“Time to get smoked,” said Luke. “Later, bro.” He nodded, doing an admirable job of reining in the pity that they all got to speed off while Beck was forced to stay behind, but Beck saw it all the same and his heart bled a little. In a clatter of thudding boots and organized chaos, they headed out, leaving Beck alone with Darcy.
Bewilderment creased a line between her pretty dark eyebrows. “You don’t have to go with them?”
“No.”
“Day off?”
Lots of days off. “I’m on admin leave.” He huffed out a breath. “I almost killed my brother.”
chapter 6
A cold gush flared and froze to a block of ice in Darcy’s chest. “What happened?”
Beck’s face crusted over like a rusty lock, the tumbler click, click, clicking into place. Damn, she had a nanosecond to grasp at it before he shut down completely.
So she grabbed his sweaty T-shirt and fisted it.
“Jesus, Darcy. That’s skin you’ve got.”
“Oh, sorry. I just wanted your attention.” She loosened her grip, but still held on.
He gave her a bemused look. “You always have my attention. When you’re in the room, you’re my sun.”
Those words battered her breathless, and it was a moment before she could draw enough air to fuel what she said next. “Tell me what happened. It was on a call?”
“A month ago. Fire at a crack house on the South Side that started on the second level. The place was in dire straits when we got there, but it hadn’t reached the first floor yet.”
He paused, so she rubbed his chest over the skin she’d grabbed. Encouraged, or perhaps just resigned to honesty now that he’d opened the floodgate, he went on.
“Another company had arrived before us. Typically the first on site makes the calls and they said the second floor was clear, so Luke and I swept the first. It was empty, but on the way out I heard something on the landing. Someone was trying to get out. I raced up the stairs but the heat was too intense. I could feel it through my hood, fighting to take control of my mask. Luke was calling behind me to get back. My lieutenant was on the radio screaming at me to pull out, but this kid . . .” He laid his head against her forehead. “Darcy, he was just gang fodder, caught in a bad place, pulled in by all the shit. I managed to haul him free for the handoff to Gage, but before I could get clear, the ceiling crashed in on top of me. Luke dragged me out.”
“You saved that kid’s life.”
He nodded. “And almost got my brother killed trying to save me. The boys at HQ don’t look kindly on behavior that endangers your fellow firefighters. It’s just—” He took a breath. “This kid has probably gone his whole life with no one on his side. But I could do that for him. Come storming out of my corner, gloves on, fists raised. ’Cause if not me, then who?”
“There but for the grace of God,” she whispered.
In his eyes, she saw his relief that she understood. In another lifetime, that kid could have—no, would have—been him, and Beck needed this save to honor the people who had saved him. Coming from gang-infested streets, Beck had always known how blessed he was to be taken in by the Dempseys. Paying it forward was a given.
She recalled the scar on his head, that raw rift of pain. “How long were you in the hospital?”
“A week. They induced a coma and then brought me out of it after a couple of days. But they won’t sign off on me from a disciplinary standpoint. I’m on suspension until they schedule a hearing, probably not until after the holidays. Waiting around for the sword to drop is killing me.”
“Following orders keeps people alive,” she said, not wanting to pile on the scoldings but so, so angry with him for putting his beautiful self in danger like that.
“Thanks, Luke,” he muttered.
She pressed her palm to the vee of sweat branding his gray tee. The musky scent of man wafted into her nostrils, giving her a contact high, making her knees and heart go soft. Beneath her fingertips, she felt his thrumming vitality and the emotion that he had always done such a good job of reining in until he buried his body inside hers and took them both to a place she hadn’t known existed before she met him. A place she wanted to get back to—with the only man who had the power to affect her on a soul-deep level.
“Don’t be mad at me,” she teased. “Unless it makes the sex better. Then continue with your emo posturing.”
That won her a rare laugh, a glorious sound. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her so close they shared their next breaths. Life-giving, yet making her weak.
“Can’t get mad at you, Darcy. You’re the only one who can take me out of myself.” He tightened his hand over hers and entwined their fingers in a target over his heart. “I did not deserve you.”
That was not what she wanted to hear, talk of the past invading the pleasure of the present. Much too serious.
“I’m glad you’re not dead, Beck,” she clarified, aiming to cut the tension thick as the lump in her throat. “Better, baby?”
He flashed a so-help-her-God smile. “I’m glad you’re glad, querida.”