Deacon's Defender

by Pandora Pine

  “You spent the night with him.” It wasn’t a question.

  I raised an eyebrow, refusing to answer his question. “Ozzy dropped me at home. He opened the door for me like a gentleman and then he kissed me.” I held my breath waiting for the inevitable explosion from Finley.

  “Then what happened?” Finley leaned in closer, as if to hear the story better.

  “What do you mean, then what happened? I pushed him off me and went inside.” I wasn’t a slut, but I wasn’t a virgin either. I could kiss whoever the heck I wanted to kiss.

  Finley’s face screwed up into a confused look. “What? You’ve been pining after this guy for months. He finally kisses you and you shove him away? What am I missing?”

  I didn’t think it was possible to feel more tired than I felt when I walked into the coffee shop, but Finley proved me wrong. “Five minutes ago, you were off your rocker thinking I’d slept with Ozzy, and now you’re pissed that I only let him kiss me once? I’m too tired to deal with this.” I was halfway off my stool when Finley’s hand on mine stopped me.

  “Hold on.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “If he treated you like a gentleman, I can’t be mad at him for that, even though he’d been a total dick earlier. Plus, you were in control of the situation and didn’t let him take advantage of you. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m proud of you.”

  My head was still spinning, but I understood where Finley was coming from. Nothing pissed him off more than when I let other people use me. He always had my back, and I’d never been more grateful for it than right now. “Thanks. I’m not sure what to do next. I asked to interview him next week, but I’m thinking now that I should cancel.”

  “Why would you cancel?” Finley asked much too loudly.

  “Uh, gee, maybe because Ozzy accused me of being the arsonist and kissed me, all within the span of two hours?”

  “Don’t be stupid. The captain owes you one now. A big one. Ask the hard questions. The ones you would kick to the side because of who Ozzy is. He has to answer them now.”

  I knew using what happened last night against Ozzy was wrong. I nodded at Finley but had no intention of following that path. I’d always been proud of my investigative pieces. I wasn’t going to risk my byline or my reputation just to score a few points against Ozzy. I might think he was King Jerk at the moment, but he didn’t deserve for me to come at him for that reason alone.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this but be careful. Some men try to apologize with their dicks because they don’t have the depth of character to mean the words when they apologize.”

  “You’re right.” Finley and I had come across our share of men like that in our pasts. I wasn’t gullible enough to fall for that with Ozzy, even though I wanted to.

  I really, really wanted to.

  7

  Ozzy

  “When was the last time you slept, sweetie?” My mother, Mandy McCoy, hugged me tightly. Instinctively knowing how much I needed her to love on me, she held on and didn’t let go.

  “Son.” My father, David, took his turn next.

  “We read Deacon’s article about last night’s fire. Sounds like it was a doozy.” My mother started putting a snack together like she always did when I stopped over.

  It was a doozy all right. More than my parents knew. I wasn’t sure I wanted to fill them all the way in either. “No one was hurt.” Well, Deacon was, but we weren’t talking about him or my role in his pain.

  “Uh huh.” Mandy set a plate of cookies and a glass of milk in front of me. “Your father and I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. What’s really bothering you?”

  “What exactly did you do to Deacon?” my father asked.

  “God damn, Hennessey! If his mouth were any bigger, he could swallow his whole damn foot.” Christ, you’d think I would have learned by now that Hen was the biggest blabbermouth of the bunch of us.

  “Hey! We don’t talk about our brothers like that,” Mandy admonished, sounding every bit the mother of five she was. “Besides, it wasn’t Hennessey, it was Kennedy.” She giggled behind her hand.

  I should have known. Kennedy had a big-ass mouth too. “What the hell is it about my brothers that makes them run to you with gossip?”

  “What is it about your brothers? Hmm, I remember you being the one who told us all about Gunnar setting his house on fire trying to make a hamburger.” My father’s arms were crossed over his chest.

  “That was different. I was telling you about my night at work, not gossiping about Kennedy’s boyfriend.” I had totally been gossiping, but maybe my Mom wouldn’t remember that little fact.

  “So, Deacon is your boyfriend?” My mother’s face brightened. “I think he’s a brilliant journalist. Smart and savvy. Cute too, if his byline picture is anything to go by.”

  “Deacon isn’t my boyfriend.” I frowned. My mind instantly replayed our kiss. If I hadn’t been sitting at the kitchen table with my parents, my dick would have put in his two cents. Just like he had all night. I grabbed a cookie, eating half of it in one bite. Chocolate chip with walnuts was my favorite. It was like my Mom knew I’d be over today. I grabbed a second one, loving the way the chocolate melted in my mouth.

  “Okay, so then why are you here eating my cookies?” My father tugged the plate away from me.

  They were both smarter than I gave them credit for. “How much did Kennedy tell you?” There was no sense wasting time rehashing stuff they already knew.

  “Just that Deacon saved a family from a fire you accused him of setting.” Mandy’s lips pressed together in a stern line.

  “Ah, so all of it then.” I rolled my eyes. Kennedy wasn’t one to pull any punches. At least no one else knew about me kissing Deacon. I’d been smart enough to keep that to myself when Quentin texted this morning. I reached for another cookie.

  “I’m confused, David,” my Mom said with a syrupy smile. “Why has our son come to visit us today?”

  “Probably because he knows it’s my day to weed the garden. Pulling weeds was always his favorite chore.” David grinned at me.

  Christ, the only thing I hated more than weeding Dad’s vegetable garden was eating the bushels of eggplant he couldn’t get our neighbors to take. “I was an asshole to Deacon last night. Then, to top things off, I kissed him.”

  David grinned at Mandy. “Piece of cake.”

  “What was a piece of cake?” The two of them always had this secret language. They could talk to each other without me or my other brothers knowing what the hell they were talking about.

  “Getting you to confess.” Mandy high-fived David. “Your father knew those bitter eggplant memories would make you confess. Besides, I knew you’d kissed that boy the moment you walked through the door.”

  “How did you know that? Did Deacon call you or have you suddenly gone psychic?” How in the hell did my mother know about that one little kiss? That one little, red hot, kiss. The kiss that twelve hours later still had my brain and my dick in a complete tizzy.

  “Please, it was written all over your face. Boy Mom, remember? You looked like you were walking to the electric chair. You’re acting way too guilty to only be upset about accusing Deacon of being the arsonist. I knew there was something else you were dying to confess while you ate your last meal.”

  I cracked a smile at my mother’s Sherlock Holmes impersonation. Not only was she sharp, but she knew me better than anyone.

  “When will you learn it’s easier to fess up? It saves time.” Mandy reached over to ruffle my hair like she used to do when I was ten. I could never stay mad after that. She knew it too.

  I sighed. My mother was right. My mother was always right. “To make a long story short, I gave Deacon a ride home. He was pissed at me for accusing him of being the arsonist. He was angrier that Stark was flirting with him to get at me. Last, but not least, I fumbled my apology badly, several times, so I just said I was sorry with my lips.”

  Mandy dropped her head into her hands. She shook it for a
few seconds before looking up at me. “Let me get this straight. You were a complete and total asshole to a boy you know has a thing for you. Not only did you expose him to your ex, who looks like a Greek God, but you kissed him instead of using your words? Is that right or did I miss something along the way?”

  Christ, when she put it like that, it sounded like she wanted me drawn and quartered.

  “Oh, calm down.” My father gave my shoulder a shove. “You know we’re going to help your stupid ass. Don’t we always?”

  “Not without a good, old-fashioned visit to Guilt Trip City, population: one.” I grabbed another cookie figuring I deserved it after my mother’s sermon.

  “Giving you all the answers when you were growing up would have been easy, but then you wouldn’t have turned out to be the well-mannered, independent, thoughtful son we raised.” Mandy was all smiles.

  “What do I do, Mom?” I was at the end of my rope.

  “You know what to do, Ozzy.” Mandy kissed the side of my face with the scar. She always did that when I first came to live here. I’d assumed it was her way of telling me she loved me despite my disfiguration. I knew now that she did it because she loved me. All of me. No questions asked. “But, just in case you need a refresher, apologize to him the right way. We all know how much pressure you’re putting on yourself to find the arsonist, but you can’t let that bleed into everything you do. It could get someone seriously hurt.”

  “You’re right.” How the hell did I apologize for a shitty apology and a red-hot kiss? No wonder I couldn’t handle a relationship. This one little decision made me feel paralyzed with indecision.

  “Sending him a care package with some of his favorite things wouldn’t go amiss.” Mandy smiled at me before taking a sip from her coffee.

  That sounded like a good place to start, but what the hell were Deacon’s favorite things?

  8

  Deacon

  Trying to type with a bum hand took twice as long. By the time I’d been in the office for an hour, I was wishing I had taken the day off, but my work ethic kept my butt in the seat. If Edward R. Murrow could report from London during the Blitz, then I could surely report from my desk with a sore hand.

  “Hey, Captain America!” a voice called out.

  Sweet baby cheeses. A couple of the reporters started calling me that when I’d walked through the door. I was hoping it would die down. It hadn’t. Swiveling in my chair, I saw my editor, Grant Kershaw, carrying a basket loaded with goodies. “Is that for me?” Little gifts had been showing up at the paper all afternoon, after Walt Jacks wrote a story about my saving the homeowners last night. I hadn’t included those details in my own account of the fire scene.

  “It’s for you,” Grant affirmed.

  “I thought we agreed to leave that stuff in the break room.” If I kept eating the homemade cookies people were sending to the paper, my pants were going to start cutting off the circulation to my feet.

  “You’re going to want to check this one out yourself. It isn’t from a fan. It’s from someone else.”

  “Someone else?” Who the heck would be sending me a gift basket loaded with chocolate, hand cream, and a stuffed bear dressed as a firefighter? Oh, no. It couldn’t be from him.

  “You’ve got a fan at the GFD.” Grant set the basket on my desk. “Let’s try not to come so close to deadline tonight, huh? Fifteen minutes to spare might sound dashing, but it was a race to the finish to get it edited and formatted in time for the morning print edition.

  A fan at the Gloucester Fire Department? Who the hell could it possibly be? Unless Dallas felt bad for the way Ozzy treated me last night. Sending a care basket like this seemed exactly the kind of thing Dallas would do.

  I plucked the card from the center of the basket. The small envelope hadn’t been sealed, which was how Grant had been able to see who’d sent the gift. I managed to wrangle the card out of the envelope one-handed. “I hope these gifts help to speed your recovery and give you a reason to smile. Thank you for rushing in when others would have rushed away. Feel better. Captain Ozzy Graves.”

  Well, damn. I had no idea Ozzy felt that way. He surely didn’t show those feelings last night. Setting those emotions aside for the moment, I started poking around in the basket. It contained two types of my favorite chocolate truffles, the stuffed bear, several new flip pads in a rainbow of colors, along with a pack of fancy pens. The last items were to take care of my burn, a jar of silver cream, gauze, and tape. Lastly, there was a small book of quotes from inspirational people. I had to admit these were all very thoughtful gifts.

  What should I do now? Call Ozzy and thank him or let a sleeping dog lie? Frowning, I grabbed my phone but didn’t press Ozzy’s number. What if this was just another way of saying thank you with his dick? I supposed if that were the case the basket would have been filled with lube, a rainbow of condoms, toys, and fuzzy handcuffs.

  Sighing, I dialed Ozzy and waited for the smug S.O.B. to answer the phone. I heard three rings and was about to hang up when Ozzy’s voice came through the phone.

  “Hey, Deacon. How are you feeling?” Ozzy’s voice was filled with sincerity.

  I hadn’t been expecting this version of Ozzy at all. I assumed the cocky, brash captain would be on the line, waiting to be thanked for his generosity. “I’m okay. How are you?” I didn’t know what else to say. My mind was too busy backpedaling from the angry things I’d intended to say if his cockiness overrode his kindness.

  “I’m feeling like an asshole, but other than that, I’m good.” Ozzy laughed. “I was sure you didn’t want to see me, so I left the basket at the front desk.”

  A laugh slipped out before I could control myself. He had been an asshole, a sexy asshole, but still a jerk when I needed someone to stand up and defend me.

  “No, it’s true. I blew it last night. I didn’t just open mouth, insert foot, I swallowed it whole.” Ozzy laughed. It was full and rich. In my mind’s eye, I could see him tossing his head back and enjoying himself.

  Unbelievably, I was laughing along with him. Ten minutes ago, I would have kicked Ozzy in the shins, but now we were acting like old friends. “You’re forgiven. All’s well that ends well. Thank you so much for the gift basket. You really hit it out of the park.” I meant those words. The last thing I wanted was to be in a fight with a high-ranking member of the Gloucester Fire Department.

  “Let me know if there’s anything you need.” Again, Ozzy sounded completely sincere.

  “I will. Thanks again.” My traitorous dick could think of a thing or two it needed from Ozzy, but I wasn’t going to give voice to them here in the office.

  “Bye.”

  “Bye,” I returned, almost sad to hear him end the phone call.

  Setting my phone back on the desk, I took another minute to examine the contents of the basket. It was obvious Ozzy spent time selecting the items he thought would heal my body, and my soul.

  I snapped several pictures of the basket and its contents so I would always remember what Ozzy had done for me.

  What wasn’t quite so clear was what Ozzy’s kiss had done to me. I’d spent half the night tossing and turning over that one kiss. His lips had been soft and gentle. Yes, he had grabbed my arm, but the kiss was sweet and slow. I shouldn’t have enjoyed it after what he’d put me through earlier that night, but I had. Had I ever.

  I couldn’t decide if it was a pity kiss like I’d accused him of, or if it had been something else. Something more powerful. It felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before. His lips had been hot, but not demanding. Oddly enough, his lips soothed my soul. The kiss had been magic, right up until the moment when I realized Ozzy was throwing me a pity kiss. If my brain hadn’t woken up and smelled the coffee when it did, I might have let him throw me a pity fuck.

  What did it matter anyway? My love life was no different today than it was yesterday. I’d gotten one lousy kiss. Big deal.

  As much as I tried to brush the kiss off, I knew I was lying to
myself. Ozzy’s lips against mine meant everything to me. I’d treasure those few seconds forever, because I certainly wasn’t going to get a second chance to kiss that man again.

  Or was I?

  9

  Ozzy

  I could always count on my brothers to be there for me when I needed them. Not only would they answer the phone in the middle of the night, they kept my confidences in the family. Kennedy might have been a blabber mouth, running to our parents with the latest gossip on what an idiot I’d been, but I knew damn well my thinking Deacon was the arsonist would go no further than our family.

  It had been two weeks since the last arson. I felt guiltier over accusing Deacon of setting that fire with every day that passed. I’d made it a habit of texting Deacon every couple of days to see how his hand was doing. Thankfully, he was back to normal and able to type with both hands again.

  Deacon feeling better left me in an odd position. I missed chatting with him. We’d never had long text conversations, but somehow, he always left me in a better mood then when we started.

  I hadn’t bothered giving him the time of day before. Deacon wasn’t my type. He was too short. Too sweet. Too Deacon. I’d always been attracted to big men I could dominate in bed. Men like Stark, who was strong, powerful, and so damn needy. Deacon was none of those things.

  Deacon was kind, honest, and always looking out for the people around him. Stark did the same thing when he was on the clock. He was all in, so to speak, when he was Doctor Givens, but once that white lab coat came off, the only person he cared about was himself. Stark and Deacon couldn’t have been more different.

  Part of me was curious to see what would happen if I spent some time with Deacon outside of work, but the other part of me, the part still feeling the effects of Stark Givens, didn’t want anything to do with the high-spirited journalist.

  “Why do you look like you just lost your best friend?” Dallas slid onto the center barstool at the kitchen island.