Fully Ignited (Boston Fire #3)

by Shannon Stacey

  And that was why she’d keep trying to please people who wouldn’t know a good scallop sear if it bit them on the ass and taking shit from the sous-chef. That job financed her new life here in New Hampshire, including a decent apartment she shared with a roommate, and it was a nice enough life that she wasn’t tempted to go home.

  Her life wasn’t perfect. It had certainly been lacking in sex and friendship lately, but she wasn’t going backward just because the road was longer or harder than she’d thought. She wanted something different and she was going to keep working toward it.

  Thanks to the miracle of an apartment building with an off-street parking lot, Lydia had a dedicated parking spot waiting for her. It was another reason she put up with customers who nitpicked their entrées just because they were paying so much for them.

  Her roommate worked at a sports bar and wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, so Lydia took a quick shower and put on her sweats. She’d just curled up on the sofa with the remote and a couple of the cookies her blessed-with-a-great-metabolism roommate had freshly baked when her cell phone rang.

  She knew before looking at the caller ID it would be her sister. Not many people called her, and none late at night. “Hey, Ashley. What’s up?”

  “My marriage is over.”

  Lydia couldn’t wrap her mind around the words at first. Had something happened to Danny? But she hadn’t said that. She said it was over. “What do you mean it’s over?”

  “I told him I wasn’t sure I wanted to be married to him anymore and that I needed some space. He didn’t even say anything. He just packed up a couple of bags and left.”

  “Oh my God, Ashley.” Lydia sank onto the edge of the sofa, stunned. “Where did this even come from?”

  “I’ve been unhappy for a while. I just didn’t tell anybody.” Her sister sighed, the sound hollow and discouraged over the phone. “Like a moron, I thought I could talk to him about it. Instead, he left.”

  “Why have you been unhappy? Dammit, Ashley, what is going on? Did he cheat? I swear to God if he stepped out—”

  “No. He didn’t cheat. And it’s too much for me to talk about now.”

  “If you had been talking to me all along, it wouldn’t be too much now. You can’t call me and tell me your marriage is over and then tell me you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know, but it’s...it’s too much. I called to talk to you about the bar.”

  Uh-oh. Alarm bells went off in Lydia’s mind, but there was no way she could extricate herself from the conversation without being a shitty sister.

  “I need you to come back and help Dad,” Ashley said, and Lydia dropped her head back against the sofa cushion, stifling a groan. “I need some time off.”

  “I have a job, Ashley. And an apartment.”

  “You’ve told me a bunch of times that you hate your job.”

  She couldn’t deny that since a conversation rarely passed between them without mention of that fact.

  “And it’s waiting tables,” Ashley continued. “It’s not like I’m asking you to take a hiatus from some fancy career path.”

  That was bitchy, even for Ashley, but Lydia decided to give her a pass. She didn’t know what had gone wrong in their marriage, but she did know Ashley loved Danny Walsh with every fiber of her being, so she had to be a wreck.

  “I can’t leave Shelly high and dry,” Lydia said in a calm, reasonable tone. “This is a great apartment and I’m lucky to have it. It has off-street parking and my space has my apartment number on it. It’s literally only mine.”

  “I can’t be at the bar, Lydia. You know how it is there. Everybody’s got a comment or some advice to give, and I have to hear every five minutes what a great guy Danny is and why can’t I just give him another chance?”

  Danny really was a great guy, but she could understand her sister not wanting to be reminded of it constantly while they were in the process of separating. But going back to Boston and working at Kincaid’s was a step in the wrong direction for Lydia.

  “I don’t know, Ash.”

  “Please. You don’t know—” To Lydia’s dismay, her sister’s voice was choked off by a sob. “I can’t do it, Lydia. I really, really need you.”

  Shit. “I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “WE GOT SMOKE showing on three and at least one possible on the floor,” Rick Gullotti said. “Meet you at the top, boys.”

  Aidan Hunt threw a mock salute in the direction of the ladder company’s lieutenant and tossed the ax to Grant Cutter before grabbing the Halligan tool for himself. With a fork at one end and a hook and adze head on the other end, it was essentially a long crowbar on steroids and they never went anywhere without it. After confirmation Scotty Kincaid had the line, and a thumbs-up from Danny Walsh at the truck, he and the other guys from Engine 59 headed for the front door of the three-decker.

  Some bunch of geniuses, generations before, had decided the best way to house a shitload of people in a small amount of space was to build three-story houses—each floor a separate unit—and cram them close together. It was great if you needed a place to live and didn’t mind living in a goldfish bowl. It was less great if it was your job to make sure an out-of-control kitchen fire didn’t burn down the entire block.

  They made their way up the stairs, not finding trouble until they reached the top floor. The door to the apartment stood open, with smoke pouring out. Aidan listened to the crackle of the radio over the sound of his own breathing in the mask. The guys from Ladder 37 had gained access by way of the window and had a woman descending, but her kid was still inside.

  “Shit.” Aidan confirmed Walsh knew they were going into the apartment and was standing by to charge the line if they needed water, and then looked for nods from Kincaid and Cutter.

  He went in, making his way through the smoke. It was bad enough so the child would be coughing—hopefully—but there was chaos in the front of the apartment as another company that had shown up tried to knock down the flames from the front.

  Making his way to the kid’s bedroom, he signaled for Cutter to look under the bed while he went to the closet. If the kid was scared and hiding from them, odds were he or she was in one of those two spots.

  “Bingo,” he heard Cutter say into his ear.

  The updates were growing more urgent and he heard Kincaid call for water, which meant the fire was heading their way. “No time to be nice. Grab the kid and let’s go.”

  It was a little girl and she screamed as Cutter pulled her out from under the bed. She was fighting him and, because his hold was awkward, once she was free of the bed, Cutter almost lost her. Aidan swore under his breath. If she bolted, they could all be in trouble.

  He leaned the Halligan against the wall and picked up the little girl. By holding her slightly slanted, he was able to hold her arms and legs still without running the risk of smacking her head on the way down.

  “Grab the Halligan and let’s go.”

  “More guys are coming up,” Walsh radioed in. “Get out of there now.”

  The smoke was dense now and the little girl was doing more coughing and gasping than crying. “My dog!”

  Aidan went past Kincaid, slapping him on the shoulder. Once Cutter went by, Kincaid could retreat—they all stayed together—and let another company deal with the flames.

  “I see her dog,” Aidan heard Cutter say, and he turned just in time to see the guy disappear back into the bedroom.

  “Jesus Christ,” Scotty yelled. “Cutter, get your ass down those stairs. Hunt, just go.”

  He didn’t want to leave them, and he wouldn’t have except the fight was going out of the child in his arms. Holding her tight, he started back down the stairs they’d come up. At the second floor he met another company coming up, but he kept going.

&nb
sp; Once he cleared the building, he headed for the ambulance and passed the girl over to the waiting medics. It was less than two minutes before Cutter and Kincaid emerged from the building, but it felt like forever.

  They yanked their masks off as Cutter walked over to the little girl and—after getting a nod from EMS—put an obviously terrified little dog on the girl’s lap. They all smiled as the girl wrapped her arms around her pet and then her mom put her arms around both. Aidan put his hand on Cutter’s shoulder and the news cameras got their tired, happy smiles for the evening news.

  Once they were back on the other side of the engine and out of view of the cameras, Kincaid grabbed the front of Cutter’s coat and shoved him against the truck. “You want to save puppies, that’s great. If there’s time. Once you’re told to get the fuck out, you don’t go back for pets. And if you ever risk my life again, or any other guy’s, for a goddamn dog, I’ll make sure you can’t even get a job emptying the garbage at Waste Reduction.”

  Once Cutter nodded, Kincaid released him and they looked to Danny for a status update. They had it pretty well knocked down and, though the third floor was a loss and the lower floors wouldn’t be pretty, the people who lived in the neighboring houses weren’t going to have a bad day.

  Two hours later, Aidan sat on the bench in the shower room and tied his shoes. Danny was stowing his shower stuff, a towel wrapped around his waist. He’d been quiet since they got back, other than having a talk with Cutter, since he was the officer of the bunch. But he was always quiet, so it was hard to tell what was going on with him.

  “Got any plans tonight?” Aidan finally asked, just to break the silence.

  “Nope. Probably see if there’s a game on.”

  Aidan wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t have a lot of experience with a good friend going through a divorce. Breakups, sure, but not a marriage ending. “If you want to talk, just let me know. We can grab a beer or something.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Walsh. We know what’s going on and it’s a tough situation. So if you want to talk, just let me know.”

  “She doesn’t want to be married to me anymore, so we’re getting a divorce.” Danny closed his locker, not needing to slam it to get his point across. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Okay.” Aidan tossed his towel in the laundry bin and went out the door.

  A lot of guys had trouble expressing their emotions, but Danny took it to a whole new level. Aidan thought talking about it over a few beers might help, but he shouldn’t have been surprised the offer was refused.

  He’d really like to know what had gone wrong in the Walsh marriage, though. He liked Danny and Ashley and he’d always thought they were a great couple. If they couldn’t make it work, Aidan wasn’t sure he had a chance. And lately he’d been thinking a lot about how nice it would be to have somebody to share his life with.

  A mental snapshot of the little girl cradling her dog filled his mind. He wouldn’t mind having a dog. But his hours would be too hard on a dog, and he wasn’t a fan of cats. They were a little creepy and not good for playing ball in the park. He could probably keep a fish alive, but they weren’t exactly a warm hug at the end of a long tour.

  With a sigh he went into the kitchen to rummage for a snack. If he couldn’t keep a dog happy, he probably didn’t have much chance of keeping a wife happy. And that was assuming he even met a woman he wanted to get to know well enough to consider a ring. So far, not so good.

  “Cutter ate the last brownie,” Scotty told him as soon as he walked into the kitchen area.

  Aidan shook his head, glaring at the young guy sitting at the table with a very guilty flush on his face. “You really do want to get your ass kicked today, don’t you?”

  * * *

  “MAYBE I SHOULDN’T have called you. I feel bad now.”

  Lydia dropped her bag inside the door and put her hand on her hip. “I just quit my job and burned a chunk of my savings to pay Shelly for two months’ rent in advance so she won’t give my room away. You’re stuck with me now.”

  Tears filled Ashley’s eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks as she stood up on her toes to throw her arms around Lydia’s neck. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Lydia squeezed her older sister, and she had to admit that coming back was about the last thing she’d wanted to do, but she was glad to be there, too. When push came to shove, her sister needed her and when family really needed you, nothing else mattered.

  When Ashley released her, Lydia followed her into the living room and they dropped onto the couch. About six months after they got married, Danny and Ashley had scored the single-family home in a foreclosure auction. It had gone beyond handyman’s special straight into the rehab hell of handyman’s wet dream, but room by room they’d done the remodeling themselves. Now they had a lovely home they never could have afforded on their salaries.

  But right now, it wasn’t a happy home. Lydia sighed and kicked off her flip-flops to tuck her feet under her. “What’s going on?”

  Ashley shrugged one shoulder, her mouth set in a line of misery. “You know how it is.”

  Maybe, in a general sense, Lydia knew how it was. She’d been married to a firefighter, too, and then she’d divorced one. But the one she’d been married to had struggled with the job, tried to cope with alcohol and taken advantage of Lydia’s unquestioning acceptance of the demanding hours to screw around with every female who twitched her goods in his direction.

  That wasn’t Danny, so other than knowing how intense being a firefighter’s wife could be, Lydia didn’t see what Ashley was saying.

  “He’s just so closed off,” her sister added. “I feel like he doesn’t care about anything and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life like that.”

  Lydia was sure there was more to it—probably a lot more—but Ashley didn’t seem inclined to offer up anything else. And after the packing and driving, Lydia didn’t mind putting off the heavy emotional stuff for a while.

  “I should go see Dad,” she said.

  “He’s working the bar tonight. And before you say anything, I know he’s not supposed to be on his feet that much anymore. But you know he’s sitting around talking to his buddies as much as being on his feet, and Rick Gullotti’s girlfriend’s supposed to be helping him out.”

  Rick was with Ladder 37 and Lydia had known him for years, but she struggled to remember his girlfriend’s name. “Becky?”

  Ashley snorted. “Becky was like eight girlfriends ago. Karen. We like her and it’s been like four months now, which might be a record for Rick.”

  Lydia looked down at the sundress she’d thrown on that morning because it was comfortable and the pale pink not only looked great with her dark coloring, but also cheered her up. It was a little wrinkled from travel, but not too bad. It wasn’t as if Kincaid’s was known for being a fashion hot spot. “And Karen couldn’t keep on helping him out?”

  “She’s an ER nurse. Works crazy hours, I guess, so she helps out, but can’t commit to a set schedule. And you know how Dad is about family.”

  “It’s Kincaid’s Pub so, by God, there should be a Kincaid in it,” Lydia said in a low, gruff voice that made Ashley laugh.

  Even as she smiled at her sister’s amusement, Lydia had to tamp down on the old resentment. There had been no inspirational you can be the President of the United States if you want to speeches for Tommy’s daughters. His two daughters working the bar at Kincaid’s Pub while being wonderfully supportive firefighters’ wives was a dream come true for their old man.

  Lydia had been the first to disappoint him. Her unwillingness to give the alcoholic serial cheater just one more chance had been the first blow, and then her leaving Kincaid’s and moving to New Hampshire had really pissed him off.

  Sometimes she wondered h
ow their lives would have turned out if their mom hadn’t died of breast cancer when Lydia and Ashley were just thirteen and fourteen. Scotty had been only nine, but he was his father’s pride and joy. Joyce Kincaid hadn’t taken any shit from her gruff, old-school husband, and Lydia thought maybe she would have pushed hard for her daughters to dream big. And then she would have helped them fight to make those dreams come true.

  Or maybe their lives wouldn’t have turned out any different and it was just Lydia spinning what-ifs into pretty fairy tales.

  After carrying her bag upstairs to the guest room, Lydia brushed her hair and exchanged her flip-flops for cute little tennis shoes that matched her dress and would be better for walking.

  “Are you sure you want to walk?” Ashley asked. “It’s a bit of a hike.”

  “It’s not that far, and I won’t have to find a place to park.”

  “I’d go with you, but...”

  But her not wanting to be at Kincaid’s was the entire reason Lydia had uprooted herself and come home. “I get it. And I won’t be long. I’ll be spending enough time there as it is, so I’m just going to pop in, say hi and get the hell out.”

  Ashley snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  It was a fifteen-minute walk from the Walsh house to Kincaid’s Pub, but Lydia stretched it out a bit. The sights. The sounds. The smells. No matter how reluctant she was to come back here or how many years she was away, this would always be home.

  A few people called to her, but she just waved and kept walking. Every once in a while she’d step up the pace to make it look like she was in a hurry. But the street was fairly quiet and in no time, she was standing in front of Kincaid’s Pub.

  It was housed in the lower floor of an unassuming brick building. Okay, ugly. It was ugly, with a glass door and two high, long windows. A small sign with the name in a plain type was screwed to the brick over the door, making it easy to overlook. It was open to anybody, of course, but the locals were their bread and butter, and they liked it just the way it was.