Dallas Fire & Rescue_Perfect Match

by Lyssa Layne

  The door isn’t open yet and I can already hear P.J. whistling in the hallway. I jump off the couch and resume pacing, hating that I’m about to break his heart. But I need to find me, find Mariana, the strong woman that got me to where I am today, not the one that was beaten and turned to sex to try to hide all the emotional baggage that it created. I used P.J. and I’m so ashamed which is why I need to end this before it goes any further.

  The door swings open and P.J.’s smile greets me. I almost let my guard down and mirror his image. He walks over to me and I take in every inch of him, trying to remember every single detail in case I never see him again. The length of his nose, the way his lips curl into that smile, making his dimple bigger, and those gorgeous deep brown eyes that I could stare into forever… except that if I do, I’ll only be reminded of how I used him to cover the pain of what Kade Sumerton did to me. Closer to me, he reaches out and grabs my hips, pulling my body to his and the physical pain I’ve been experiencing all day grows.

  “How was your day?” he asks, dropping his head and kissing my cheek.

  Biting my bottom lip, my fingers fiddle with the cross hanging around his neck. Tears swarm my eyes and I can’t look up, I’m falling apart before I even begin. P.J. brushes the back of his hand against my cheek and kisses my forehead.

  “You’re okay, Mariana. I’m here, you’re safe now,” he whispers.

  Despite every part of my brain telling me not to, I slide my arms around him, hugging him tightly and not wanting to let go. I want to hold on to this man forever except that if I do, I’ll always be haunted by what happened to me. I knew better than to go any further with him last night, he knew better and tried to stop us but I didn’t listen. I thought I knew what I was doing, I thought I was in control—that’s where I went wrong. Suddenly, it hits me why I did what I did with P.J.. When I was with Kade, I’d lost all control, I was hopeless, at his beck and call, and that’s why I so desperately wanted to be with P.J. so I could gain back control.

  “He won’t bother you anymore. If he does, the entire FDNY will go after him and he knows that.”

  I look up at P.J., wiping my eyes. “What?”

  His lips slip into a wide grin. “The brotherhood. They’ve got my back. No one will mess with you, Mari.”

  I smile, yet the ends of my lips drop slightly. I know how badly P.J. wanted to be accepted by the firefighters in his unit. Surprisingly, it took my bad situation for him to get his wish.

  Reaching out, I touch his cheek and nod. “The brotherhood.” I pick up the cross that hangs around his neck and slide it back and forth along the chain. “Good.”

  P.J. nods proudly. “How’d you get out of being paired with him today?”

  I suck in my cheeks, biting them to keep from crying. “I walked into the office. My supervisor didn’t say anything, just assigned me to another rig.”

  “Fuck,” P.J. mutters. “He does this often. That’s so fucked up, someone needs to teach him a lesson.”

  “It’s not your battle, P.J., let it go.” He starts to interrupt me and I stop him, putting my finger to his lips and sliding the cross faster. “We need to talk about something else.”

  His smile disappears and he nods, already knowing what I’m implying. His hands move to my hips and he squeezes them, opening his mouth to start but I speak quickly.

  “We can’t be together, P.J.. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me but I was wrong the other night. I shouldn’t have let things go that far.”

  P.J. nods. “I agree, I should’ve stopped it but I thought it was what you wanted. I’m so sorry, Mari, if I made you feel—”

  I shake my head. “No! You didn’t make me feel any way. I love being with you… like that,” I add on before he looks too far into my statement. “But it was my way of coping and I shouldn’t have used you like that.”

  P.J. pulls his hands off my hips and shrugs. “It’s fine, Mar. I don’t mind and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here for you no matter what.”

  I purse my lips before speaking then nod. “Thank you, I appreciate that. I think we should both stay in our own rooms—”

  “What? No, come on, Mari! I want you—”

  “P.J., you and I can’t be anything more than friends. I’m sorry.” There. I ripped the Band Aid off and now my best friend, the man I probably love, is standing here staring at me as though I’m speaking another language. Knowing there’s nothing else to say, I push up on my tippy toes, kissing his lips one last time then I head to my bedroom. Slamming the door behind me, I collapse on the bed, curling into a tiny ball and knowing my world will never be whole again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Paul

  Slamming the glass tumbler on the counter, I roll my tongue around my lips, enjoying the last taste of Scotch. The bartender looks my way, giving me the evil eye as though I might break his precious glass. It’s not like it’s the only cup left in the joint. Hell, he could just give me the bottle and I’d be happy. He makes his way down the bar and sets another cup in front of me but it’s plastic this time.

  “Dude, you’re here almost every night. You know it would be cheaper to just buy the booze and drink at home, right?”

  I scoff, taking a long gulp of the alcohol. “I’m avoiding home, can’t you tell?”

  More like Mariana is avoiding me. When she told me we couldn’t be more than friends, I thought maybe if I gave her a little space, she’d come around but she didn’t. She waits for me to get in the shower then sneaks out of the apartment so we don’t have to cross paths. She locks herself in her room, pretending like she isn’t there so we don’t have to see each other. After a week, I figured I’d make it easier on her and just not come home.

  The bartender smirks. “Yeah, that’s obvious. What’s your old woman mad at you about?”

  I polish off my drink and start to slam it down, only for the plastic to crack as it hits the bar. “She’s mad because I love her.”

  The burly man behind the counter puckers his lips and moves his head up and down. “Well… I can’t help ‘ya there but there’s a cute blonde at the end of the counter if you’re interested, she’s single.”

  He walks away and I stare into the new cup of Scotch he sets in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I check out the woman he’s talking about. She’s got short blonde hair and is wearing a pair of shorts that barely cover anything. She wiggles her fingers in my direction, and immediately, I know she’s not the type of woman I’m interested in. Then again, the only woman that is my type is one that I can’t have. Still, I nod my head, inviting her to join me. Slowly, and very seductively, she makes her way down the length of the bar until she’s sitting on the barstool next to me.

  “Hey,” she says, not even making an effort to start the conversation.

  I let my eyes roam up and down her body, not saying a word in return. Turning my attention back to my Scotch, I take a sip, fighting with the angel and devil sitting on each side of my shoulders. The rationale, non-drunk part of me knows this is a bad idea. I should finish my drink and walk out of here alone, back to my lonely apartment where the woman I love hides behind her bedroom door.

  A slender hand touches my thigh. I glance down to see my new drinking buddy is running her bright pink fingernails up and down my leg. The part of me that hates the world right now, including myself, says fuck it. If Mariana doesn’t want me then why should I hold back? I’m not looking to marry this girl, just distract myself from my breaking heart.

  “You wanna get out of here?” I ask, not even looking in her direction.

  She giggles and squeezes my thigh. “Sure.”

  I throw some money on the counter and stand up, not wasting the time to motion for her to follow. The click of her heels lets me know she’s right behind me and I start to have second thoughts but I don’t turn around. If I do, I’ll tell her not to come with me. I’ll probably break down and tell her all about Mariana and tell her the truth that I’m only using her to cover up the
pain she caused me. So I forge ahead, pushing the door open wide enough that she can follow me out and I don’t have to wait for her. Once we’re on the sidewalk, she picks up the pace and her hand grabs hold of my arm, latching onto me whether I like it or not.

  “So,” she pants, almost out of breath from having to run to catch me, “what’s your name?”

  I stop and turn to her. “Does it matter?”

  She pauses, her face dropping into surprise and she shrugs. “Well… I mean…”

  “Look, we both know where this is headed. If you didn’t want to do this, you wouldn’t have followed me out of the bar. So, does it really matter if we know each other’s names or not?”

  My words are cold and callous, I know, but I’m done sugar coating shit. Judging from the look in her eyes and the way she lunges for me, my tone and what I said doesn’t bother her. Her pink nails grasp the sides of my face and her matching pink lips land on mine, kissing me vigorously. For a few seconds, I don’t react, my mind still wishing I was kissing Mariana and not this stranger. Finally, I snap out of it, moving my hands to her hair and kissing her back forcefully.

  I break our embrace and nod down the street. “Come on, my place is around the corner…”

  Mariana

  The television plays, what I’m not sure, but the sound lets me know it’s on and I’m still alive. Lately, that’s all my days consist of, some kind of reminder that lets me know I’m still living and breathing because I don’t feel like it. I stare at the colorful lights on the screen, not making out any images because my brain replays the same one over and over. Blinking, I turn away from the box of technology and look out my bedroom window. I rub my eyes, trying to clear my mind and I hate myself. I hate myself for falling into this dark hole that has no escape. There are so many other women out there who have been in much worse situations than mine.

  I was beat around some but I’ve recovered physically so why can’t I mentally? While my face is no longer purple, I’m still sick to my stomach, constantly worrying about what if things had gone further. I only infuriate myself more when I think about how ‘easy’ I have it compared to other women. I’m not a victim, not like them, yet here I am feeling sorry for myself and not letting go of it. For the other part of my body that aches, well, I prefer not to think about it.

  The front door slams shut, scaring me as it’s louder than the show on the television. I jump and spin around toward the noise. Holding my breath, I wait for P.J. to make his way to his bedroom, sneaking in quietly like he’s done since I pretty much ended our friendship. A shrill giggle, louder than the slamming door, takes over the television.

  Grabbing the remote, I flip off the T.V. and take a deep breath before opening my bedroom door. As soon as I see P.J. with his hands all over the blonde, I think I might puke. Sure, I’ve seen him with other women before but never in our apartment, this is our place, our home, and we don’t bring people home, not like this. I clear my throat but it’s not loud enough over the woman’s moans and giggles. My hands shake nervously as I yell out his name and he looks in my direction. I raise my eyebrows, asking “What the hell?” with them and the response I get guts me. P.J. lifts his shoulders slightly and dips his mouth back to her neck. Tears in my eyes, I slam my bedroom door, trying to sort out my thoughts because I know there’s no hope for sorting out my emotions.

  “What’s her problem?” P.J.’s play thing asks in an irritated voice, putting emphasis on the word ‘her.’

  I can’t hear his response as his voice is so low that it only comes through as a mumble on my side of the door. A few seconds later, I hear his bedroom door click shut and tears fall faster than raindrops in a thunderstorm. In a haste, I grab my suitcase from my closet and start throwing everything within reach into the carrier. This isn’t helping me and it isn’t helping P.J. either. I need to be away to figure out my messed up mind on my own, not with the distraction and hurt of being around him.

  Ten minutes later, I push open my bedroom door, toting my overflowing suitcase with me. One step out of my room and I run into P.J.’s broad chest, welcomed by his colorful tattoos and his cross necklace bouncing off my chest then against his.

  He grabs my suitcase, trying to take it from me and shakes his head. “Where the hell are you going?”

  I turn my head, trying to escape the liquor that permeates from his breath. “Don’t you have someone to entertain?”

  He shrugs. “She can wait.”

  This being the first time we’ve spoken in weeks mixed with my anger, my heart beats viciously against my chest. “Why is she here?”

  P.J. scoffs, his dimple that I normally love but hate in this moment appearing. “I don’t think I really need to explain that.”

  I wipe my eyes, suddenly aware that I’m still crying and hating that he’s seeing me this way. “We both agreed, no bringing people back here so why’d you do it?”

  P.J. drops his chin, avoiding my eyes. I let go of my suitcase, shoving him in the chest with both my hands. The tears keep coming but I don’t hide them anymore.

  “Why, P.J., why? To hurt me? To prove that you don’t need me—”

  “Because I love you, Mariana! Dammit!” He grabs my hands, holding them against his chest. “You fuckin’ pushed me away when all I wanted was to love you. I needed something to get you to feel again, to make you see that you felt the same way, too.”

  I scoff. “You loved me so that’s why you brought home some chick to screw?” I shake my head. “You’re almost as messed up as me, Jefferson.”

  He squeezes his hands around mine. “Don’t say that, Mari,” he whispers and I know he’s referring to me calling him by his last name.

  I shrug and stop fighting him, letting my hands go limp. “I can’t do this right now. I have to go somewhere else to get over everything.”

  P.J. nods, kissing my forehead. “Okay, go, get things straightened out then you’ll be back, right?”

  I chew on my bottom lip nervously, his question solidifying my answer. “No.”

  His eyes go wide and he shakes his head. “What the fuck, Mariana? You can’t just leave. Whatever you need to straighten out, I’ll help you. We can do it together… don’t go!”

  I turn sideways, slipping past him and heading for the front of the apartment. “Goodbye, P.J..” I don’t bother to look at him for a reaction. It’s the first time I’ve ever told him goodbye and physical pain runs from my heart to every inch of my body. I’ve never been so scared in my life to walk away from someone. Considering what I’ve been through in the last month, that’s saying a lot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Paul

  “I don’t know what to do with this kid. I’m at my wits end.”

  “Come on, Murph. He can’t be that bad.”

  Naj scoffs. “You haven’t seen him, O’Neil. He’s got no self-control, the kid’s a wild card.”

  I close my eyes, listening to the veterans talk about me to some guy I’ve never seen before. Standing outside the kitchen door, I stay quiet so I can find out exactly what my brothers of fire think about me. Internally, I laugh, because they aren’t my brothers, that was all for show in front of another department. If it came down to it, they would never have my back.

  The outsider laughs. “Come on, Murph, I used to be your wild card and you tamed me.”

  “Yeah but you had both Garritys around to tame you. This kid doesn’t respond to anything. I’ve tried being his pal, being a hardass, I even sent him to Boone’s training down in Dallas.”

  “Boone didn’t help?”

  “It did for a little bit but then he went back to his old ways. Jesse, I’m not kidding, you know I always give probys the benefit of the doubt but I don’t know how much more of this one I can handle.”

  “If you can get Doyle to come around, Murph, then I’m sure you can get this kid to see the way.”

  That’s a shocker. Patrick Doyle does not remind me any bit of myself. That guy is straight and narrow, barely muttering
a single sentence during our shift. I was already intrigued by him before but now I really want to know his story. I hear the salt and pepper shakers clang and there’s a clatter as something, probably Murph’s hand, hits the kitchen table.

  “Dammit, O’Neil. I don’t know if I can!”

  There’s a silence as everyone soaks in Murph’s reaction. If I didn’t feel like shit before, I sure do now. Maybe Mariana has the right idea to get the hell out of this town, disappear from everything and everyone she knows, and just start over. Of course, I don’t know that’s exactly what she’s doing but that’s how I’ve played it out in my head.

  Not wanting to hear any more about how awful I am, I push off the wall and enter the kitchen. All three men glance in my direction but don’t even flinch or act like they care that I might’ve overheard. I nod in their direction, walking to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

  As I unscrew the cap, I stare at the guy I don’t know. He sits at the table with Naj and Murph like they’re old buddies. A slight tinge of jealousy surges through me that I’ve never had that familiarity with any of the guys. He’s a pretty boy with his dark hair and a face that ladies love, I’m sure. I’ve seen it at bars, women drop their panties for a guy like him. He’s not in uniform which is odd because most guys who stop by, off duty or not, have some sort of FDNY something on so I’m assuming he isn’t part of the department.

  “Hey,” the stranger says, waving his hand in my direction.

  I nod again, not sure how to introduce myself. Naj stands up, heading out of the kitchen and Murph points at me.

  “Jefferson, O’Neil. O’Neil, Jefferson.”

  O’Neil stands up and crosses the room to me. He extends his hand and I accept it, both of us tightening our grips to show our manliness. His mouth slides into a half smile as he responds to Murph’s thorough introduction.