First Responder on Call

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  She drew in a breath, prepared to reiterate her sympathy. But Remo spoke first, clearly reading the turn of her thoughts.

  “Was that more than you bargained for?” he asked.

  There was a hint of insecurity under the question, and Celia pulled back to face him. She firmly shook her head, then dragged his palm to her chest and pressed it flat between her breasts.

  “My heart hurts for you,” she said, “but I’m glad you told me.”

  “Are you? The few people I’ve told have cringed, pretended it wasn’t too much to handle, then made a concentrated effort to avoid me.”

  “Those women were obviously insane.”

  His mouth twitched up. “I didn’t say women.”

  Celia’s face warmed. “I just assumed...”

  “Three people over the last half decade,” he said with a head shake. “That’s how many I’ve told the partial story to. One was a buddy I’d known for years before. One was a guy from work. The third...okay, well. She was a woman, but not in that way. She was just some poor, ninety-year-old nurse who got stuck sitting beside me at her retirement party after I’d had a couple of beers. But that’s a whole other story.”

  Celia stared at Remo, processing his words. He’d said them in a light tone, especially considering the subject matter. But they had that same bit of hesitation as his initial question, and she suddenly understood why. He held it in. All the negative experience and the emotions that went along with it. And on the few occasions he’d chosen to let it out, it’d backfired.

  But he took a chance with me, she thought, and I’m not going to let him down.

  She reached up and touched his stubble-heavy cheek. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  His face relaxed. “Thank you for not screaming and running in the other direction.” He smiled a slightly crooked smile. “Or I guess technically... Thank you for taking me with you while you screamed and ran.”

  “It’s the least I could do for the man who keeps saving my life.”

  They stood still for a moment, her hand on his cheek, and his on her chest. Celia could feel her heart thrumming under his palm, perfectly in time with the slight throb of his pulse under her pinkie. Then Remo’s hand curved. It slid up. It crossed the V-neck of her T-shirt and made its way over her neck, leaving a trail of heat in its path and making her breath catch. His fingers continued to her face, where they unfurled to cup her cheek. But the heat that bloomed from his touch wasn’t just physical. It was taking root somewhere inside. She liked it. But she also wondered if it was entirely unreasonable. And the mom in her—the no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is part of herself—felt compelled to ask.

  She leaned into Remo’s hand a little more. “Do you think this is a transference thing?”

  His mouth turned up in the corners. “You mean that thing where the kidnap victim falls for the kidnapper?”

  “Yes. Only with less kidnapping.”

  “Why are you asking? Are you falling for me?” His smile—soft and hopeful—took away any embarrassment that might’ve come as a result of the teasing question.

  Celia met his eyes, her mouth a little dry. “My life doesn’t leave a lot of room for wasting time, so I try to always say what I mean.”

  His thumb caressed her cheekbone. “So say it now.”

  “Things are obviously...complicated for me. And even with the bits of memory I’ve blocked out, and even if I didn’t factor in my son...it’s easy to see that the whole being-in-hiding thing would make it impossible to even think about pursuing some kind of dating life. There’d be too many secrets. Too many things I’d have to lie about.”

  “But you don’t have to lie to me about any of it,” he replied.

  She almost laughed. “I didn’t really have much of a choice in telling you the truth, did I? Between the rescuing and the running.”

  “There’s always a choice,” he said, his tone serious. “You could’ve lied to me at the hospital. Or told me to take my help and shove it.” He pressed his forehead to hers, and when he spoke again, his warm breath tickled her lips. “But I’m grateful that you didn’t.”

  “You’re the grateful one?” Her words were breathy again, and this time it had nothing to do with exertion.

  “Mmm. Grateful you trust me. Grateful I drove by when I did. Grateful that you are factoring your son in. And extra grateful that if your choice was going to be limited, it was limited to me. Gives me a distinct advantage over all the other guys.”

  “Didn’t we already establish that there are no other guys?”

  “It’s good to be reminded.”

  “There are no other guys, Remo.”

  “Perfect.”

  Celia tipped her mouth up expectantly. But instead of him dropping his lips down to meet hers in a fervent kiss, he spoke again.

  “It’s not transference,” he told her, his words thick with restrained desire.

  She blinked, surprised that he hadn’t taken advantage of her tilted mouth. “No?”

  “No. Not unless it’s a reciprocal transference.”

  The all-over heat spiked even more.

  “Does that mean you’re falling for me?” she asked.

  “As it so happens, I’m not a time waster, either.” Then he did drop his mouth to hers—slowly and tenderly, toe-curling and possessive, laying a claim to Celia’s lips in a way she hadn’t even known she was looking for, but half wondered how she’d ever lived without.

  * * *

  If Remo could have, he would’ve let the kiss go on for a lot longer. Or he would’ve dragged Celia to some secluded spot and kissed her a hundred more times in a hundred more places. But he knew that in spite of his claim that his mom’s home was a secure location, they had a pressing need to get there. It was true that it would take Teller and his cop buddies—corrupt or clean—time to track them. His mother’s little ranch would also be a secondary target, sought out only when Remo’s own town house was found empty. That didn’t mean they had infinite hours. Leaving Xavier in one place might endanger him, and it put Remo’s mother at risk, too. So he regretfully cut the kiss short, and settled for holding Celia’s hand as he guided her through the residential streets.

  He briefly outlined his plan—since he’d left his car at the scene of the accident, and Celia’s car was the accident, their best bet was public transit. On the off chance that Teller and his men were patrolling the nearby streets, he wanted to go to a more out-of-the-way bus stop. From there, they could ride to the connection loop and find the bus that would take them just a block from his mom’s place.

  Celia agreed easily, and their walk was quiet, but not overly pensive. Remo was sure that anyone who happened to be up early enough to see them would assume they were just a couple out for an early morning stroll. The sun was just about to come up, and the horizon was already marked with a mottled purple-and-orange glow. Very romantic. As long as anyone they passed didn’t look too closely, the simple explanation would hold up. If someone took note of the fact that neither of them was dressed for the weather, then spied the bloodstain on Celia’s pants, they might have a problem in the form of some Good Samaritan making a cautionary call in to the local PD. The last thing he wanted was for some call to get routed through to Teller. The thought of it happening made him pull Celia a little closer and move a little faster, too.

  “Any more of those holes in your memory getting filled in?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Honestly? I keep forgetting that I’m forgetting. I think if I wasn’t aware that I had the mental block, I wouldn’t even know it.” She let out a little laugh. “That was a pretty redundant thing to say, wasn’t it?”

  “Yep. Not that I’m judging.”

  “It’s hard to explain exactly what I mean.”

  “Try me. We’ve got about three more blocks of time to kill.”

  She sighed, her finger
s opening and closing around his as her face scrunched up in concentration. “Okay. So there’s a logical part of my brain that tells me Xavier has a father. But if I ask myself who his father is...it’s like the question slips over the answer and just comes up blank.”

  “Like when you’re trying to remember a particular actor’s name?” Remo asked.

  Celia shrugged. “Sort of. If the actor was someone whose name you didn’t know, whose face you’d never seen, and whose movies you’d never heard of.”

  He laughed. “So...not at all the same, then.”

  “No,” she said ruefully, “I guess not. Maybe it’s more like...if someone handed you a scalpel, told you that you knew how to do open-heart surgery when you didn’t, then immediately told you that you were going to have to perform it right that second.”

  “That sounds decidedly unpleasant.”

  “Doesn’t it?” She sighed again. “I remember my mom, and that she died when I was eighteen. I remember that I didn’t know my dad at all. I remember going to college on a scholarship, but...”

  He looked down at her. “What?”

  Her forehead creased into a frown. “I remember little things. My professors’ names. Dr. Huntley was one. And a female TA called Isla. I can picture the buildings. But when I think about what I was taking, or what I was doing for work after that, it’s a blank.”

  He thought about that for a second, then snapped the fingers of his free hand. “Ten bucks says your work has something to do with Xavier’s dad.”

  Her eyes widened. “I won’t take that bet because I think you’re right. It makes sense. I started college right after high school, and I had to take the second semester off when my mom died, but I was there for a two-year program. I was twenty-one when Xavier was born. Almost twenty-two. So if I met his dad either in school, or right after, the dates would line up perfectly.”

  “You said he was older. Could he have been a teacher?”

  “I don’t know. I want to say that I don’t think I’m the kind of person who would have an affair with her teacher, but the truth is...I could be, right?” She lifted her free hand and pushed her hair behind her ear, visibly agitated. “I’m sorry. This is so unbelievably frustrating.”

  Remo’s reply was cut off by the fact that they’d reached the final turn, and a bus was just chugging into view. Instead of speaking, he gave Celia’s hand a tug, and they jogged together toward the approaching vehicle. They made it with a heartbeat to spare, and a few moments later, they were catching their breath at the very back of the nearly empty bus. And Remo’s brain was churning as noisily as the engine that rumbled under them.

  “You said it was a two-year program?” he asked. “You’re sure about that?”

  Celia nodded. “It was a free-ride scholarship. I remember opening the envelope.”

  “So it was probably a vocational college or trade school of some kind.” Thinking of what she’d said about Xavier’s father’s manicured hands, Remo lightly took her fingers into his and examined them. “No polish,” he mused. “Not even clear. Your nails are short. Practical. But your hands aren’t rough like they do manual labor.”

  She tapped her fingertips on his palm. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m the auto-mechanic type. And I once short-circuited my apartment while running the dishwasher and I had to call a plumber and an electrician in to fix it, so I think that I can rule out anything too trades-y, too.”

  Remo pretended to study her hand a little longer, but really he was more interested in the way her memories came out naturally as she talked. He wondered if she noticed it herself, but decided not to point it out in case it staunched the flow.

  “Maybe you’re the teacher,” he suggested instead. “Special education? I can see that.”

  She let out a little laugh. “Actually, before I found out I was pregnant, I thought I didn’t want kids. Not that there’s anything bad about being a mom, but until I had Xavier I always preferred the company of adults. Seniors, in particular. I think it started when I was six, and we lived beside a nursing home. There was this seventy-year-old woman named Lily who I would always say was my best friend. I even invited her to my birthday party. My mom used to joke that—oh, my God.” Her gaze flicked up from their joined hands to Remo’s face.

  “What?” he prodded.

  “She used to say that I should get paid for how much time I spent over there.”

  “You think maybe you did get paid to be there?”

  “I can see it. I can see myself going to school for it. And when I was, um...breaking myself out of the hospital bed, I knew exactly how to bypass the alarms on the IV monitor.” Her hand closed on his and tightened, her face brimming with hope. “I don’t remember it. But it feels right.” Then her expression fell. “I don’t know what it has to do with Xavier’s dad, though. And the only stuff I can’t remember has everything to do with him.”

  Remo pulled his hand free, then draped his arm over her shoulder and tucked her against his side.

  “Hey,” he said. “We have a lot to go on, and when we get to my mom’s place, we can dig a little deeper, too. We can probably find out a bit more about Teller, and maybe even find a way to confirm your employment.”

  “You’re pretty good with the optimism.”

  “I’ve got every reason to be. When I found you, you weren’t even sure about your own name. Look at how much has changed in the last few hours.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “That’s true.”

  Then she wriggled a little closer and put her head on his chest, a companionable silence settling over them.

  Chapter 14

  It didn’t take long for the bus to reach the transfer loop, and they hopped on the next bus—a little busier now that it was nearing commute time for many Vancouver residents—without much fuss. Remo made brief small talk with the driver, ensuring that they were on the right route, but once they were settled into their new seats, he went quiet once more. And Celia was thankful for the reprieve. It gave her a chance to reset her brain and to process everything that had happened since she’d opened her eyes on the side of the road. It was mere hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime. And Remo couldn’t have been more right in his observation. Except for one thing. It wasn’t just that a lot had changed; it was that everything had changed.

  Though it was true that she’d woken at the scene of the accident devoid of her name, she’d known who she was on the inside. She was Xavier’s mother. A woman who had enough strength to protect her son at all costs. The edges around that had been fuzzy. They were still fuzzy, as was evidenced by the fact that she couldn’t remember what she did for a living. But that didn’t matter. She had a core, and she could feel it.

  Celia stole the quickest glance down at their hands. His big fingers were entwined around hers like they were meant to be there. His olive-toned skin was a sharp contrast to her fair hand. But in a yin-yang kind of way. Different. But whole when together.

  And already, knowing Remo had shifted that small, sure voice in her head that told her who she was. Instead of thinking in terms of what her next move would be, she was thinking in terms of what they would do next.

  She was envisioning an end to the constant running. To the perpetual feeling of having to look over her shoulder, worrying whether or not the roots she put down should be allowed to flourish, or if they should be planted loosely enough to move at any given moment. She was sure it was a brand-new feeling. As much as her memories might be blocked, she was a hundred percent sure that she’d spent the last half of a decade thinking she’d be hiding for the rest of her life. So she welcomed the idea that an end might be a real possibility. Because it would mean the chance for a beginning, too.

  As she sat on the bus, with its engine growling under her and its stifling heat blasting into her, Celia let herself imagine it. She could picture Xavier sitting in Remo’s lap while the two of them perused a book.
She allowed herself to see the close of a long evening. Tucking her son into bed, then arguing with the big, blue-eyed man over which movie to watch. Letting him get his way because she wanted him to smile. Under any other circumstances, it should’ve been ridiculous to even think about things like that. She was a grown woman. And her life didn’t have room for fantasies. She’d never even considered making room for one. When she lay in bed at night, her dreams were of making it, day to day. Of finding Xavier’s favorite yogurt on sale. Last-minute escape routes. It wasn’t that she was boring or didn’t want more for herself and her son. It was just that she’d been through a lot, and the end result was a solid footing in realism.

  But now...

  She closed her eyes. The unexpected fantasy was there, alive and well. It had somehow seeped into the corners of her heart and mind, and seemed to be taking up permanent residence. And strangely, it felt real. As solid as Remo’s body. As firm as his grip. So if it wasn’t some kind of mutual transference, then what was it? There had to be a reasonable explanation.

  Because I don’t believe in love at first sight.

  The thought made Celia’s heart flutter nervously against her rib cage, so hard that she had to draw in a deep pull of air to steady its staccato rhythm. And even that wasn’t quite enough to calm it down. Then Remo’s deep voice rumbled against her, startling her so badly that she almost jumped.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Celia breathed out, reminded herself that he couldn’t read her mind, and made herself answer in a calm voice, repeating his own greeting back to him. “Hey.”

  He smiled down at her in a way that made her heart race even more. “Wasn’t sure if you were awake. We’re almost there. Two more stops.”