. How many times had she saved Samantha that way in the past? On long nights after Sam had failed to come home? That one time she hadn’t called in a month because she’d been taken to Mexico on a lark by some rich guy’s drug-dealing son? She’d been okay then. It had to work one more time.
Tox had the flat of his hand on the car’s roof, somehow able to wait patiently for his backup. He looked relaxed, as if he was just chatting to the guy in the car about the beautiful sunset that was dropping behind him. Then he met Grace’s eyes. He smiled slightly and nodded.
Grace’s knees went wobbly, and she sat on the ground hard, cross-legged. She closed her eyes for a second, imagining the air solidifying, holding up Samantha. Holding up Tox.
The engine parked, a truck rolling in behind it. The crews raced onto the pier, carrying tools. She couldn’t hear what they said to Tox, but they moved into action quickly, shoring the car up, lashing it with rope and metal so it couldn’t fall.
Her heart was in her throat as she watched them pull her sister out. She was still unconscious. They loaded her on a stretcher and ran her toward the ambulance. As they passed Grace, she grabbed her sister’s hand and refused to let go, even when they were inserting her IV. Even when the car—now mercifully unoccupied—broke free of its ropes and took a slow, dramatic header into the water below, taking a large section of the pier with it, she didn’t let go of Samantha.
One of Tox’s coworkers said, “Sorry, you can’t ride with us. Liability.” Grace just looked at him and then stepped around him, pulling herself up to sit on the bench seat next to Samantha. Tox got in behind her.
As the ambulance rolled with lights and sirens, Grace prayed—again, harder this time—that her sister would be okay.
She knew that when she had time to think about it, she’d be grateful for Tox being next to her. She’d be so grateful for his warmth next to her, his strength, the solid bulk of him. As the ambulance raced around a corner, she was pressed into his side.
Tox’s arm went around her, tightly.
“The dog!” Grace gasped. “Methyl! In the back of your truck, in her crate!”
“Sims Madigan is taking her to my house. He knows where I keep the key. Don’t worry about her.” Tox pressed a kiss against her temple. “Just keep holding Samantha’s hand, just like you’re doing. You’re doing great, honey. Don’t let go of either of us, okay?”
She wouldn’t. No.
Grace held on.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the hospital, an hour later, Samantha woke up. As soon her sister’s eyes opened, Grace burst into tears, and so did Samantha. Sam dashed her hands at her face. “I don’t know why I’m crying. Where am I?”
Grace tried to answer, to choke back her tears, and was astonished to find that she couldn’t say anything. Her voice got stuck in her throat and she coughed.
Samantha pulled at the bedclothes and looked, wild-eyed, to Tox. “Does she need the inhaler? Can you give it to her again?”
Grace shook her head.
Tox stepped forward, putting his hand on the rail of Samantha’s hospital bed. “She’s fine. I think Grace is upset about you, that’s all. You were in a car accident.”
“The car—” gasped Grace “—it fell. Into the ocean. The car you were in fell into the ocean.”
Samantha’s eyes widened. “How’s Justin?”
“Who cares about Justin?” Grace felt anger settle into her bones. Her sister was doing it again. Falling for some loser who would end up hurting her, or worse. “You almost died. You came so close to death. How can I—” she broke off and turned her face away, looking at the ugly green privacy curtain. Her sister was injured. They could hash this out later. It wasn’t important now.
In a calm voice, Tox said, “Justin’s going to be okay. He’s in surgery right now for internal bleeding but the doctor told me before they went in that it looked like a clean fix.”
Samantha glanced down at her body in the bed. “I hurt. But I don’t know where…”
“You got pretty smashed up.” Tox gestured at her face. “You’re going to be black and blue for a couple of weeks.”
Grace said, “You were out for a while. But the doctor couldn’t find evidence of bleeding or broken bones. You’re staying overnight to make sure they’re right and to make sure you don’t have a concussion. The nurse keeps trying to kick us out for the night, but I wasn’t going anywhere till you woke up.” Tox had refused to leave, too.
“I don’t get it—why were you there?”
Grace took a deep breath and tried to keep it level. Neutral. She didn’t want her terror—or her anger—to come through. “We were having burgers at the pier.”
Sam’s eyes brightened slightly. “Oh! Your date!”
Oh, sometimes she looked so like Mom that it hurt Grace’s heart. Especially when she was bruising like this, Grace realized. At the end of their mother’s life, her face had almost always looked just the same, puffy and mottled.
Sam glanced at Tox, her grin wide. “Tell me everything later. I can’t wait to hear how it went.”
Grace felt the blush spread across her face.
Tox fiddled with the bed rail. “Let’s just put it this way. It was the most exciting date I’ve ever been on. And technically, I think we’re still on it.”
“Oh!” said Samantha in delight.
“Sam! He means it was exciting because we almost watched you die.”
“Oh.” Sam’s eyes were downcast again. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“No one critically. Some bumps and bruises.” Who is the driver? The words sat on the tip of Grace’s tongue, but she bit them back.
There was a soft knock at the door. An extremely tall firefighter with a head of bushy brown hair entered. “Hey. We were picking up a backboard the medics left, and I wanted to check on the patient.”
Samantha said softly, “Hank, hi.”
And as Grace watched, fascinated, her sister turned into someone else. Her color—under the bruising—went soft pink. This wasn’t the same Hank Samantha had dated a long time ago, when she was taking classes at the local junior college, was it? That guy had been geeky. Skinnier than a needle in her clinic. This man, though, had the muscle to balance his height. He looked like a professional football player.
&nbs
p; Tox bumped fists with the man. “’Sup, Hank?”
“This is what you get for taking a day off, huh?”
Tox said, “It was fine until I witnessed the collision on the pier.”
“You were there? Accidentally? Man, they don’t call you the shit magnet for nothing, huh?” Hank turned to Samantha. “Pardon my French. You okay?”
“Yeah,” said Samantha in that same soft voice.
Grace leaned forward. “I’m her sister. Grace. I think we met once.”
“Oh, yeah.” But Hank barely looked at her.
Grace stared. She remembered loving that her sister had finally been dating someone normal. He’d been going for his fire science degree. He hadn’t been a drug dealer or a gambler, a nice change of pace. Once, when Samantha was living in Florida, she’d dated a dirty cop, for heaven’s sake. Or at least that’s what she’d told Grace on the phone, which meant the reality might have been even worse. This guy, Hank, had been nice. Grace couldn’t remember what had happened to end things.
“Anyway. You have my cell.”
Sam had Hank’s cell number? Her sister was full of surprises today, and this guy was the only nice surprise so far.
“Call me if you need anything.” Hank tugged on his ear. “Anything at all.”
“As long as he’s not on shift,” Tox said.
“Hey, I’m on shift now,” said Hank. “I’ll make the guys get in the rig with me, even if you just need ice cream.”
There it was again, Grace noticed. That pretty pink coloring. Yeah, there was so much she needed to talk to her sister about.
The nurse came back, and she shooed them like chickens with her hands. “Out, out. This girl needs rest.”
As if on cue, Samantha yawned.
Tox rubbed his neck and frowned. “Okay, then. Feel better.”
Grace kissed Samantha’s cheek and told her she’d see her first thing in the morning. “You’re all right here? Because I’ll stay if you’re not.”
“No, I just want to sleep. I’m halfway there already.” Sam yawned again and waggled her fingers at them as they left. From the doorway, Grace blew her a kiss, just like their mother always had.
Sam smiled sleepily and caught it, pressing it to her cheek.
In the hallway, Grace wobbled.
“Whoops, sit down for a minute.” Tox grabbed at her upper arm.
She shook him off. “I’m fine. I just…” She just what? Just realized how close she had come to losing her last remaining blood relation? The person she loved the most? “I want to go home.”
Hank was already striding down the hallway toward another firefighter, raising his hand in a wave.
Tox nodded, keeping his hand at her elbow. “Good. I think it’s time. Let’s go.”
For a moment, just for a second, Grace had forgotten their date, and the fact that technically, they were still on it. “Your truck. It’s still at the pier.” They’d ridden to the hospital, both of them, in the back of the ambulance.
“Crap. Hang on.”
Ten minutes later, Grace rode on a fire engine. It was completely different from the ride in the ambulance—the engine was utilitarian inside. She sat in an empty jumpseat, and they’d put a headset over her ears so she could hear them talking to each other over the roar of the engine. The four men chatted about something shift-related that she didn’t follow, something about the mandations imminent on B-shift. She tuned them out and looked out the small window next to her, watching the world stare at the fire engine as they passed by. It felt like being a celebrity, the way people waved at them. Also over the headset, she heard a woman’s voice say something about a medical on Turk Street.
She pushed the button they’d shown her to talk. “Don’t you all have to go to the medical before they drop us off?”
Hank, sitting in the jumpseat opposite her, laughed. “That’s for Engine 3. If we’d been dispatched on that, you would be holding on for dear life, what with Luke driving today. And you’d be thanking your stars that Tox was back there with you. He’s the worst driver of all of us.”
“Hey!” Tox thumped Hank on the arm with a closed fist. Hank flipped him off.
Grace said, “Do we get to turn the siren on?”
Hank shook his head. “Wish I could, but it’s not allowed unless we’re running a code three call.”
That wouldn’t be safe, she realized. What if someone pulled out in front of them? What if they scared someone into having a heart attack? What if the engine’s brakes failed?
Tox put his hand to his headphone. “What’s that? Did dispatch just send us to a car fire?”
Grace hadn’t heard anything in her ears.
“Hit it, Luke.”
In the driver’s seat, Luke whooped and the siren matched him. The engine roared as it sped up. If Grace peered carefully around the huge driver’s seat she was hidden behind, she could see cars in front of them, pulling obediently over. She laughed again, and next to her, Tox’s grin looked like it must be hurting his head, he was smiling so hard.
Grace felt something jolt through her—she was sitting next to Tox. In a fire engine. Her sister was alive, alive, alive, and she would be fine. She looked out at the line of the ocean, and the expanse of it, the whitecapped beauty, made her laugh out loud with joy.
Tox grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and Grace’s happiness built again into joy that fizzed right up into her brain.
Then Luke shut it down. The engine slowed. At the pier, they turned into the parking lot at a decorous speed.
“That’s weird,” said Tox. “I could have sworn I heard something about a car fire.”
“Yup,” said Hank.
“Yup,” said Luke.
That hadn’t been safe. Or prudent. Anyone could have accidentally pulled out in front of the speeding engine. There could have been a deadly collision. Anyone could have been hurt.
But there hadn’t been a crash. No one got hurt. It had turned out okay.
Grace took a breath. “Yup.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tox walked Grace to her front door. He should be thinking about how badly the date went. It had almost been—but not quite—the worst case scenario. He should be thinking about making sure Grace felt calm. Secure. Safe.
Why, then, couldn’t he stop thinking about getting another one of those kisses? Jesus, not since he was sixteen had he been so unable to stop thinking about a woman’s mouth. Grace’s was perfect, and right now it was smiling at him…
Tox rubbed his neck. “So.”
“Is that still bothering you?”
“Nah,” he lied.
“Come in. I can massage it for you.” She went beet-red the instant the words left her mouth.
Tox grinned, but didn’t say anything. He followed her in, keeping an eye on the way her rear end looked in those old jeans of hers, compact, round, so incredibly hot.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Her voice cracked, adorably.
“No, thanks.”
“Okay, then, sit there, on the couch.” She pointed to a small red loveseat. “I’ll make some. Hibiscus Rose okay?”
She’d obviously missed that he’d declined. And hibiscus rose sounded like something his grandmother would have put behind her ears. “Just fine.”
She went into the kitchen. He could hear her moving around, opening cupboards, turning on the faucet. Putting his hands behind his head to alleviate some of the pressure on his neck, he leaned back and looked around.
It was just like her in here. If a plane had dropped him anywhere in the world, he would have been able to tell that he was near Grace Rowe. It smelled like her, sweet, with a hint of spice, as if she tucked packets of cinnamon and cloves in the furniture. A faint scent of something sexy and earthy, maybe incense. That wouldn’t have surprised him.
The furniture was comfortable. Nothing fancy. Things like this red sofa, and the two oversized green chairs, things that called out to be sunk into, rested upon. There was no art, as he would have calle
d it, on the walls. Instead, things hung from nails and hooks. A large drum with a fringe of feathers and beads hung on one wall. Next to the brick fireplace was a collection of what looked like painted gourds.
Hippie stuff. The kind of furnishings he would have mocked only days ago. In here, though, it looked good, like he was sitting inside some Western decorating magazine.
There was something hung above a low blue bookcase that looked like a round box made of metal. A tiny dollhouse? He stood and moved to get closer to it. Not a dollhouse, it was an aluminum open case that held a picture of a saint that had been painted with…glitter?
“My tin nicho,” Grace said from behind him. In her hands she held two orange mugs of tea. She’d taken off her canvas beach shoes and her bare feet surprised him, somehow. They looked so vulnerable.
“Pink toenails,” he said rather stupidly.
She laughed. Such a pretty sound that was. It was like the sound of dancing. She touched the round box on the wall. “It’s my own little, um…do you know what a hope chest is?”
“Not really.”
“It’s something a girl had in the old days. She filled it with the things she made to take with her into marriage. Her hopes.”
Tox felt his eyebrows shoot upward. “This is your marriage box?”
“No. Only the hopes for my life.”
“That looks like a saint or something.” He pointed at a picture glued inside. “Is that you?”
She nudged his shoulder with her own, only she was so much shorter than he was, she really just touched his elbow. His arm ached, suddenly, to go around her, but he held himself back.
“Of course not. That’s just a generic saint I cut out of a magazine.”
“Isn’t that blasphemous to someone? Somewhere?”
“Nah,” she said easily. “I just think there’s something good and amazing and strong and wonderful in all of us, and part of our job here is to find out what that is.”
Did she really believe that? That people were inherently good? “Well, you haven’t seen the dregs of humanity, then.”
She touched her lips. He wanted to do that. Badly.
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