The Complete Firehouse 56 Series

by Chase Jackson

  My story stopped short of one very crucial detail, Charlotte.

  “So there you were, tattooed, homeless, and fighting -- literally fighting -- for every meal,” Des beamed at me from across the table as she pinched the stem of her wine glass, swirling it around until the red wine made a funnel.

  “Like Russell Crowe in Cinderella Man,” I teased.

  “So… what happened?” she asked. “What changed?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People don’t just change for nothing. Something must have caused you to snap,” she shrugged. “Something must have happened to make you change. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. You’d be back in Boston, probably nursing a bloody nose or a black eye. So… what happened? Did you get a lucky break? Did you just get fed up? Did you meet someone? Get married? Have kids?”

  The answer to that question was right on the tip of my tongue, I had a daughter. But for some reason, when I opened my mouth, the words didn’t come out.

  I wanted to tell her about my sweet baby girl. I wanted to tell her about how Charlotte had turned my entire life around. I wanted to brag about how I had the coolest, funniest, smartest daughter in the entire world. I wanted to pull out the collection of old school yearbook photos that I kept in my wallet...

  I wanted to tell Des everything… but I froze.

  Suddenly those words from the ambulance played back through my head, We’re practically strangers… ancient history.

  I wanted so badly to disprove those words and show Des that I was the same person she knew all those years ago. But now, I wondered if maybe she was right.

  Maybe the boy she used to know didn’t exist anymore. Maybe she didn’t want anything to do with the man I had become. Maybe we were just strangers, hanging onto ancient history… hanging onto any remnants of the people that we used to be.

  There were parts of me that were dark and twisted. I was made up of the rebel from my past, and some of the shards were sharp enough to draw blood. What would Des say if she knew the truth about me? Would she still see any reminder of the boy she used to know? Or would I just become more and more of a stranger?

  Before I could answer that question for myself, the waiter appeared by the side of our table to recite a monologue about that night’s lobster special and prix fixe options.

  After five minutes (and a lengthy explanation of the process of dry-aging a steak), he scurried off with our food order and Des and I were left in silence.

  “Hey,” she smiled softly. “I just want to say...” her voice trailed off and her eyes dropped down to her lap as her cheeks turned bright pink. “Nevermind.”

  “What?”

  “It’s… nothing,” she blushed shyly, shaking her head. “It’s too cheesy and stupid…”

  “Well now I need to hear it,” I teased. “Come on, spit it out!”

  The irony of that advice was not lost me. Des bit down on her bottom lip, then glanced back up. The dim restaurant light bounced off her glassy eyes, and she looked so incredibly perfect.

  “I just wish that you could see yourself the way I did,” she said.

  I remained silent.

  “I mean it,” she continued. “I was so miserable when we were kids, but you were the one thing that made life feel bearable. You made me feel like I was safe. You made me feel like somebody actually cared about me.”

  “I did,” I said. “I always cared about you.”

  Her eyes flickered, and I lowered my gaze as I took a sip of scotch. Silently, I added, I cared about you more than anything or anyone else…

  “Cared,” she said. “Past tense.”

  “No, Des. I never stopped.”

  Her breath made a foggy cloud as she exhaled softly into her wine glass, then took another sip.

  “Why is everything so damn complicated?” she sighed, slipping back into her seat and cradling the glass of wine under her chin.

  “Good question,” I chuckled dryly.

  “When we were kids, everything felt so messy and awful. I used to blame it on my dad or the kids at school or being poor… and I used to think that growing up meant escaping all of that,” she exhaled wistfully, shaking her head. “I used to think that once I was in charge, I could make my life anything I wanted it to be, and then things would finally be better. Now I wonder if anyone ever gets their ‘happily ever after.’”

  “You’re not happy?” I asked.

  She traced a finger absently over the rim of her wine glass to erase the smudge her lips had left.

  “I am now,” she said finally. “I am tonight.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN | DESIREE

  “Are your eyes still closed?”

  “Yes!”

  “Ok. No peeking…”

  “I’m not!” if my eyes had been open, I would have rolled them. Instead, I bit down on my bottom lip to resist the smile that was spreading across my face. I crossed my arms over my chest and sunk back into the passenger seat of Rory’s car -- a jet black Dodge Challenger.

  Speaking of jet black… that’s all I could see through my clamped-shut eyelids. I could feel the car speeding along the highway, but I couldn’t see where we were, or where we were headed…

  “Are we there yet?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead and pinching my eyes shut even tighter.

  “You sound worse than my… nevermind.” Rory teased from the driver’s seat. “We’re almost there, I promise. Just be patient.”

  “Ugh, ok!” this time I did roll my eyes behind my lids.

  After finishing our dinner back at Maynard’s, Rory and I had both been in agreement that we weren’t ready for the night to end. I had suggested that we grab drinks at a nearby bar, but Rory had gotten that familiar twinkle in his eye and told me that he had a better idea. He wouldn’t tell me where or what -- he just insisted that I keep my eyes closed as he slipped me into the passenger seat of his car.

  I had lived in Hartford all my life, and I liked to think that I had a mental map of the place committed to memory; every road, every cross-street, every intersection…

  But as the car twisted and turned around downtown Hartford, I found myself completely incapable of imagining where we were headed.

  “You do know I hate surprises, right?” I reminded Rory, wincing to keep my eyes shut.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “We’re here.”

  The car rolled to a stop, and I felt the engine purr one last time before Rory jerked up the shift stick and switched off the ignition. Keeping my eyes pressed closed, I fumbled to unclick the seatbelt that was latched around my waist.

  “Here, let me,” Rory offered. He reached across the console and I felt his body hover directly over mine. The warmth from his skin tingled between us, forming tiny shockwaves that bounced into me. I inhaled a deep breath of him; that same familiar scent. His hands brushed my thigh as he reached for the seat belt buckle, and a jolt of electricity ripped straight through my entire body.

  I immediately went rigid, sucking in my bottom lip and clamping down on it. I heard the buckle unclick, but Rory didn’t flinch. His body lingered over mine for a few seconds, and rays of heat and electric charge continued to bounce back and forth between the two of us.

  I knew he could feel it too; I could tell by the way his breathing had suddenly gotten heavy and deep.

  Then he eased away, and I heard the driver’s side door click open softly. He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, and a few seconds later I heard my door pop open.

  “Keep those eyes closed!” he reminded me in a deep whisper. His hand wrapped around mine and he guided me out of my seat. I shifted around awkwardly, then pushed my feet out. I felt the soles of my shoes connect with pavement, and I adjusted my footing as Rory slowly eased me out of the car.

  I was still a little tipsy from the wine so I stumbled forward, tripping over my own feet. Rory steadied me, gripping my hands firmly in his own.

  “I got ya,” he said softly. I felt my
cheeks burn hotter and hotter as I stumbled blindly forward, following his grip on me.

  I could feel the end-of-summer heat rolling off the street, and the air was heavy and humid. Sprinklers chirped in the distance, spitting out clouds of water into the already-damp air. Even further in the distance, I could hear cicadas buzzing rhythmically.

  Even with my eyes pressed shut, there was already something that felt so familiar about this place...

  “Alright,” Rory said finally. “You can open your eyes.”

  I blinked. After keeping my eyes shut for so long, it took several seconds to adjust to seeing again.

  First I saw the harsh yellow glare of a street lamp overhead, illuminating millions of fuzzy white dots of moisture that hung in the air like tiny slow-motion raindrops. Then I saw the street, shiny and wet. And then, I saw…

  “The park,” I croaked in a raspy choke. I swallowed heavily as my eyes skirted around the old neighborhood park.

  Ever since I moved out of my father’s house, I had seen a lot less of this place. When he passed away, I had even less reason to see it. I still drove by on occasion -- when I needed to use the old neighborhood road as a shortcut to get through Hartford -- but I always found myself making a conscious effort to avoid letting my eyes rest on it for too long.

  It brought back too many memories. Even after Rory had left, the park had never stopped being our place. Seeing it just reminded me of the mystery I couldn’t solve; of everything that I had lost...

  I hadn’t properly seen it in years… but now, I couldn’t look at anything but the park. I blinked several more times as I took it all in, the rusty metal playground covered in chipped paint and fresh graffiti, the bare spots on the ground where the rubber tire mulch had worn away and never been replaced, the swingset that creaked ominously in the wind.

  The park that lived in my memory didn’t have the same cracks and pockmarks; in my memory, the park was pristine and perfect.

  I knew what was directly behind me, but even as I turned around slowly I found myself catching my breath and feeling a lump lodge itself firmly into the back of my throat.

  “My old house,” I said, looking up at the house that I had called ‘home’ for the majority of my life. Now it belonged to someone else; a new family, who did the things my father never did, gave the peeling shutters a fresh coat of paint, fixed the cracks in the driveway, replaced the old wooden windows with fresh, factory-smooth vinyl.

  A little pink bicycle was leaning against the garage doors, red mulch lined the driveway, and a stone had been placed in the landscaping that read, ‘WELCOME TO THE JOHNSON HOME.’

  I felt a stabbing sensation in my chest. There was something bittersweet about seeing my old house inhabited by a new family. Somehow, it finally looked like a home… but it wasn’t my home.

  I turned my attention to my old bedroom window on the second floor. The window was wider now, and the room was hidden behind new white blinds.

  “Do you know how many nights I stayed up, just staring through that window and waiting for you to come home?” I said. Rory followed my gaze and blinked up at the window.

  “Do you know how many nights I wished that my life in Boston was just one big, bad dream, and I would wake up on the picnic table?”

  I glanced up at Rory. He had always stood a solid foot taller than me, but now he seemed to tower over me like a giant. Still, there was a gentleness about him. Underneath all of those tattoos and muscles, I could still see that vulnerable kid I used to know…

  I turned back around slowly, facing the park. The picnic table was at the far end of the playground, looking weathered and tired in the yellow sheen of the streetlight.

  “Have you ever thought about that night?” I asked. Then, realizing how vague that sounded, I clarified, “I mean… have you ever thought about what you would have done differently?”

  “Every fucking day,” Rory said.

  I pushed myself forward, crossing the park one step at a time. I heard the soft crunch of Rory’s footsteps following behind me as I made my way towards that picnic table.

  The wood felt smooth and dull underneath my fingertips. The surface of the table was carved with names and phone numbers, some more faded than others. I traced the grooves and the woodgrain, as if I could find the secrets of that night engraved somewhere between the pocketknife hearts and initials.

  Rory reached my side, then he swung his leg over the bench and climbed up onto the picnic table. He planted his feet on the bench, then patted the empty space next to him. I smiled faintly and took a seat by his side.

  My stomach felt like a foil packet of JiffyPop over a campfire, sizzling and popping frantically. I had to remind myself to keep breathing.

  Even in his crisp white dress shirt, I could see every bulge and indent of Rory’s frame; every muscle, every tendon and vein. He was inches away from me, and some wild part of me wanted to close the distance between us and see what it felt like to explore his body with my hands. Instead, I pressed my palms together and wedged them safely between my knees.

  “You cold?” Rory asked, noticing my strange pose.

  “No,” I sniffed quickly.

  He smiled, then he shifted slightly closer towards me as he reached into the pocket of his black chinos. He pulled out his iPhone and clicked on the screen, then started to shuffle through his music library.

  “Music?” I asked.

  “Just setting the mood,” he grinned back. He tapped the screen with his thumb, and The Cure’s ‘Lovesong’ immediately began drifting from the phone’s tinny speakers.

  I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face, so I ducked my head down and hid behind a wall of black curls. A breeze shuffled through the park, and I found myself swaying gently to the music.

  It’s just like that night, all over again… I realized.

  I pinched my eyes shut, focusing on the sound of the music and the feeling of the night time air prickling at my skin. Rory set the phone down on the table behind us. My hands were still wedged between my thighs, but I could feel the vibrations from the speaker’s bass thumping through the wood and echoing into my skin, pulsing deep inside of me like a second heartbeat…

  “So what would you do?” I asked, keeping my eyes shut.

  “Huh?”

  I opened my eyes and stared straight ahead, at the rays of golden lights and the tiny dots of dew in the air.

  “If we could do that night over again,” I said. “What would you do differently?”

  Rory was perfectly silent next to me. I dipped my chin low and rolled my head to the side, glancing up at him. He was looking directly back down at me. His eyes were dark, conflicted...

  “You really want to know?” he whispered.

  I nodded, and Rory’s eyes burned a hole straight through me. A shiver wiggled down my spine as the song’s chorus vibrated through the wooden table top. My legs quivered and my hands slipped lower between my thighs, moving underneath the hem of my pencil skirt.

  “I would have kissed you,” he said.

  I felt my cheeks burn and my mouth slip open, but I forced myself not to look away this time. I kept my eyes locked on his.

  I’m not going to let this moment slip away again, I thought. I’m not that shy teenage girl anymore. I have to be brave...

  “You should have,” I whispered.

  “It wouldn’t have changed anything…”

  “I wanted you to.”

  “Don’t say that, Des--”

  “I still want you to.”

  That was all he needed to hear. In a flash Rory reached between us and hooked his knuckle under the bottom of my chin. He tilted my head towards his, and before I had a chance to suck in a breath I felt his lips press into mine.

  It was the kind of kiss you read about in books; that lightning bolts and fireworks, bombs exploding, sliding-into-home, insides-turning-into-goop kinda kiss. It was the kiss I had been waiting for all my life… the kiss I had t
ried to imagine so many times before. But somehow, it was different than I had ever imagined it.

  I wasn’t expecting his lips to feel so soft… especially when everything else about him was so hard. I didn’t expect him to be so gentle. His breath rushed between my lips and he held his head just slightly back so that I was the one leaning into him, willing him to go deeper; to give me more…

  His hands wrapped around my waist, easily encompassing my ribcage between his two palms. I leaned even closer, and I felt a fire ignite between my thighs.

  Holy shit, I’m kissing Rory McAlister…

  As soon as that realization struck me, the music suddenly cut out on his phone. Robert Smith’s voice was replaced by the sharp wail of a siren, and Rory jerked away from me.

  “Shit,” he grunted, glancing down at the phone screen. “It’s the firehouse…”

  “You have to go,” I nodded, understanding.

  “Des--”

  “It’s fine,” I said quickly, trying to collect myself. I readjusted my blouse, smoothing out the creases and wrinkles that had somehow formed under the weight of his hands.

  “Really,” I assured him. “I’ll just get an Uber. No big deal.”

  “I’m not going to just leave you here…” he looked so conflicted; so… guilty.

  “You don’t have a choice,” I nodded at his phone. “Duty calls. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  I’ll be fine… I repeated the words in my head, over and over, as Rory disappeared into the night.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN | RORY

  The alarm was still blaring when I pulled up. I could hear it from the parking lot, and it was even louder when I slipped through the back door and bolted into the vehicle bay. The wail was echoing through the brick walls, intensified by the hammering of rubber boots stampeding across the concrete towards an engine that was waiting at the front of the garage.

  I let the crew pass me, then I thrust myself up the winding metal staircase that led to the upper level of the firehouse. I took the stairs two at a time, and when my foot reached the final step the alarm cut off. The firehouse was suddenly totally silent, besides the sound of my shoes clapping against the floor tile as I sprinted across the upstairs hallway.