by J. R. Ward
“Maybe. And don’t pretend you haven’t considered it every now and again.”
“I won’t deny it.” Especially after John Thomas had been killed. “I mean, who hasn’t.”
Chavez exhaled. “This is why I can talk to you. Everyone else would preach at me and then call the psych ward.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I am preparing a very stirring rendition of the you’ve-got-so-much-to-live-for speech.”
“Spare me.”
Danny linked his hands and stared down at them. “How many times have you tried before now. And don’t lie.”
“Never.” Chavez put a heavy hand to his heart. “I swear.”
“So what did it? Seeing Anne?”
That dark head moved side to side on the pillow. “No. I was glad she’s doing good, you know? I mean, I didn’t want her to get hurt, but you saved her—”
“So why’d you try to off yourself?”
“You don’t want to talk about your woman, huh.”
“She’s not mine.”
As they fell silent, the soft beeping of the machines filled the void.
“I got the HIV, Danny.”
Danny tried to catch his reaction before his expression changed. But the shock must have showed because the other man looked away.
“You can’t tell anyone. No one else knows.”
Danny cleared his throat. “It’s not a death sentence anymore. You have to know that—”
“I went to my annual physical for the department and they took a blood sample. I forgot all about it.” Chavez’s stare drifted to the far corner of the treatment bay. “But they called three days ago.”
“This doesn’t mean you can’t do your job.”
“It’s not just about work. It’s about . . . someone. I can’t tell her that I can’t be with her now. It’s losing her that I can’t deal with. I figured a good dose of H would do the trick, and I was right, or I would have been if I’d just told LaSalle to come a little later. Fucker is always on time.”
“Jesus, Chavez.”
“I worried that someone else would find me. You know . . . someone who might be upset.”
Danny thought back to Timeout’s best waitress. “How’d you get it, Emilio? Do you even know—hell, am I allowed to ask that?”
The guy put both hands up to his face. “I shared steroid needles at my neighborhood gym about six months ago. I shouldn’t have. It was fucking stupid. I mean, I’m a goddamn EMT. But it’s all guys I’ve known since high school, and it was only one cycle. Besides, compared to doing IV drugs, the risk was so low. Until it wasn’t.”
Everyone on the fire service needed to be in shape, and yeah, sure, some of the guys juiced to get bigger. It was what it was; Danny had never judged. And now, in a quick rush of paranoia, he thought about what he had done in the gym. No ’roids or hormone shots, for sure. And thank God he’d been religious about condoms, especially during the last ten months when he’d been making some questionable choices.
Except he’d be a fool not to recognize that here but for the grace of God went he.
Chavez shut his eyes so tight, his lips curled off his teeth as if he were in pain. “I don’t want this, Danny. I can’t handle this.”
“Yeah, you can.” Except even as he said the words, he was worried he was lying. “You can. You just need to . . . figure out a plan.”
“I’ll be fine,” Chavez said bleakly.
“How about I go get Josefina—”
“No fucking way, Danny.” Chavez looked over. “She can’t . . . no, she can’t ever know. I mean, we’re not even together yet.”
“She’s going to find out what happened—I mean, about all this ER shit. She’s going to hear you were admitted from someone else. You don’t have to talk about the HIV now, but you could at least . . . I don’t know, tell her that you made a mistake. With the overdose.”
It was the only thing Danny could think of to suggest. Because shit, sometimes, the woman you loved was the sole reason you stayed on the planet.
He knew that firsthand.
“If you love her,” Danny said, “and I know you do—’cuz I’ve seen the way you look at her—you don’t want her hearing you tried to kill yourself from someone else. People are aware you guys are getting close. Even if Remy is leading with the reaction-to-prescription-drug line, you never know what else could be said.”
HIPAA was great for patient privacy in hospitals. But New Brunswick was a very small town when it came to gossip.
“I’ll bring her over.” Danny put up a hand. “Again, you don’t have to go into the HIV thing right now, but at least you could see her and remember why you’re going to want to see her again.”
“There’s no future for us.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t know if that’s true.”
“Why would anyone want to be with someone who’s infected.”
“Do you honestly think that every person who’s positive is living alone in a dark corner like a fucking leper in the Middle Ages? Really? Seriously?”
As they got quiet again, the monitor keeping track of Chavez’s heart rate measured a steady beat with a steady beeping, and Danny supposed he should be reassured by how even everything was. But he worried that was just temporary. Undoubtedly, Chavez would reassure whoever needed the platitudes that it had been a garden-variety OD, and he would agree to go to a drug-awareness program. Except that would just be to get out of here.
They sat there for what felt like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes.
“I guess I should go.” Danny got up. “Your mom’s on the way.”
“She needs to stop worrying about me.”
“Then quit giving her reasons to.”
Chavez cursed. “Look, if Josefina were to come here, I don’t know what I’d say. I mean, it’s way early for us. Or was. She has no reason to get involved with me.”
“Don’t make your mind up about that. Lemme bring her over. Come on, Chavez. She’s a good woman, that’s the reason you love her. You don’t have to talk it all out right now, but at least let her know you’re okay firsthand before she hears something from a customer at Timeout.”
There was another long pause. “Okay.”
“You’re gonna be all right.”
When Chavez looked away, Danny wondered whether he was doing the right thing. But if you had to have something to live for, it might as well be love, right?
“I’ll be back in about twenty minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
Chavez rolled his eyes. “Like they’re letting me out of here anytime soon.”
Outside, anxious faces stared at Danny like they were trying to read the future in his expression. But he couldn’t give them what they were after. Hell, even if he could, he doubted any of them would like the prognostication.
“I gotta have a smoke. I’ll be back.”
Leaving the crew behind, he went past the nursing station and exited into the ambulance bay. There were a couple of guys he knew standing out of the rain with their rigs, so he went away from them while still staying under the overhang. As he took out his cigarettes and lit one, he was violating the hospital “No Smoke Zone” rule and told himself not to feel bad about it.
Didn’t work.
After three deep inhales, he stabbed the thing out just as a set of headlights flashed when an SUV pulled into the restricted area. He didn’t pay any attention to the who and what of it, but then a man with salt-and-pepper gray hair was walking over to him.
Anne Ashburn’s brother was the last person he wanted to see. That was the way shit was rolling down his hill lately, though.
“Chief,” he muttered. “Here to see Chavez?”
“Captain Baker called me. How’s he doing?”
Danny crossed his arms over his chest. It was unwritten policy that members of the crew didn’t comment on questions like that. At least not truthfully. The response that was expected, and the one he knew he should give was: He’s fine. He’ll
come through. He can’t wait to get back on a ladder.
The words refused to come out of his mouth. He just kept seeing Chavez in that bed.
There was no looking at the chief as he spoke. “He’s suicidal. He’s going to lie to get out of here, and in a matter of weeks, I’m fucking terrified that we’re going to be in dress blues next to his weeping mother.”
Tom’s recoil told him more than he needed to know about what he’d just done. But it was what it was. He was willing to keep Chavez’s secret about the HIV, but that was as far as it went for him.
“I’m not saying this because I’m under psych review myself.” He turned back to the chief. “I’m tired. I’m fucking tired of getting eaten alive by shit I can’t get out of my head. And if Chavez kills himself because I didn’t say something? I don’t have room for that. I can’t carry that. My arms are full.”
Hell of a mic drop: He’d triggered a mandatory suspension and review of a man who was a terrific firefighter and an even better human being. It was the worst betrayal.
Danny had just put the poor bastard on the very path he himself was walking.
But he was done adding wrongs to his conscience.
* * *
Anne headed for UMass New Brunswick’s ER the second Moose texted her, grabbing her keys and going out into the rain so fast, she forgot to put Soot in his crate. Halfway across town, she realized her mistake, so if she came home to ruined sofa cushions and shredded running shoes, it was on her.
The University’s hospital campus was like a small city, the cluster of buildings ringed by a grass verge that had glowing signs with directions to all the different departments, clinics, and services. The emergency room was around to the side, and as a trained EMT who had served on the 499’s rescue squad, she was very familiar with the place.
It was also where she had been brought for treatment for her arm.
She had very spotty memories of that trip in the ambulance. The assessment of her injury. Her transfer to an inpatient room.
All she’d been focused on was whether Danny had made it out alive.
As she pulled into the parking lot for visitors, her wipers slapped back and forth, offering clear glimpses of the lineups of cars that did not last long. When she parked and got out, she pulled the hood of her windbreaker up and shoved her hands into her pockets.
Just as she started off for the glowing entrance, a tall figure came out from the ambulance area.
She recognized who it was immediately.
Changing trajectory, she headed for Danny, and he seemed to know it was her because he stopped.
“Hey,” he said gruffly as she came up to him.
“Moose got in touch with me.”
“He does that, doesn’t he.”
He hadn’t bothered to shave, his face rough with stubble, and his windbreaker was wrinkled, as if it had been wadded up somewhere. But his jeans were clean and he smelled like soap even in the rain.
He didn’t seem to notice the latter, even as it dripped off his nose and hair.
“What the hell happened?” she asked.
“Moose didn’t say?”
“No, he just texted that Emilio was going to be admitted for observation. Was it a fire?” Danny shook his head and she frowned. “So he was in an accident?”
“No.”
“Oh . . . God.”
“I gotta go.”
“Where?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“I’m doing a favor for Chavez.”
Danny said a quick good-bye and walked away. And Anne told herself to stay put.
She lasted two heartbeats with that before she jumped forward to catch up with him. “I want to help.”
Danny didn’t slow down. Didn’t look at her. He just kept striding through the storm. “What?”
“Emilio.” The wind changed direction and blew her off-balance. “I want to help you with the favor.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle myself.”
She grabbed his arm. “Danny.”
He stopped and stared over her head. “I don’t need your help, okay.”
“Please, this is about Emilio. Not us.”
“Right. Sorry. I forgot we’re supposed to put our head in the sand and pretend there’s nothing going on—and spare me the there-isn’ts. Everything is about us. Your fucking arm, my shit. It’s all about us, Anne. And yeah, sure, you’re more mentally advanced, or whatever you want to call it, than I am. But out of the two of us, I’m the only one who sees clearly.”
She put her hands on her hips. “This is about Chavez—”
Danny threw up his hands and walked off into the storm muttering to himself.
Anne ran after him. “What does Emilio need?”
Lightning flashed overhead, the strobing reminding her of being on a scene, and as the answering thunder rolled through the night sky, rain got into her eyes, making them burn. As they came up to Danny’s truck, she expected him to just get in and drive away. But of course, he refused to follow any pattern of behavior.
He stopped again, put his hands on his hips, and stared down at her. “What’ll you give me.”
Anne blinked and pulled her hood further forward. “Excuse me?”
“I want something.” He didn’t seem to notice it was pouring or that gale force gusts were tackling them from all sides or that they were having to shout over the storm. “And no, not sex, for fuck’s sake. But quid pro quo.”
“Are you even serious?” She pointed back at the ER, and on cue, more lightning flashed. “There’s a man in there fighting for his life.”
Danny shrugged, his face slick and reflective of the hospital’s security lamps. “I have something you want. So gimme something I want and I’ll let you help.”
“You are an asshole.”
“I know.” He tilted his head and adopted an expression like he was doing long division in his head. “Let’s see . . . I need help out at the farm clearing brush. Could be another opportunity for you to prove you’re perfectly fine—plus, if we have to call an ambulance out there, it won’t be the four-nine-nine who responds, so there’s that. Or . . . even better, you could promise me that you’ll come to Moose’s Saturday night—”
“Fine. I’ll go to that dinner with you,” she snapped.
“See.” He started to smile. “So easy. Now get in my truck. We’re heading to Timeout to find Josefina.”
Anne was talking to herself as she went around and got in. As her feet squished in her soaked running shoes and a trickle of water snuck past the open collar of her Patagonia jacket, she was cursing him.
Sending Danny a glare, she didn’t care that she was getting his truck cab all wet. Then again, he didn’t seem worried about that, either.
“I could just be lying,” she said. “About going to Moose’s.”
As he started the engine, he looked over at her. “You aren’t. You never flake on something you promise. So are we bringing red or white wine as a hostess-warming gift?”
chapter
25
So how’s work going?”
As Danny spoke up, Anne was not in the mood. The inside of his truck smelled like his aftershave and the remnants of his Marlboros, and she resented the fact that she enjoyed his scent in her nose.
“You really want to pretend this is social?” she muttered.
“Oh, no. By all means, let’s talk about Chavez trying to commit suicide.”
She looked out her side window and could see little through the sheets of rain. “How about we don’t say anything.”
“Nah. And fine, I’ll start. I went to see a shrink today.”
Anne whipped her head around so fast, she didn’t have time to hide the reaction. “You did? How’d it go?”
And so help her God, if he played another round of tit-for-tat, she was going to punch him somewhere that would show. Although on that theory, that black eye of his hadn’t faded yet, so at least one piece of prime real estate was already taken.
<
br /> “You mind if I light up? I’ll crack a window.”
“You shouldn’t need the crutch.”
“Fine, I’ll wait until we’re parked.”
“Just open a damn window. And I hope you get wet.”
“Er.”
“What?”
“Wet-er. I am already wet.”
As he let in some fresh, cold air, he turned on the heater, and the warmth blowing on her feet felt good. And he waited until they hit a red light before getting his cigarette on, his exhale aimed away from her.
“I tried to get out of the appointment.” He glanced over. “This should not be a surprise.”
“It isn’t.”
“She was smarter than I thought she’d be. I’m not going to get cleared, of course, which also proves she’s a real professional.”
Anne was aware of a piercing disappointment. But come on, like she’d really expected him to sit on a couch for fifty minutes and undergo some existential transformation for a hundred and fifty bucks? There were no easy fixes in life. Especially not after the kinds of things he’d been through.
“I expected more of a response from you,” he said.
“I’m glad you went.”
“Can I ask you something?” He looked across the seat again. “And I’m serious about this.”
She rearranged herself into exactly the same position. Then pulled her seat belt away from her chest and brought it back in. “Okay.”
“When you were in the rehab hospital, you had to see a shrink, right?”
“It was part of my treatment, sure.” She frowned. “Didn’t you have to see one?”
“I was supposed to, but—”
“You got out of it.”
“—I got out of it.”
“Of course you did.” Anne shook her head. “And?”
“Did they help you?”
Anne thought back to the three awkward meetings she’d had with a well-meaning, tender-hearted, twenty-four-year-old who’d been fresh out of a master’s program and wholly unequipped to deal with anything outside of theory. Anne had answered the questions posed to her with honesty, but she couldn’t really say she’d gotten anything from the sessions. Maybe it had been the pain meds. Maybe her mood. Maybe it was the therapist’s inexperience.