Carter's Flame: A Rescue Four Novel

by Tiffany Patterson

  I shook my head. “What isn’t his deal? He’s been through some things, I guess,” I replied, making light of Aaron’s background.

  “What did you say to him to convince him to talk to my boss again?”

  “I told him I would kick his ass for messing with my woman.” I scowled just remembering how pissed I was the day I went to see Aaron after Michelle came to me at the station. I turned and looked down when I heard giggles coming from the woman in front of me.

  “You didn’t really threaten him, did you?”

  “Damn straight I did. But he wasn’t afraid to get his ass kicked by me so I had to use something else.”

  “What’d you use?”

  “Threatened the one thing that would get under his skin. Townsend Industries.”

  Michelle’s head snapped backwards and the space between her eyebrows creased. “How’d you use Townsend Industries against him?”

  I pushed out a breath and told Michelle all about how I told Aaron I’d use my stake in the company against him as CEO if he didn’t get her, her job back.

  “You did that for me?” Her voice was filled with a little bit of awe.

  “Of course, sugar.”

  Her honey brown eyes softened and shone, and just as she bit her bottom lip I wanted to lean in and take what was mine again. Instead, I was thrown off when she shoved me away.

  “Good! It was your damn fault I got in trouble in the first place.”

  My chest rumbled with laughter that eventually spilled out of my mouth. She was right but I wasn’t about to make any apologies.

  “Come here.” I pulled her pouting mouth to me and wiped that little frown off her face. Before I could get too carried away, I released her from the kiss and then repositioned ourselves on the bike, with Michelle’s back to my chest. Even our breathing was in sync as we sat quietly watching the cars down below pass by.

  “How often do you come up here?”

  “Not a lot anymore. I used to come frequently when I first moved into the house. I had a lot of time to myself then.” My voice sounded weighed down by a pair of dumbbells.

  Michelle turned to look at me over her shoulder. I only caught her out of my peripheral as I was staring out into the distance.

  “Why’d you have so much free time?”

  I clenched my jaw and peered down at her before staring off into the distance again. “I’d been having some trouble at work.”

  “What kind of trouble?” She turned to face out into the distance again, but her hand rose to stroke the side of my beard.

  It was all too comforting and I leaned into her soft palm. I sighed and briefly debated on how to say my next words. I had told Michelle she could trust me and that I wanted her to know everything about me. What I was about to reveal was one of my uglier truths, but for better or worse it was a part of what made me who I was.

  “I’d been suspended from work. I got caught coming into work drunk and high on oxycodone.”

  Her hand paused on my cheek and she sat up, turning to me. She stared at me, searching my eyes. I wasn’t proud of my past, nor was I ashamed, and so I wouldn’t look away from her.

  “You were high at work?”

  I nodded. “For the third time.”

  Her eyes ballooned.

  I lowered my head and clenched my fists before raising my head to look her in the eye. “I’d been going downhill for a while. A few years back, a lieutenant and I got trapped in a warehouse fire. A beam fell on us. I was injured but Gary got it the worse. He had removed his helmet and mask. His skull was nearly caved in. I tried my damndest to resuscitate him while the guys outside had to search for a way to get to us. By the time they did, Gary was dead and I had second degree burns, smoke inhalation, and a major back injury.”

  “You were given oxycodone for the pain,” she stated just above a whisper.

  “Yeah.”

  “And it turned into a habit.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.”

  “So what happened?”

  “The final straw was Eric walking in on me stumbling around the bathroom.” I squeezed my fists, hating the memory of that embarrassment. “He reported me to the higher ups.”

  “He reported you? You two seem so close when you’re around one another.” Shock was apparent in her voice.

  “We are,” I countered. “Eric did what he was supposed to. My behavior wasn’t just endangering to myself. It put all of my brothers at the station house and the people we were supposed to be saving at risk.” I still regretted the position I’d put Eric in. “The brass put me on a six month suspension and demanded that I check into a thirty day rehab before I was able to return.”

  “Did you go?” Michelle questioned as she leaned into my shoulder, laying her head down and starting to stroke my jaw again. Her touch was soothing the raw edges of pain from that time period.

  I nodded slightly. “I went. Could’ve gotten out of it by using my name to throw my weight around but I knew I’d lose the respect of my teammates. And the last thing any guy in my squad wants is to lose the respect of the guys who walk through hell with him. They wouldn’t hold it against me for needing help, but they sure as fuck would hold my being a pussy and not owning up to what I’d done against me.”

  “How was rehab?”

  “A shithole.” I smirked and pressed a kiss to her lips when she giggled. “No really, it was one of those secluded, expensive places that a lot of celebs go to detox and get dry. My father saw to it that I’d have my privacy.”

  “Your family supported you?”

  “They did.” I’ll never forget the unquestioning support I received from all the members of my family and my squad.

  “And the department let you return. No questions asked after your stay?”

  “I took another thirty days off and continued to see a shrink for a few months after.”

  “I’m sure that wasn’t easy to do for a guy like you.”

  I gave her a curious look.

  “You know what I mean. You’re the oldest of four brothers so you’ve obviously been looked up to your entire life. The last name you carry holds a lot of respect. You’re a damn special forces veteran and now, work for the toughest rescue squad in all of the Williamsport Fire Department. And you wear it naturally, as if you were born to carry the weight of it all. I imagine it took a lot ask for help.”

  She had me pegged. Described perfectly the heart of who and what I was.

  “It was the hardest thing I’d ever done.” In spite of that admission, I smiled, gazing down at her. “But instead of it being utterly humiliating as I thought it would’ve been, it was the most humbling and rewarding time of my life. I’ve fought wars and beat back hundreds of fires, but nothing showed me how tough I was like asking and receiving help.” I moved, pulling her into me again and resettling her head on my shoulder. Inhaling, I smelled the sweet scent of the moisturizer she’d put on at my place. “And if I hadn’t had that experience, we wouldn’t be here right now. And this,” I squeezed her hip with my left hand, “you are my destiny.”

  It was quiet for a long while. I could feel her thoughts as they ran through her mind. I’d just laid a lot at her feet. There was still more where that came from, but I believed in doling out my secrets in doses. She would get to know all of me and I her, in due time.

  “Have you taken drugs since then?”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t picked up anything stronger than a beer in well over a year. I haven’t even touched ibuprofen since then.” I had no desire to.

  I felt her head move as she nodded. “You were a situational user.”

  I pinched my brows, wondering how she knew a rather clinical term. I’d heard counselors at the rehab center use it on occasion.

  “I learned that phrase while reading up on addictions.” She sighed. “I wanted to learn more about my mom.”

  My eyebrows spiked.

  “She used drugs all my life from what I can remember. My father died of a heart at
tack when I was still a baby. I thought that maybe that was what set her off. Caused her to love drugs more than me. But I read and found out that it wasn’t just any one thing. She was an addict and she’d actually been using way before I came into the picture or my father died. My whole life I was the one taking care of her. At ten, I was running home from school on the first of the month to check the mailbox for my father’s social security check before she could get to it. I paid our rent and bought groceries. Sometimes … most times, I wasn’t quick enough so we wouldn’t have food for weeks because she spent everything on drugs. More than once, she sold my clothes and other belongings to get more money for her next fix. We moved from place to place.” She blew out a shaky breath, and I pulled her into me tightly. I hated the pain I heard in her voice as she relived those memories. Suddenly, another thought came to me.

  “Isn’t your mother taking care of Diego right now?”

  She sat up and gave me a half smile. “She got clean six years ago. Just before I gave birth to him. When I told her I was pregnant, she went to feel my belly and I moved back, shielding my unborn baby from her. Something changed in her right then. It’s weird to describe, but I saw it. As if she saw everything she’d put me through. The next day she called and told me she was finally checking herself into rehab. She didn’t make any promises beyond that, but even that willingness was different for her. I’d begged for years that she go to rehab but she refused, saying just a few NA meetings were all she needed. She barely did those, though. My expectations were low, however. By then, I’d had twenty-three years of being let down by her. I wasn’t about to get my hopes up. I had to protect myself and my son.” She paused, looking around and sighing.

  “Anyway, she did ninety days at the rehab, then came home and did another ninety meetings in ninety days. It was the first six month period of time I’d ever known my mother to be drug-free. After I had Diego, she asked me to move in with her so she could help take care of him while I worked and went to school. I refused. I still didn’t trust her. I never left him alone with her. I was most surprised when she said she understood. She let me get comfortable at my own pace while she continued her meetings and her recovery. It took more than a year for me to leave Diego with her while I ran to the grocery store, let alone a full day at work. In her second year of sobriety, she got a job as a counselor at a shelter in the city. She provides services to other addicts and support to their families. Not until Diego was two did I leave him alone with her overnight. Slowly, I began trusting her more and more.” Her smile grew. “And Diego’s love for his grandma shows how much she has changed. She’s been clean going on seven years and she still works everyday to maintain it.”

  I ran my thumb down the side of her cheek. “It’s incredible that you could forgive her after all of that.”

  “It wasn’t easy.” She shook her head. “I was angry for a long time. How could she get clean and sober for my son, but not for me? You know?”

  I nodded in agreement. That would’ve pissed me the hell off, too.

  “It’s why I began reading about addiction. I thought it might help me learn to forgive her.”

  “Did it?”

  She gave a one shoulder shrug. “Somewhat. I learned that she honestly didn’t have a choice in the matter. I never understood when they say addiction is a disease, but I started to comprehend it a little more. It wasn’t until one day Diego was around four and he was begging me to let her come to the zoo with us. I watched how excited he became when I finally said yes. His eyes beamed and he jumped up and down, clapping. I thought, if my mom can make my son that excited, I could forgive her. After that, I began letting her into more of my life, not just my Diego’s.”

  My hands went up to cup her face on their own accord. I pulled her in and right before our lips touched I said, “You’ve got the purest heart of anyone I know, sugar.”

  Her gaze lowered. “I’m not perfect.”

  “No one is, but you are perfect for me.” I sealed my comment with a kiss that could last forever. Unfortunately, I did have to cut it shorter than I wanted to get Michelle back home. That was the longest date I’d ever been on, excluding my bevy of one-night stands. And I hated for it to end. I vowed, that one day soon my home would become our home.

  ~ Chapter Thirteen ~

  Carter

  “Negative.”

  I turned from my locker to look over my shoulder at my captain.

  “Drug test came back negative. Just thought you’d want to know.” He nodded and turned to go back into his office. Captain was often a man of few words, which I appreciated.

  I’d taken that damn drug test more than two weeks ago and had forgotten all about it. I knew it’d be negative so I hadn’t been too worried about it. And since telling Michelle about my prior troubles I’d felt a little lighter, more at peace. Her telling me about her mother brought us even closer together. We talked daily and went out as frequently as she would allow, not wanting to spend too many week nights away from her son. I did my best to be understanding. We were moving in the right direction, albeit too slow for my liking.

  I closed my locker and sealed it with the lock before heading down to the kitchen where everyone was. It was early morning and I was hungry for breakfast.

  “You making your world-famous French toast?” Don’s loud voice pierced my ears when he came up behind me at the refrigerator.

  “You wish. You bozos don’t even have cinnamon or nutmeg. The hell type of firehouse is this?” I stood, slamming the fridge shut. “Hey, rookie, why don’t you make a breakfast run?” I yelled at the rookie who was just sitting down to a plate full of eggs and pancakes. I couldn’t remember his name and didn’t give a shit to even try to. Rookies didn’t get called by their name until their probation was up.

  “But I just sat down to eat.”

  I frowned. “Is he back talking me?” My eyes were pinned on the dark-haired rookie but my question was directed at Don.

  “Sure the hell sounds like it,” Don responded.

  “Rookie,” I stated firmly, “there’s no fucking cinnamon. No nutmeg. And one lonely ass un-ripened banana in the bowl.” I gestured to the fruit bowl that sat on the counter. “Don, here, wants some fucking banana French toast. You know what I need to make it? Cinnamon, nutmeg, and more than one goddamn un-ripened banana. Get your lazy ass up from the table, take the money out of the food budget, and get your ass to the store!” I glowered at the rookie just waiting for him to say no. But, he must’ve sensed now was not the time to fuck around because within seconds his fork was hitting his plate and he rose, grumbling to himself. I’d let him grumble as long as he got what the fuck I told him to get. Don and I both watched as he grabbed a couple of bills from the jar we kept the money for food and headed out the door.

  “And for that back talk earlier, you’re on shit duty for the rest of the week!” I called behind him, relishing when his shoulders slumped.

  Just as the rookie left out, Eric walked in the kitchen, glancing at the rookie and then back to us. His eyes squinted in humor. “You’re giving out shit duty now?”

  “Figured I’d take doling out that particular assignment off your hands this week.” Shit duty is what we referred to as cleaning up after the Dalmatian Rescue Four had recently acquired. We’d named the dog, Gary, after our fallen brother. Stations didn’t have a need for dogs during fires, but they were symbolic now and the guys enjoyed playing with him. And the students from neighborhood schools that visited the station got a kick out of it.

  “Hey,” Don called, drawing both our attentions, along with Corey’s who’d just walked in.

  “You all heard more about that apartment fire from a few weeks back?”

  We each shook our heads in response to Don’s question. He knew we hadn’t as the investigators down at the department had taken over the investigation. And they’d only inform our captain, and possibly Don on a need to know basis.

  “The department heads tell you anymore about it?”
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  Don nodded his response to me. “I’ve been looking at the pictures in my phone. They wouldn’t let me see the official images they took. I even went down to the department to speak with the lead investigator. He’s a lazy son of a bitch. Says the fucking fire was probably started by nothing more than carelessness. I showed him the newspaper ashes we found up the stairs. He said it was probably one of us who tracked it through the house.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I snarled.

  “Exactly. I had to ask one of the ladies in forensics their take on it.”

  “Personal friend of yours?” Corey questioned, smirking.

  Don responded with a cocky grin of his own, letting that be his answer.

  “What she tell you?” Corey asked.

  “Said her guess was that we were correct.” He looked over at me. “She thinks someone placed newspaper in front of the fireplace and removed the gate. The husband said whenever his wife set the fireplace she always made sure to put the gate up to prevent sparks from escaping.”

  “He’s sure?” Eric spoke up.

  Don nodded. “Yeah. When they were first married, she made that mistake once and nearly caught their couch on fire. Ever since she was adamant about using a gate, especially since they had children. She didn’t start that fire due to a careless accident.”

  A solemn feeling fell into the pit of my stomach. Nothing was sitting right about this situation. Nothing at all, and I wasn’t liking any of the conclusions coming up in my mind. The only good thing to come out of all of this was that the family was doing okay. The mother and children had suffered some smoke inhalation and had to remain in the hospital for a few days, but had been discharged and were on their way back to being one hundred percent.

  “Keep us updated on all this. Unofficially,” Eric stressed.

  “I plan to.” There was a heaviness in Don’s voice. As if the worst of this was yet to come. I’d heard the same tension and stress in my commanding officer’s voice right before a tough mission. Something big was coming and chances were high that it was about to land right in Rescue Four’s lap. The first image that sprang to mind was Michelle’s. A calmness settled over me because I had that sense that as long as she was okay, I was okay.