Blaze: A Fireman Romance (Hard n' Dirty Book 4)

by Renee Rose

  Maybe it’s because I just had Lia in my bed, but I suddenly question why Samantha and Lily are still in my life.

  As a dozen princesses screech and race around the park, I stand there like a tool. Samantha ignores me from where she’s chatting up the other moms. Lily’s dad is nowhere to be seen, but that’s not surprising. The guy’s less than engaged with his daughter.

  Maybe that’s why I keep sticking around. I feel bad for Lily and the stupid choices her mother makes.

  But no.

  I don’t wish I was still with Samantha and Lily. Not at all. In fact, I’m really fucking glad I’m not still carrying their weight. It was a whole lot of effort and responsibility without any thanks.

  From Samantha.

  Lily’s always generous with preschooler hugs. She sees me now and comes racing over, throwing herself into the air. I catch her and swing her around, planting a kiss on her cheek.

  “Hi, Mac,” she says, using the name Samantha calls me by.

  Samantha walks over and I set Lily down to run back to her friends.

  “Hey. Can you go up to my apartment and carry the coolers down? They’re super heavy.” No hi. No please. Just another request.

  This is nothing new and yet I’m seeing it through different eyes. I try to picture this scene with Lia instead of Samantha. Like if Lia and I had a kid together.

  Whoa. That thought sends billows of warmth crowding out my chest.

  Lia wouldn’t be giving me orders. First of all, she’d be pulling her own weight because she’s a hard-worker and doesn’t shrink from shit jobs. But second of all, she’s sweet and grateful. She lets me lead. She says thank you and sorry.

  I turn and walk toward the apartment.

  “You have a key?” Samantha calls. “Oh yeah, you do, right?” Yeah, I do. Because of all the times I’ve brought Lily home here and stayed with her after I put her to bed. Or when I had to stop by and pick up shit she was supposed to have at preschool. Or when Samantha called me to fix her leaking sink while she was at work.

  Jesus. I’m a chump. When did I confuse my urge to take care of people with becoming a doormat?

  I hold up my keys and keep going. I don’t bother answering. Of course I’m not going to say no—I’m the only big guy here. But it’s suddenly really fucking clear to me that I’m the chump being used.

  I shouldn’t even be here. Samantha and her boyfriend—Lily’s real dad—don’t seem happy, but I don’t give a shit about that. For the first time, I realize with absolute certainty that I would never get back with Samantha—not in a million years. I don’t think I ever loved her in the first place. I thought I loved her. But I guess I was playing house. She was pregnant and needed a man, and I stepped in to be that guy. It felt good. I guess I like being the hero. Or the rescuer. It wasn’t even about Samantha being the right one or what she could give to me. It was me seeking meaning by being a provider.

  I carry the coolers out and help myself to a Sprite. As I stand there watching little girls run around, it’s clear as day I don’t need to be here. If I stopped showing up, Lily would forget me—hell, she would’ve already if I’d stepped back when I should have. Having me around may not be the best thing for the kid. It’s probably confusing to her.

  “Go run up and grab the cake, will you?” Samantha says.

  “Nah,” I say.

  Her head jerks up in surprise and she frowns.

  “I gotta go.” I don’t add good to see you, or see you later, because it’s suddenly crystal clear that I’m done.

  As I walk away, a twisted thought takes over me. Am I doing the same thing with Lia I did with Samantha? Just taking charge of her life, moving way too fast? Am I inventing a connection that’s not there?

  Sure, we like to have kinky sex—we’re fucking awesome together. But I jumped right on her and attached myself like glue without even taking the time to know her. Did my domineering alpha male tactics sideline the chance for a real relationship?

  Is that even what I want? Because if it is, I’m sure as hell going about it the wrong way.

  Lia

  I spend the late afternoon taking buses through our station’s neighborhoods. I have a feeling our teen pyro isn’t done, even though he came close to getting caught. I’m looking for likely targets in the same vicinity as the other two fires. By evening, I narrow it down to three empty buildings. One used to be a corner liquor store, another is an office building with the ground floor available for lease and the last one is an old Catholic church.

  A little voice in my head keeps nagging me to stop this search, but I can’t let it go. I want to help this kid. I take the bus back to the empty liquor store because if I were going to set a fire, it’s the spot I would choose. It’s on a corner without a ton of foot traffic, on a seedier street in the neighborhood.

  My instincts pay off, because I see a slender figure skulking around. His dark bangs are long and hanging in his eyes and he wears that wary, ready to bolt tension in the angle of his elbows.

  I walk on past because I don’t really have a plan. Am I going to talk to him? What will I say—Don’t do it? The fire won’t actually save you?

  That’s what I want to tell him. But what are the chances of him listening? The kid needs help. And in order to get it for him, I’m best off catching him in the act. Then a social worker will get involved. He’ll be in the system. Spoken like a cop’s daughter, I suppose. I have faith in the system.

  I round the corner and stop, my back against the wall. I wait as darkness presses in. My heart thuds against my chest, and I have to push away Blaze’s warning about personal danger.

  This kid is worth the effort. He needs help.

  I pull out my phone, ready to call 911. Twenty minutes later I smell lighter fluid. I dial emergency and walk swiftly away so my voice won’t be heard. “I’m calling to report an arson in progress. 314 W. Janey. Suspect is a dark-haired male youth, approximately five feet, 120 pounds.” Being a cop’s daughter means I know how to call in a crime.

  “What is your name, ma’am?”

  “Lia Burke, NYFD, off-duty.”

  “Is a fire truck required?”

  “Not yet, but it will be if the police don’t respond soon.”

  “Please hold on the line.”

  I drag in a long breath, forcing my heart rate to slow. “We have an officer five minutes away. Are you somewhere safe, ma’am?”

  I look around the decrepit neighborhood. “No.” Again, Blaze’s anger with me over the last fire comes rushing back. I don’t need to be stupid about this—I’ve done my part. I’m neither a cop nor on duty as a firefighter. “I am leaving the vicinity now. I’m available at this number for questioning or if they require a witness.”

  I hang up and walk swiftly toward a brighter street, where I catch a cab. On the way, I call Blaze. I don’t know why—I just feel like he should know.

  “Hey, Sparks,” he answers. He sounds tired.

  “Hey. I just saw the arsonist in action and I called the cops. I’m totally safe—in a cab on the way home.”

  Blaze is silent for a beat. I hope it’s not his temper winding up.

  “Jesus, Sparks,” he finally exclaims. “Were you out looking for him?”

  “Maybe.”

  He growls, but all he says is, “Can’t get the cop out of you, can we?”

  I might be imagining it, but I swear he sounds almost proud. It does something wild and fluttery to my pulse.

  “Thanks for letting me know. And I’m glad you’re safe. Something tells me you took a few risks, though, am I right?”

  “Nothing I’ll ‘fess up to,” I say with a note of finality to my voice. I may like his punishments over some things, but I don’t want him to ruin this moment. I did something I feel good about. Maybe saved a building, but more importantly, I hope I helped that kid.

  He seems to understand. “Well, good work, Sparks. You’re something else, you know that?”

  Again, the fluttery warmth spins aroun
d my chest. “So are you, Captain.” I don’t want to ask about the birthday party or his daughter, so I simply say, “Good night.”

  “Night, baby.” His deep voice is warm and it sends ripples of warmth through my body as I end the call.

  Blaze. He’s an addiction. The man I can’t get enough of.

  But I have to be careful—there’s way too much I don’t know about him. Too much he’s not sharing.

  I need to guard my heart if I don’t want to feel the same crushing disappointment I felt this morning every time he runs off to be a hero to someone else.

  Chapter 12

  Blaze

  We’re the third company to arrive at an eight-alarm fire in Manhattan—some ritzy high-rise apartment with flames coming out the windows at the very top.

  Lia parks Big Red at base behind the other two fire trucks and our crew pours out, each member doing his—and her—job.

  The officer in command of the first crew briefs me. “Join staging on the eighteenth floor. The fire is on the top three floors and spreading. Ladder 54 is securing elevators and HVAC.”

  I bark orders for my crew to enter the building with their self contained breathing apparatus and start running in the hoses with nozzles and adaptors up the stairs. The pathway to the stairwell has already been marked in yellow fire tape and my crew takes the eighteen flights of stairs like champs. Once we reach staging, we’re briefed on the situation. The fire has reached the twentieth floor and not all apartments have been checked for occupants.

  Our company continues up the stairs to help get the fire under control, bringing our tools for forcible entry to get in the apartments. Black smoke thickens the hallway, heat seeping through our turnouts. Sprinklers are on, but they don’t seem to have enough pressure. Hopefully one of the companies on the ground is working that problem out. We work our way through the apartments, breaking in and checking for occupants.

  A dog’s frantic bark pulls Lia toward the next apartment. She points toward it and I nod, helping her get the door open. The fire has consumed half the place, making it difficult to see. The dog runs toward us, but then stops, barking.

  Lia squats down and pats her leg to call the dog, but it continues to bark, then run in a circle and bark again. Normally a dog would run out as fast at it can. Animals aren’t stupid. If the dog won’t leave, that means it’s staying for something. Or someone.

  I head toward it and it runs toward the fire.

  Shit. Who’s back there?

  I push forward, Lia right behind me. The rest of our company follows in with the hose. I check under the bed—a common place for children to hide when there’s a fire. Nothing.

  That’s when we see him. A kid no more than ten years old is slumped in a closet, his exit blocked by a caved in ceiling.

  I start trying to haul the debris away to get to him, but Lia gets right down on the floor and army crawls underneath it, getting to the unconscious boy. She hooks an arm around his chest and drags him back the way she got in.

  There’s no way I could’ve fit through that gap—no way any of the other company members could have.

  In this moment, I’m damn proud of Lia. Of my crew for having a woman on the team who can do things the rest of us can’t.

  My impulse is to help her up—to take the boy from her because I’m stronger, but I resist. Lia’s working hard to prove herself, and I’d be the biggest ass if I took this moment from her.

  Instead, I let her scramble up and carry the kid out, the loyal dog right on her heels, protecting his charge.

  Lia

  The news cameras catch me emerging with the boy and dog. Later, when the fire is out, they get my name and ask me questions about how long I’ve been on the squad and what it’s like to be the only woman.

  Knowing this is PR for the whole department, I keep it one hundred percent upbeat and positive. We just put out a fire in Manhattan—these people might be the kind who want to donate to our fundraisers.

  To my utter humiliation, the whole crew watches the evening news at the station over a spaghetti dinner. There I am—covered in soot and looking almost as small as the boy I have slung over my shoulder.

  Then they cut to me with my helmet and SCBA off. “So what’s it like to be the only woman on your crew?”

  I sound like a politician running for mayor. “It’s an absolute honor. I’ve wanted to be a firefighter my whole life and working with these guys is a dream come true.”

  Rocket leaps from his seat, affecting a fairytale princess pose and using a high-pitched voice. “I just love working with the dreamy guys at Ladder 61!” he mimics.

  “Shut up.” I throw my balled up napkin at him.

  Blaze’s face comes on the T.V. and I turn back to listen.

  “What’s it like having a woman on the crew, Captain?”

  My stomach tightens. I’m embarrassed to be watching this in front of everyone. Embarrassed to be talked about on T.V.

  The Blaze on camera appears annoyed by the question. “You know, I wasn’t sure how it would work out at first. I mean, I knew she could do the job, but I didn’t know how it would change our team dynamics. But I have to say, she brings something to the crew we didn’t have before. That kid she saved was caught in a tight place. She was the only one small enough to crawl through and get him. If she wasn’t on our team, it might’ve been too late by the time we cleared the path.”

  I drop my eyes to my spaghetti and blink back tears. I saved a kid today. It’s the first time it’s hit me. I’m living my dream—saving lives. I have to fight back the disconcerting sensation that I’m going to start bawling like a baby.

  “Eight years I’ve been fighting fires and I’ve never been on television. Guess I need a set of tits,” James mutters.

  The urge to cry evaporates. I lift my eyes to James, but he won’t look at me.

  Rocket shovels a bite of spaghetti into his face and talks with his mouth full. “Duh. She’s a helluva lot prettier than you, asshole. You think they want to put your ugly mug on T.V.?”

  “Well, they put on the captain’s,” Scott points out. “And he’s the meanest and ugliest of all of us.”

  Blaze grunts and stands, dropping his dish in the sink before walking out.

  He’s a man of few words around here, which normally makes me giddy when I think about how expressive he is when we’re alone, but since Sunday, only makes me uneasy. I still don’t know anything about his daughter or his history.

  I stand up and clear the dishes. I’m on dish duty again, but Scott helps me.

  “So how’s it feel?” he asks, taking a wet dish from me and drying it.

  “What?”

  “Saving a life.”

  I draw in a breath, not even sure how to label all the emotions swirling around me. “Humbling,” is the one I finally pick.

  “Yeah, humbling—I agree.” He takes another dish. “A million times better than when you fail to save someone.”

  I stop washing dishes for a moment, the weight of his words pressing in on me.

  “God, I’m not prepared for that inevitability,” I confess.

  “Yeah, you never are. No matter how many times it’s happened. Blaze takes it the worst of any of us. He’s got a rescuer complex, you know?”

  My scalp starts to tingle with some awareness I don’t want to have.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” I manage to say.

  “Once we were putting out this fire. The neighbors were yelling that there were kids in there. We went in through the upstairs window.” He just shakes his head, like he can’t go on.

  I don’t want to ask, but I still do. “It was too late?”

  “Yeah. Six kids. All lying there on the floor. Blaze didn’t speak for two weeks.”

  “Does he—” I swallow. I both want and don’t want this information. “He has kids of his own?”

  Scott makes a dismissive sound. “Not really. The kid isn’t his. That was another rescue mission of sorts. He started dating this pregnant wo
man. He supported her through the whole thing—coached her through the birth, stayed up all night with the crying baby, changed diapers, took care of the little girl on his days off. He played full-on daddy to that little girl. And then when things get easier and the kid is a preschooler, the bitch dumps him and goes back to the baby-daddy.”

  I want to hurl my dinner. The story is upsetting on more than one level. To think of strong, solid Blaze getting used hurts. But I can’t stop my brain from stuttering on the words another rescue mission.

  Is that what I am to him?

  The thought nauseates me. Everything that had been sexy and fun becomes a dark, twisted mess. Am I a project for Blaze? A girl crying for help?

  How could I ever let myself be so debased? Me—the tough girl.

  Blaze

  I hang up the phone and tap my pen on the station desk. It’s done. I’ve arranged for Lia to take a leave of absence for a certification course in fire forensics.

  When I called the battalion chief a couple days ago, I was certain it was a good idea, but now, after Lily’s birthday party, I’m having misgivings. Am I getting too involved again? Diving into someone else’s life and making it my own?

  What if she thinks I’m too controlling, too involved, just too much like Samantha accused me of being?

  And it pisses me off I’m even thinking about Samantha. She was a mistake.

  Lia’s different.

  At least I think she is.

  But will she see my attempt to support her as interference?

  I sigh. There’s only one way to find out. It’s almost the end of our shift and I need to post the upcoming work shifts.

  I pick up the schedule for the next two weeks and pin it up in the hallway just outside the office door. “Schedule’s posted,” I yell to no one in particular.