Oxygen Deprived (Kilgore Fire Book 3)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  I parked in my usual spot, getting out on autopilot as I made my way into the bay where all the firetrucks and ambulances for the city were held.

  “How’s it going, Naomi?” I asked one of the student paramedics that was obviously working with us today.

  She was washing the quint—the fire truck—and I was glad that I didn’t have to do that today.

  Especially with the wind that blew through not ten seconds later.

  “It’s going, I guess,” she said, a smile always on her face. “Booth was just helping me, but his wife called him about something to do with a pet, so I decided to finish it up for him.”

  “Thanks,” I replied distractedly. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

  Naomi grinned.

  “Hey,” I stopped and turned to look at her. “I saw you at my neighbor’s house.”

  Her brows rose.

  “Which one?” She wondered.

  “The cute brunette with the ankle monitor,” I gestured to my own ankle.

  Her brows pinched down in confusion.

  “Who?” She asked.

  I laughed.

  “You know more than one?” I asked laughingly.

  She suddenly grinned.

  “Well, no,” she replied sheepishly. “I only heard half of what you said before I saw him.”

  She gestured to PD, one of my fellow firefighters.

  My eyes followed the big fucker as he tried valiantly to carry about fifteen bags of food from his car at once.

  “So?” I asked, turning back to her.

  “So what?” She asked distractedly.

  Chuckling to myself, I turned and left her to her lustful adoration.

  PD was a kinky fucker. If she wasn’t into that, he probably wouldn’t be into her.

  How he got into that shit, I didn’t know. But, hey, to each their own, it’s not my business to judge what gets him off. I never cited him for his feelings and beliefs.

  He could do what he wanted with the women he brought to his bed, and I’d continue to enjoy the ones I brought to my bed my way.

  “How’s it going,” Booth muttered as he stared blankly at the kitchen stove.

  “Good,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “Fuckin’ dog catcher caught the dog outside our house again,” he muttered, sounding miffed.

  “Thought you put a new fence in,” I mumbled, walking to the fridge and pulling out the eggs and bacon from the top shelf.

  “I did,” he muttered darkly. “Now I have a hundred and fifty-dollar ticket if I want to get the dog back.”

  “If?” I drawled.

  He grinned then, a rare smile lighting up his face.

  “Yep,” he agreed. “If.”

  “Your wife will kick your ass,” I told him. “You know that right? Then she’ll just go pay the fine anyway and you won’t get any sex for a month.”

  “You know this for certain?” He asked.

  I nodded. “Have an ex-wife. We were married for twelve years before we split. Trust me, it’s easier in the long run if you just give her what she wants.”

  “You were married?” Booth asked.

  This was the most I’d ever spoken to him with him being the new guy and all, so I decided to keep talking, despite the fact that it still chapped my ass to talk about Constance.

  “Yeah,” the word a bitter taste in my mouth. “Right out of fire school and everything.”

  “What happened?” He asked, leaning forward.

  I sighed, pulling out the cast iron skillet out of the lower cabinet, then turned on the gas before lighting the burner with the long liter next to the stove.

  “She and I grew apart,” I said. “She hated me being a firefighter. Hated that I had to work so much to keep us afloat. Her father hated me because I ‘made his daughter cry so much.’ Which he loved to bring up every possible chance he got. It kept getting worse and worse until she finally filed for divorce.”

  I dropped a dollop of butter down into the bottom of the pan.

  “Do you still love her?” Booth asked.

  “No,” I admitted. “I guess I felt obligated to stay with her. I would still be there if she hadn’t filed, though.”

  “Kids?” He guessed.

  I nodded. “Fifteen-year-old,” I nodded. “She turns sixteen this month.”

  His mouth dropped open.

  “You have a sixteen-year-old?” He asked in surprise.

  I nodded. “I do.”

  “Why doesn’t she come to any family functions that the department puts on?” He wondered.

  I grimaced.

  That was a sore subject, and it hurt every time I talked about it.

  “She doesn’t like that I hurt her mom,” I told the truth, but not embellishing any. “And she has free reign to see me anytime she wants. I send child support checks to her mother once a month, but…” I shrugged.

  Booth didn’t say anything, and I was glad.

  At least he knew when a man had enough.

  “I want mine over easy,” he said mildly.

  I nodded.

  “Scrambled!” Came Tai’s voice from the bathroom.

  I snorted out a laugh, then laughed even louder when PD answered from the doorway with Naomi at his back.

  “I want mine hard,” he said, his eyes drifting to Naomi as he said it.

  I made a gagging motion with my finger pointed to my throat, and he winked at me.

  He was trying to make her uncomfortable, and by the looks of her scalding red face, he’d accomplished it.

  Just before I cracked the first egg, the tone dropped, signaling the first call of the shift.

  “Fuck!” Tai called from the bathroom.

  I laughed, turning off the gas and making sure the flame was out before I moved everything off the stove and started walking to the garage bay.

  “Who’s on the medic today?” Naomi asked me as she jogged to catch up.

  “Me,” I said.

  I was usually the driver of the truck, but once every two weeks I worked the medic to keep my skills fresh, today being one of those days.

  “Oh, yay,” she drawled sarcastically.

  I tossed her a look that clearly said, ‘shut up.’

  She closed her mouth and shut up, going to the side door of the ambulance and getting in the back without another word.

  I got in the passenger seat, then pressed the ‘en route’ button on the screen to help Tai out. When a call came in, we had two minutes to get in the truck and go. By pressing it, I gave Tai a couple more seconds. A, because I wanted to, and B, because I didn’t want to have my ass chewed out by the captain because we didn’t respond to a call in less than the time we were allotted.

  Speaking of which, Tai came running out of the door to the living quarters like his ass was on fire, buttoning his pants and fastening his belt as he did.

  “Sorry,” he apologized breathlessly as he got in the front seat. “My wife decided to try something new for dinner last night, and it went straight through me. All night long.”

  I snorted, reaching up to press the garage door button once we’d made it outside fully.

  That’s when the rain decided to change to sleet.

  “Shit,” Tai groaned. “This is already getting bad.”

  I looked at the road, watching as the further we went from the station, the worse it seemed to get.

  “Medic three, we have a two vehicle accident on South Main. Two extractions needed. Third vehicle’s occupant up and walking around.” The dispatcher called through our radios.

  “Fucking perfect,” Tai sighed. “The busiest freakin’ road in Kilgore, and we’re working a call on it.”

  We got there less than five minutes later, and when I stepped foot on the icy white ground, I slipped.

  I caught myself on the side of the medic, then shuffled awkwardly to the back of the ambulance.

  “Naomi,” I called. “When you get
out I want you to start doing a perimeter check.”

  She looked at the cars, then nodded, seeing the empty car seats just like I had.

  “Got it,” she agreed, stepping out of the back.

  I caught her before she could fall on her face, and I said, “Please be careful.”

  She nodded, smiled, and we started working.

  I saw her the entire time out of my peripheral vision while I worked on stabilizing the two patients in the two separate cars.

  I saw she’d gone to the third guy, the one who’d been up and walking around, and started questioning him.

  I’d just turned around when I heard the screech of tires, followed by the terrified screams of Naomi.

  As I whipped my head around, I witnessed every firefighter’s worst nightmare.

  Chapter 4

  I wish I could stab idiots with my head.

  -Unicorn

  Drew

  My drive home was almost on autopilot.

  I hadn’t realized I’d even made it onto my street until the turn into my driveway was suddenly upon me.

  I pulled in and nearly laughed when I saw Aspen trying to check her mail.

  She was balanced on the mailbox, leaning over and around it as she struggled to reach the paper that was in the very back of the box.

  Putting it into park and getting out, I shut the door then walked across the street.

  She looked up almost sheepishly, staring at me like I was Superman.

  “Need help?” I asked her.

  “Now,” she glared. “What would give you that idea?”

  It was more than obvious that she wasn’t in a good mood.

  I wasn’t either.

  “Your friend’s going to make it,” I told her. “She has a concussion. One of my fellow firefighters pulled her out of the way in time.”

  Her head dropped and then her shoulders started to shake.

  “I feel so terrible,” she moaned, pushing away from the mailbox and scooting back three steps before she whirled around and started to hurry to her house.

  I got her mail and trashcan, shoved my keys into my pocket and followed after her.

  She’d left the door to her house open, so I took that as my indication that I was allowed to come inside.

  Dropping the mail onto the front entry table, I closed the door and followed the sounds of sobbing into the kitchen.

  Then even further into the master bedroom that was off the kitchen.

  I found her face down on her bed.

  I wasn’t really good at handling crying females.

  Hence why I just ignored the problems going on in my marriage instead of tackling them before they got too bad.

  “Aspen?” I said softly.

  Aspen’s tear-filled eyes rose, taking me in, and she offered me a watery smile.

  “I’m hormonal,” she whined. “It’s the female equivalent of dying, you know?”

  No, I didn’t know.

  Which she got, the longer she looked at me.

  “I’m on my period, and I cry a lot for random reasons.” She explained more in depth. “And my best friend nearly got run over by a semi-truck today, and I can’t even go see her in the hospital because of this stupid piece of crap,” she growled in frustration. “Stupid Danny.”

  “Come sit outside with me,” I ordered softly.

  I needed to get out of her bedroom.

  Even the talk of her being on her period didn’t have any effect on my cock.

  It was raging, and I was somewhat happy to know it was still functional.

  I hadn’t gotten a hard-on from an actual real live woman in months. Though I’d sure as hell tried multiple times—which ended in embarrassment on my end.

  Call me crazy, but I guessed it was related to the fact that a woman had thoroughly fucked me over.

  Then my daughter, who I didn’t want to admit was a woman yet, had gutted me.

  Needless to say, I wasn’t very sympathetic to the female plight these days.

  “Come outside with me,” I ordered, tugging her up into my arms. “It’s just raining now and the temperature has warmed up a bit. You can tell me why you’re in this mess.”

  She slowly got up to her hands and knees, then crawled backwards until her feet were both planted firmly on the floor.

  “Okay,” she mumbled softly.

  Thunder boomed overhead.

  I looked up at the roof, almost as if just by doing so I would be able to see whatever storm was headed our way.

  Instead, I saw a mirror.

  A big one.

  Needing to get out of there before I had any more crazy thoughts, I grabbed her hand and tugged her along behind me.

  “Want a beer?” I asked.

  She shook her head as we walked through the rain drops to the side part of the front yard where a little gazebo was sitting.

  It was in sore need of a new coat of paint, and would likely need a new swing sometime soon, but I led her there anyway.

  “No, thank you,” she declined softly. “I’d rather a Dr. Pepper.”

  I walked away, but continued to talk to her as I did.

  “Why are you on house arrest?” I asked, taking a beer from the cooler in the back of my truck.

  “I’m officially grounded from alcohol, too. It’s one of my stipulations,” she admitted.

  My brows rose.

  “Long story,” she muttered.

  Lowering the lid of the cooler, I popped the top on the beer and started heading back towards her.

  Once there, I took up the seat on the swing next to her, throwing my arm over the top of the seat and looking up at the sky.

  “I’ve got time,” I added, placing the beer between my legs and staring at her.

  She grimaced, then sighed.

  “Well…” she cleared her throat. “It started when my best friend was raped.”

  I blinked, surprised at the course this story had taken.

  “Yeah?” I asked. “What happened?”

  “I had a friend whose man left her, but only after he sexually assaulted her first.” She bit her lip. “She filed charges. The guy got off; his daddy had a lot of money and clout with a couple of judges,” she said. “And Angelica started to slowly go into a downward spiral. One second she was this upbeat girl who volunteered at animal shelters, and the next she was in a depression so deep that she barely got out of bed.”

  My stomach sank.

  “And she tried to commit suicide, but I got there in time to call an ambulance. They pumped her stomach, and then kept her on a psychiatric hold for forty-eight hours before releasing her again.” She took a deep breath. “And I took it upon myself to help her get out of her funk.”

  “And how’d you do that?” I asked.

  She smiled.

  “I started to burn the guy’s cars. When he’d get a new one, I’d take Angel over there with me, and we’d light the car on fire again,” she grinned.

  “And you got caught?” I guessed, taking a sip of my beer.

  She shook her head.

  “No,” she admitted. “We went out to celebrate one night after his car was torched for a second time, this time not by me, but I made a mistake.”

  “What mistake?” I asked.

  “I dropped my boyfriend/fiancé’s lunch off for him, and caught him fucking his partner in his patrol car,” she grimaced, her face a mask of embarrassment.

  My mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “That was you?” I asked.

  She shrugged, and another boom of thunder sounded overhead.

  I wanted to wrap both arms around her and tell her that I was sorry, that she didn’t deserve to be treated like that, but I knew those words wouldn’t help her.

  Nothing would but time.

  “So…by me going off the chain at the police station, there were about eight million cops as witnesses to my act, meaning I couldn’t deny anything.” She
shook her head. “My brother did what he could, getting me house arrest and probation instead of jail time. Because fucking Danny pressed every charge he could.”

  “This is Danny Salazar?” I guessed. “Naomi’s brother? The traffic cop that writes everyone tickets?”

  She sighed, then nodded.

  “One and the same.” She rolled her eyes to the roof, letting the back of her head rest against my arm.

  I don’t think she realized she was doing it, but I sure did.

  Jesus, my dick sure did pick an awesome time to wake back up.

  I crossed one leg over the opposite knee, reaching my hand down and using my leg as cover to readjust my cock in my pants.

  “I heard he’s a dick,” I mentioned, gauging her reaction.

  She sighed, long and loud.

  “He is. Most definitely,” she agreed. “But his partner is an even bigger dick. I hated her for the longest time; and it hurts more, I think, to know that he cheated on me with her.”

  “Seems like good riddance to me,” I muttered, only saying exactly what was on my mind.

  I was forty-two years old.

  I didn’t mince words. Not anymore.

  I told it how it was, sparing no one’s feelings.

  Which I think was another thing that took my daughter’s affection from me.

  She hated that I was no longer with her mom and made no attempt to hide the fact that she was mad at me.

  She intentionally acted out in school, no doubt a ploy for attention. I called her out on it when I picked her up from school after she was sent home to start a mandatory, three-day suspension for her outburst.

  And I hadn’t seen her since.

  It’d been three weeks.

  “Where’s your head at?” A soft voice asked from beside me.

  I turned to study Aspen.

  “My kid,” I admitted.

  “Your kid?” She repeated in surprise.

  I nodded.

  “How old is he?” She said, throwing her hair back over one shoulder.

  “She’s sixteen,” I told her.

  “Ohhh,” she smiled. “That’s a fun age. I remember when I was sixteen.”

  I regarded her closely.

  “Why do you say it like that?” I asked suspiciously.

  “I lost my virginity at sixteen,” she admitted. “And I was a bad girl. I partied more than I slept.”