by Austin Bates
"That was positively responsible of you, King," Elijah said as they cleared the doorway. The light of the fire raged around the collapsed ceiling, but no visible flames made it past the thick coating of foam they'd laid down. "Did you finally decide to grow up?"
"Your mom gave me some good advice when I left last night," Damien said, flipping them both the bird. They were all covered in ash and soot, and it was hard enough to tell which twin was which in normal situations.
"We don't have a mom," Matthias said, glancing at his twin.
"It was a joke, Matt," Elijah said, flipping Damien the bird back. "He's being vulgar."
"Vulgar is my middle name." Damien waved as he and Kieran headed around to the lobby.
The hose was already on its way, Lucas shaking his head at them as they passed. "Stop antagonizing them," he said without engaging his radio, barely audible over the hiss of the water.
"Sorry, boss. Can't hear you." Continuing on their way around the building, Damien glanced at the bright lights of the trucks. Even at a distance, he could see Mrs. Stockman sitting next to the kid he'd pulled out of her room, his arm over her shoulder. Probably her grandson, although the kid had started early to have so many tattoos at his age.
The lobby smelled like smoke and burnt wood, but there were very few hot spots. Missy had called them in quick enough that they might get away without structural damage to the main building. The banquet hall and the exercise room, both nearest the kitchen, were hit the hardest. He could see the second-floor hallway through a gap in a section of ceiling sagging under the weight of the water.
"Kitchen is coming down," Lucas said just as they were finishing their sweep of the lobby. His voice was calm, but Damien could see through the windows as the addition wobbled and collapsed in on itself, flames spitting through the new cracks. They aimed the hose at the pile of rubble, soaking what little hadn't already burned to cinders.
The flames smothered themselves in minutes after that.
"No hot spots in the main building," Damien said, closing the door on the last janitor's closet, miraculously untouched.
"Good work, boys," Lucas said. "Salatini, shut off the hose, and we'll do one last spot check."
"On it," Mica said, the speakers cracking.
"We're fine, baby boy," Rafe said, his words slurring together slightly, "so get that damned mic out of your mouth."
"Sorry."
Damien chuckled as he stepped out on the lawn, the soft green grass barely singed, and dragged off his helmet. The night air was cold enough to make goosebumps spring up on his arms, and he sucked it in gratefully.
Beside him, Kieran sighed loudly, running a hand through his red hair. "I'm going to help with spot checks."
"King, check on the victims, and let the Fairlane's know that we've got the main blaze out." Lucas and Rafe appeared around the corner, dragging the deflated hose behind them.
"Why do I always pull notifications?" Damien groaned.
Kieran clapped him on the back and grinned, his teeth shockingly white against the red of his beard. "You grew up here. Everyone knows you, and everyone trusts you."
"I haven't lived here since high school." He glared at the glittering lights of Main Street, the town quiet despite the fuss only thanks to the early morning hour.
"Everyone knows you, and everyone trusts you," Lucas said pausing to turn their way. Even across the distance, Damien could feel those cold blue eyes on him. "If you're really against this, I can have Mica do it."
The trucks were an island of light, bright enough to block out the stars. The Fairlanes were tiny under that bright light, huddled together as they stared at their family business literally going up in flames.
Sighing, the breath torn from him, Damien looked away. "I've got it."
"I'll get next time," Mica said quietly.
Missy glanced up as he approached, throwing herself into his arms. "Oh my god, Damien. What are we going to do?" Her eyes were red and swollen, and there was a fresh bandage on her shoulder where the fabric of her shirt was scorched.
He tugged off one glove with his teeth and stroked her hair, nodding at Mrs. Fairlane as she rested a gentle hand on her daughter's back. They both looked exhausted, and Mrs. Fairlane looked decades older than the last time he'd been in McDaniel's diner.
"The kitchen is a total loss," he said, feeling Missy flinch hard against him. "The lobby is going to have to be renovated, but there's a good chance they can save the structure. The fire only made it to the second floor in a couple spots, but when you put in the claim, make sure you include all the walls and furniture on all floors. The smoke and water damage will probably mean replacing everything."
Mrs. Fairlane nodded, rubbing tears off her cheeks. "We have a great agent, and Bob always made sure we had extra protection on the insurance. I haven't changed our policy since he passed away."
"Then you should be back up and running in time for the spring festival," he said, forcing a smile. "You might have to cater it in, though."
She snorted. "Won't that make Joseph happy," she said, rubbing her arms and glancing toward the diner that had been in her family for generations. "He's been looking for a chance to get his pancakes into the damned hotel since I got married."
"I was so scared," Missy said, curling into his arms. "I just kept thinking about what you told me when we were at prom, about how fires eat and breathe. I shut all the doors and windows I could reach, but the fire was already in the dining room."
Damien kissed her hair, the smell of smoke permeating the moment. "Next time, you just get out, Mischief. Let us professionals handle it." He ran a gentle finger over the bandage on her arm. "What would Greg do if you got yourself hurt? And Michael?" She sobbed into his chest, and he shushed her gently.
"They were in Denver visiting Greg's mother," Mrs. Fairlane said, gesturing with her phone. "They're on their way back."
Nodding, Damien gently shifted her back into her mother's arms. "I'm going to go check on the guests. We'll add their treatment to our report, for insurance purposes."
Mrs. Fairlane glanced at the ambulances and swallowed hard. "You, um..." She cleared her throat. "They said nobody was seriously hurt."
"It's procedure. If we don't include it in the report and something happens down the road, it could come back to you guys, so it's best to cover all the bases." He gave her a professional smile, but she refused to meet his eyes.
"Okay..." she said, glancing at the ambulances again.
Frowning, Damien glanced over at the cluster of paramedics where Mrs. Stockman was sitting on the end of the ambulance alone. She was staring his way without blinking, her eyes red and watery. Mrs. Fairlane still refused to meet his eye, so he headed that direction.
"I'm starting to get a real Twilight Zone vibe here," he muttered into his radio.
Mica stuck his head around the back of Engine #15. "It's a small town. I thought that was part of the charm."
"Keep us posted," Lucas said before Damien could reply.
Mrs. Stockman watched him walk up, struggling to her feet. "I knew I had heard something about you being back in town," she said, her hands on her hips and an ugly orange blanket draped around her shoulders for warmth. "I asked that sister of yours, but she was too busy making small talk."
"You should sit down, Mrs. Stockman." Damien glanced around, looking for one of the paramedics.
"Bah," she said, sticking her nose in the air. "I'm healthy as a horse. Not like that nice young man who helped me get the window open. He's going to the hospital." She glanced over her shoulder toward the other ambulance. "They want him under observation."
Damien nodded. "That's pretty standard, Mrs. S. He inhaled a lot of smoke." He sighed with relief as Cooper Douglas came around the end of the ambulance. "Cooper, man. Give me some good news."
"Mrs. Stockman, you really ought to sit down," Cooper said, wincing when she glared at him. Damien grinned at the reflex, honed by years in Mrs. S's classroom. All her students ha
d it, even decades later. "We've got no serious injuries," Cooper continued, giving up on getting the stubborn woman to do anything that wasn't her idea. "The group from the third floor was barely exposed to any smoke, but we gave them the warning signs. They're here together, four friends on their way to the ski resorts in Aspen, so they'll keep an eye on each other."
Relief crept up his back like a cool breeze. "That's great. What about the other guy, the one with the tattoos?"
"He's being taken to Memorial for observation. The blackout was stress related; he hadn't eaten today. Regulations say we take him in anyway." Cooper shrugged. "If we can get him to cooperate, that is. Police are taking his statement right now for the report. I'll send a complete write up to the station first thing this morning."
"Thanks. I want to get everything in as soon as we can so that the insurance can get the payout to the Fairlanes." Damien rubbed his hands together, the sweat on his neck like ice in the cold night air. "I'll just swing by and let the guy know that he can request a copy for his insurance, too."
Cooper's eyes went wide, and he glanced toward the ambulance. "You sure you want to do that? The guy's, um, pretty upset."
Mrs. Stockman snorted, and Damien raised an eyebrow at Cooper. "I don't hear any shouting, Cooper. I think I can handle it."
"Can you?" Mrs. Stockman settled daintily back on the tailgate of the ambulance, wrapping the blanket tightly around her. "Did you call my daughter, Cooper? I'm not supposed to fly home for two more days."
Cooper rolled his eyes, his body turned so that she couldn't see. "Yes, Mrs. S. I called Denise, and she's on her way. She's already got you a reservation at the Hilton in Mountain View. They're expecting you whenever you're ready. Mickey Sanders already said he'd drive you over."
"In a police car?" she asked, her voice shrill. "You want me to ride in the back of a police car like some high school hooligan? I ought to box your ears, Cooper Douglas."
Hiding a laugh behind his hand, Damien slipped around the corner of the ambulance, ignoring Cooper's pleading glance. Besides Mrs. Stockman's strident complaints, the night was quiet. The roar of the flames and water replaced by the gentle rustle of the wind through the dried fall leaves, clinging to the branches with the last of their strength.
Behind him, the giant floodlights on Engine #10 went out, leaving him blinking in the sudden darkness. Overhead, the sky exploded into stars, the moon hidden behind the peaks of the mountains that edged the town. It was a beautiful night, and as he stared up at the sky, trying to clear his eyes, a meteor streaked past. Smiling, he headed for the pool of light spilling out of the second ambulance, old enough to know better than to count on wishes.
"Yes, I'm sure I'm not pregnant," an exasperated voice said, carrying easily on the cold night air. "I'm exactly as pregnant as a sponge is bulletproof."
Damien froze, his heart skipping a beat as he swayed on the spot. Propping his shoulder against the shiny red paint of the ambulance, he forced himself to breathe. "Fuck me," he whispered.
"Is there a problem?" Lucas said, and Damien could see him headed that way already. The lawn seemed like an eternal stretch of green grass, and the Lieutenant was moving in slow motion.
"I'm going to be sick," he said as his stomach twisted. Behind him, he could hear that voice, rough with smoke, but underneath all that soft as honey and twice as sweet, and he was going to puke up the casserole that Olivia had made them all over that green grass.
"Damien?"
He flinched as the speaker popped and crackled right in his ear, pulling it away from his head with one shaking hand. "I'm going to be so sick."
"Oh for fuck's sake," that voice said. He could see it in his head, those slender arms flung out dramatically, and those blue eyes slanted at him with subtle humor.
Bile burned the back of his throat, and his knees wobbled. Sinking to the grass, he focused on breathing.
"Damien, what is it?" Lucas was there, right in front of him. He stared at him uncomprehending for a moment, then sighed.
"Tommy."
Chapter Four
10 Years Ago…
"Where are we going?"
"Don't worry about it. Don't you trust me?"
Tommy tried to turn his head, but Damien nudged him, keeping one dark hand firmly over his eyes.
"Don't peek."
Sticking his tongue out, Tommy took another careful step. The ground by the creek was soft and uneven, and every step made him feel like he was about to pitch forward into the water. "Don't let me fall," he said, clutching at Damien's wrist. His skin was hot from where they'd been out in the sun all day, running errands on their bikes in preparation for Tommy's 18th birthday party.
"I'd never let you fall." There was a pause as Tommy tried to turn his head and raise his eyebrow at his best friend. "Okay, so I might push you, but only a little, and not today."
Rolling his eyes, Tommy slid his feet across the leaf litter. "Are we there yet?"
"Not quite. Watch out for the tree root."
He stepped carefully over the sharp point of the root protruding from the soft earth, tracing it with his sneaker. "What's at the tree house?" he asked, grinning when Damien cursed.
"That's not fair," Damien whined. "Now how am I supposed to surprise you?" He turned Tommy around and frowned at him as he blinked his eyes open. "Maybe I should just keep your present for myself."
"Hey! It's my birthday, Damien. Don't be mean."
"I'm never mean," Damien said, puffing his chest out. "I'm a gentleman." He was on the football team this year, even if he hadn't made quarterback, and he'd put on enough muscle to grow into his broad shoulders.
Tommy dragged his eyes away from the flex of muscles in the alpha's arm and poked a finger at his chest. Damien winced and rubbed the spot. Tommy may not be on the football team, but he'd been playing basketball since middle school, and he was no wilting omega. "You're exactly as much a gentleman as a sponge is bulletproof."
Damien laughed. "What does that even mean?"
Giggling into his hand, Tommy shrugged. "I don't know. I heard it on a movie the other night when Dad was passed out."
"You're so weird," Damien said, shaking his head. With his dark hair cropped close for sports and a dark stubble starting to grow in on his face, he looked much older than Tommy, even if he was a month and a half younger. When they had been getting the sodas for the big party, some woman from out of town had tried to give him her number.
Swallowing hard, Tommy pushed away the memory of how his stomach had twisted, watching her rest her hand on Damien's arm and smile at him. Damien's mom always said he was going to be beating them off with a stick, but Tommy had expected to have a little more time with his best friend.
Desperate to change the subject, Tommy glanced around. They were at the tree house, just like he thought. He followed the slope of the land toward the creek, running low this time of year, and stopped. "Oh my god," he said, jumping up and down. "Oh my god!"
"You like it?" Damien said, his lips twitching as he watched.
The motorcycle was at least half rust, but it had an engine and headlights and wheels, and on the handlebars, a big red bow covered half of the tag that read 'For Tommy' in block letters. It was hideous. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he could barely breathe.
"Mom helped me with the bow. I figured we could work on it this summer at your Dad's shop, and then when I turn 18, too, we can go on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. Maybe we could even go to Vegas or Los Angeles."
"Oh my god," Tommy said again, spinning around and dragging Damien into a big hug. Startled, the other boy struggled to get his hands out of his pockets, tension sliding out of his shoulders.
"You like it?" he asked again.
Tommy pulled back, staring at Damien's dark eyes. "Of course I like it! This is the best gift ever." Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, and he felt like he'd been plugged into one of the big truck batteries that they had laying around the shop. "We can go
to Yellowstone and visit Devil's Tower..." He trailed off, his eyes wide. "Oh, my god, Damien. We can do anything."
Damien threw his head back and laughed, the deep sound echoing across the water. "I think my parents might object to me breaking into my trust fund to finance your cross country road trip."
Crossing his arms, Tommy glared. "I can pay my own way."
"Of course you can," Damien said, glancing away, "but I'd have to pay my way, too."
"You've been saving your tips from working at the diner, haven't you?" Tommy raised an eyebrow but wasn't able to hold still long enough to wait for an answer, running his hands over the torn leather of the bike's seat. "There's these great bags I can get for putting my stuff into. They're leather, and they come in a million colors. You can even get them embroidered with a logo or symbol. I saw them in the catalog when a customer was flipping through it last week." He was talking too fast, his lungs burning as he paused to suck in air.
"Breathe, Tommy," Damien said, resting his hands on Tommy's shoulders. The warmth seeping into the sunburned skin was strangely soothing, and Tommy shivered. "We have all summer to plan what we're going to do. We can't even get started until after finals."
Tommy snorted. "You have the highest GPA in the class. You could stay home for the next two weeks and still be valedictorian."
"If I stayed home for the next two weeks, you'd beat me," Damian said, rubbing his hands down Tommy's arms.
Bracing his arm against the bike, Tommy tried to look cool as his knees wobbled. "You're hilarious, King. I'm not even close to you."
"You've won every art contest in the state, Tommy. You're the reason the school got that big grant last year, and Mr. Cooke knows it." Damien stared at him, his eyes earnest, and Tommy had to look away to avoid falling into those gorgeous depths.
"The football team always gets the glory, and you know it," he said, stroking one finger over the handlebars of the bike as excitement bubbled up again. "I can't wait to hear the engine roar."
"It runs," Damien said with a shrug. "For certain definitions of run. That's how I got it out here. I don't recommend doing it now," he hurried to add when Tommy reached for the key. "It stinks."