Safe From the Fire

by Lily Rede

  His dark-haired friend raised an eyebrow as he came around the corner to see him on his knees, pummeling the innocent sack into the ground, curses streaming from his lips.

  Matt barely noticed him. He had jerked off his shirt and sweat rivulets ran through the dusting of grain that coated his skin and dusted his hair. The air was hazy – at some point the bag had split, and a cloud of grain dust rose, crazy motes swirling around him.

  “Matt?”

  Rafael placed a hand on his shoulder and nearly got a fist in the face as Matt whirled around, rage in his eyes.

  “Whoa, Matt. I think you won,” he exclaimed, hands up, stumbling back.

  Matt jerked back, horrified, and then slumped to his knees, taking stock of the ripped sack and the puddle of grain. His knuckles had split as well, Matt noticed absently.

  “Sorry, man,” he muttered, catching his breath as the anger ebbed out of him.

  “What brought this on? Tell Mama everything,” Rafael coaxed, soothing.

  “I asked Grace out.”

  Rafael’s eyes widened.

  “No shit?”

  “Full of shit is more like it. As in me. She turned me down.”

  “That’s insane. Did she say why?”

  “Does it matter why? Maybe there is no why.”

  Rafael reached down to offer his friend a hand up.

  “I’ve got three sisters, man,” he said, “Trust me, there’s always a why. If it were me, I’d ask her.”

  Matt reached for the broom against the wall to start cleaning up his mess.

  “If it were you, I think Brian would probably be pissed that you didn’t tell him you were secretly straight.”

  Rafael grinned and moved to help him clean up. He’d been in a steady relationship with the local butcher for the last five years. Of course, the guy looked more like a cover model than a man who spent half his day up to his elbows in cow parts.

  Fifteen minutes later, they walked into the rec room and four pairs of curious eyes took in his disheveled appearance and split knuckles. Veteran firefighters Gordon March and Syd McCull didn’t comment, but went back to their chess game. The department had been sorely lacking in women firefighters for the last few years, and the place was starting to look and sound a little too much like a frat house for Matt’s liking.

  Matt beelined for the First Aid cabinet on the wall, ignoring the cackles of laughter from Lance Young and Jackson Dupar.

  “Heard Grace Mallow shot you down,” offered Jackson with a grin.

  “Is that what’s got your panties in a bunch?” added Lance in his exaggerated Southern drawl. He was from Virginia, but the man always sounded like an extra from Gone With the Wind.

  Matt didn’t reply, but started cleaning his knuckles, savoring the sting of the alcohol as he worked to get the grit out.

  “Leave him alone, guys,” ordered Rafael.

  “You’re better off, Harris,” continued Lance, apparently unaware that he was seconds away from having his intestines removed through his nostrils, “Don’t you know the girl is some sort of witchy sexual deviant? I heard she likes to cut the heads off of live roosters and have orgies in the blood.”

  “I heard you’ve been talking out of your ass for so long, you don’t know which end to wipe,” offered Syd, prompting guffaws from the rest.

  Matt seethed, but finished patching up his hand with jerky movements.

  “Seriously, man,” said Jackson, “Ever seen her at the clubs across the bay?”

  He whistled.

  “A girl dresses like that, you can be sure she’s asking for something freaky from any guy that comes along.”

  Matt wasn’t aware of moving, but one second he was standing there, a red haze creeping over his vision, and the next he had Jackson on the floor, an arm to his windpipe. He could hear shouts, feel Rafael pulling at his shoulders, but the fear and shock in the downed man’s face was really what pulled him back from the edge.

  “Don’t – ” Matt gritted out, “don’t fucking talk about her that way.”

  “I’m sorry,” wheezed Jackson, terrified.

  “See? He’s sorry. Let him go,” urged Rafael.

  “He’s not worth it, son,” advised Gordon, watching the situation carefully.

  “Don’t talk about her at all,” Matt said, pressing down ever so slightly.

  Jackson nodded frantically as best he could, and Matt abruptly let him go. Jackson scuttled backward like a terrified crab, clutching his throat.

  “You’re fucking crazy, man.”

  Matt left Rafael to smooth things over and didn’t even feel bad about it. Right now he just wanted to stand in the shower and let the hot water wash away the grime, and maybe while he was in there, he’d scrub hard enough to get Grace Mallow out from under his skin.

  Fat fucking chance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GRACE COULD FEEL HER blood singing as she stepped past the bouncer into the club. God, she loved this. For such a little space, the new owners had done a great job, and the room pulsed with music, lights, and people that crowded the bar and the dance floor. A live band rocked out onstage. Grace scanned the crowd – there were a few locals, but most of them looked like transplants from several of the small towns across the bay, which wasn’t terribly surprising. Unless you wanted to make the trek to Boston, you had to put up with running into the same people over and over again.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Adam asked, shouting over the music.

  Grace was startled for a second, but then she laughed.

  “I keep forgetting that you’re over twenty-one.”

  “By a couple of months now,” replied Adam with that pride that only just-twenty-one-year-olds seem to have.

  “I’d love one,” Grace said, smiling, but had to swallow back tears as her brother fished through a nearly empty wallet, checking its contents.

  Casually, she tugged a credit card from a tight pocket.

  “Why don’t you just start a tab? You can pay me back later.”

  She spoke lightly, but Adam gave her a wry smile that threatened to unravel her on the spot. He hesitated for just a moment, and then took the card from her.

  “I don’t want to know where you pulled that from,” he said, looking her over, “Can I get you a sweater on the side?”

  Grace chuckled as her brother scowled at the tight black jeans and the strapless black leather corset that left a sliver of midriff bare and actually gave her cleavage. A velvet choker with a pearl skull cameo wrapped around her neck and stiletto boots gave her a few extra inches, and she’d left her hair down.

  “You’re not going to tell me I don’t look fantastic.”

  Adam just rolled his eyes.

  “Anything but beer, right?”

  He turned toward the bar, but Grace grabbed his arm.

  “Wait, Adam. You’re okay with this, right? I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed or – ”

  “I’m fine, Gracie,” he replied impatiently, “What, you think one night at a club is going to turn me back into a crazed pyromaniac?”

  “No, of course not. But – God, Adam, you just dropped in out of nowhere. I don’t know who you are anymore. You’re going to have to give just a little.”

  Adam sighed and took her shoulders, leaning down to look into her eyes.

  “I know that. But you can’t swoop in like a Mama Bear over every little thing, okay?”

  Grace nodded, willing her anxiety away. He was right, and they were here to have fun. Matt’s hurt expression flitted through her head and she rolled her shoulders to ease the tension.

  He’s better off. You know he is. The thought brought no comfort.

  “Go dance,” Adam said, “I’ll be right there.”

  He turned her around and pointed her in the direction of the dance floor. Grace spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd and headed in their direction, letting the music wash over her.

  ADAM IMMEDIATELY RECOGNIZED THE short young man with the shock of red hair as he
exited the men’s room. Even if he hadn’t, he would have been hard to miss, since he and what had to be an older brother were blocking the hallway back to the main club floor. The two were in the middle of a heated argument as Adam approached, awkwardly wondering how to get around them.

  “It’s a half-assed job if I say it’s a half-assed job, Russell! You can’t expect me to keep sending you out if I’m going to get a call from the client every time saying you did a shitty job!”

  “I said I’d take care of it!”

  “You always say that!”

  The older sibling, who couldn’t be more than thirty, ran fingers through his already thinning red hair and paused to catch a breath.

  “Excuse me,” muttered Adam, trying to be invisible.

  The two men obligingly moved, but “Russell” got a look at Adam’s face and his red eyebrows went up.

  “Adam Mallow? Son of a bitch!”

  Adam found himself grabbed in a manly hug. He managed to extricate himself, smiling warily.

  “Russell Lansky, remember? Hey Darryl, this guy used to be the smartest guy in class.”

  “Hi, Russell.”

  Adam wasn’t sure he deserved Russell’s enthusiastic greeting. He remembered Russell as a hyper-active kid, too busy chasing girls and trying to survive the wrestling team to concentrate on his schoolwork. They’d been friends in passing, but never really hung out.

  “So, you’re back in town?” asked Darryl, a little cool.

  “Yeah, that’s the idea. I’m going to stay with my sister for a while.”

  “That’s awesome, bro,” said Russell, “We should hang.”

  “Sure. You’re working construction?”

  “Yeah, Pops retired couple of years back and Darryl and me’ve been keeping the place running.”

  Adam nodded. Lansky Construction had been in business for decades, and were a favorite of Dreyer Morton, who looked at Bright’s Ferry as his own little model town, putting up and tearing down buildings at will.

  “I’d better get back. I promised Grace I’d get her a drink.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, bro, but your sister…” Russell whistled, shaking his head, “Too hot for me, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah, you remember that,” Adam retorted, with a hint of steel in his voice.

  He bumped fists with Russell and moved past Darryl, who was still watching him with a disapproving look on his face. Darryl’s reaction was pretty much what Adam expected, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that not everyone saw his homecoming as a complete disaster.

  Ten minutes later, he weaved his way out to the dance floor, carrying a beer and a mojito, which Grace accepted happily, and then dragged him out to dance.

  THE CLUB NEXT DOOR would work in his favor, he thought. He’d seen Adam Mallow and his sister enter the building an hour ago, and realized that the situation couldn’t be more perfect. At the diner this morning, he’d been surprised to see that the young man was back in town – the Mallow boy had been wild and uncontrollable, and the three houses he’d torched left the town shaken and enraged.

  He was going to do worse than Adam Mallow ever had, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Edging along the alley that separated the club from the closed restaurant, he pulled out a pair of wire cutters and a lighter. He’d only have a minute or two to set the blaze before the Fire Department was on its way, but he knew what he was doing.

  He’d prepared.

  Swiftly, he disabled the flimsy alarm system and picked the back door lock.

  How did this place not get knocked over every week? he wondered, shaking his head over the ease of entry.

  Wasting no time, he headed for the fuse box, hoping that next door, one of those dancing idiots would hear it when he pulled the fire alarm.

  GRACE ROLLED HER EYES and moved her dance partner’s hands off her ass for the third time with a pointed glare and an “accidental” jab of her spiked heel into his foot. He yelped, muttered something scathing that she was glad she couldn’t hear over the music, and let her go, limping toward the bar.

  Adam pried himself away from the pretty blonde he’d been chatting up.

  “You okay?” he shouted over the music.

  “I’m fine!” she replied, “He may not be dancing for a while, though.”

  “Good!”

  Grace was surprised when a stocky young man pushed his way through the crowd, beelining for Adam. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember his name. Adam seemed to recognize him, however, and leaned down to listen. Whatever the newcomer said made her brother grin, and he nodded before turning back to Grace.

  “Hey, you remember Russell Lansky, right?”

  Memory clicked as the young man held out a hand, his gaze clearly admiring.

  “Right. Russell. Your brother was a few years ahead of me.”

  “Looking fine, Ms. Mallow.”

  Adam scowled and Russell instantly backed off.

  “Meet you outside, bro,” he said, and hurried away.

  “Russell and some of our old class are going to meet up at this pool place off the highway. I thought it might be nice to go, see if I have any friends left, you know. You don’t mind me leaving you alone, do you?”

  “I’ll be fine, but Adam…are you sure this is a good idea?”

  She knew that worry was etched on her face, and Adam frowned.

  “Mama Bear, remember?”

  “I know, but…”

  Adam kissed her on the cheek.

  “Don’t wait up.”

  Grace chewed her lip, watching her brother disappear in the sea of people.

  You’re not Mom, she reminded herself, and then, If he fucks up I’m going to kill him.

  The song ended and the band kicked into another number, something hard and edgy that fit Grace’s mood perfectly. A few nearby girls pulled her into their dance circle, and Grace forced herself to relax and think happy thoughts. She should be celebrating – Adam was home, and had apparently grown up a bit since the last time she’d seen him.

  Ten minutes later, Grace’s self-pep talk had kicked in and she was caught up in the music, rocking out with her dance floor BFFs. The shrill scream didn’t register until it was followed by another, and another, and the acrid smell of smoke.

  “Fire!!!”

  THERE WAS A GAME on and Matt tried to watch, nursing a soda from the end of the couch in the rec room. He was grimly amused that Jackson kept a safe distance from him and deliberately avoided eye contact, occasionally rubbing his throat. Matt felt terrible, but couldn’t bring himself to apologize, not when that asshole had spoken about Grace like that.

  He really wanted a beer. Three more hours and he’d be off shift and could go home to a cold brew and a warm bed and forget this whole shitty day.

  Matt took a swig of his soda and tried to see the bright side. The fact that he could even have a drink when he wanted one was huge. He didn’t drink in college, despite the usual peer pressure. The excuse he gave was football – no alcohol during training – but the truth was that he was waiting for the call from home, the one that either told him that his mother was finally ready to leave his father behind, or the one that told him that the worst had happened.

  Matt had kept a duffel bag packed and ready at all times.

  The other reason he didn’t drink was the insidious fear that one insult, one wrong look, one accidental push, and he’d lose it, unable to control his strength, unable to stop his anger until someone got seriously hurt. Matt knew he had a short fuse, but he’d worked hard to control it, to keep his hands gentle, to find a place for all that anger leftover from the traumatic childhood he couldn’t forget, and had found an outlet in his work, in keeping his little corner of the world safe, and in standing up for the little guy.

  The first time he’d had a beer he’d been terrified, but he’d come a long way since then, and now at least he felt confident that he wouldn’t fly off the handle at the slightest provocation.


  Unless Grace is involved, he amended silently, remembering the grain sack and Jackson’s ill-timed taunts.

  His reverie was broken as Gordon skidded into the rec room, out of breath.

  “We’ve got a job.”

  GRACE STOOD SHIVERING IN the parking lot with a small crowd, watching the Bright’s Ferry Fire Department battle the blaze that consumed the small Greek restaurant next to the nightclub. To their credit, the bouncers had moved quickly, evacuating the club with a minimum amount of fuss as smoke poured in from the blaze next door. The two fire engines had arrived, followed quickly by too-handsome-for-his-own-good Sheriff Tony Arnetto and Grace’s friend Evie Asher, who had quickly checked to make sure she was okay before heading off to interview witnesses with young Deputy Zeke Biggs in tow.

  Sheriff Tony was talking to Chief Hammond, a middle-aged man who exuded calm authority and had been a fixture in Bright’s Ferry since Grace was a little girl. Mr. Dmitros, the restaurant owner, was stoically standing off to the side, in shock as he watched his family-run business go up in smoke.

  The crowd murmured and snapped pictures as the firefighters efficiently hosed down the adjoining buildings to keep the fire from spreading as well as tackling the main blaze with water and a foam truck. The corner of the nightclub roof had already succumbed, but Grace heaved a sigh of relief as water doused the flames almost immediately. The blaze that took out the office building on the other end of Main Street last night had had the town abuzz that morning, but two fires in a row was unprecedented in a town this small, and she couldn’t help the knot of worry growing in her stomach.

  A crash of glass and wood had the blaze flaring and two firefighters separating from the group to move the crowd back. Grace spotted Matt immediately – it was impossible not to. Even if his size hadn’t given him away, the way he moved was graceful and efficient, all smooth power and control, even in his heavy protective gear.

  Ok, I’m not immune to hot firefighters, sue me.

  Matt and Rafael moved the rope line back, urging people to go home and let them do their jobs. Grace saw Matt pause as he recognized her, a swift tensing of his jaw under his helmet, and felt another pang of regret, though she was sure she’d done the right thing this morning by turning him down. Maybe. He hesitated for a moment, and then stepped toward her. Grace resisted the urge to melt back into the crowd to avoid him.