Beck tore off his mask and gulped the cold, pine-scented nighttime air. Even mixed with the acrid smell of smoke and burned wood, it was the second best scent ever because it told him he was back in the thick of it. The best scent . . . damn, thinking of that, thinking of her, would only drive him mad.
“Good job, Rivera,” Lieutenant McElroy said with a clap on Beck’s back as they gathered for the debrief by the pumper outside the four-story walk-up on Sheridan. “You didn’t screw up once.”
Two kids with minor smoke inhalation, mom with first-degree burns on her hands, and Fluffy the family dog would survive this holiday season. The same could not be said for the Douglas fir that had once stood proud in their living room—or the oodles of presents beneath it.
“Any idea how you pulled this one out of your ass?”
Beck turned to find Luke squinting at him through black-rimmed eyes. He shook his head, still bewildered by the turn of events over the last twelve hours, starting with this morning’s 6 a.m. wake-up call from the deputy fire commissioner.
Your hearing’s been scheduled. Get your ass in gear, now.
Four hours later, witnesses had been called, testimony had been given, and Beck was in the clear with a warning to “not be so eff’n impetuous” and an order to report for immediate duty. His captain said it was a done deal and, while Beck appreciated being back in the fray, he appreciated less the helpless feeling that the strings were being yanked from above.
Decisions made by big men in small rooms.
A little like how Darcy must have felt, when she realized Beck had made a unilateral ruling that affected the course of their entire lives. How her father always made her feel. Growing up as he did, Beck knew the helplessness of having no control over your life. One day you’re on the streets, the next you’re inhaling Irish stew with a bunch of wild foster kids.
Regret at how things had ended with Darcy constricted his chest like he had choked down black smoke. Sure, he could see her point, how cutting her out of the loop minimized her agency—but to use it now to bail on this great thing they had going?
Unacceptable.
He knocked back a half bottle of water to cool his parched throat and raised his gaze to take in Luke. “I never said thank you.”
His brother frowned. “For what?”
“For saving my life.”
Luke gave a desultory sniff. “I won a packet on you at the last Battle of the Badges. You think I’m going to let my meal ticket get incinerated?”
“Screw you, then.”
“You know, Becky,” Luke said in that parental tone that signaled a major speech was about to go down. “Maybe it’s middle-child syndrome, but sometimes I think you forget that we are your family and there is nothing—and I mean nothing—we would not do for you. Walking into a burning building to drag your dumb boricua ass out? It’s just part of the deal. Of course, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to upstage me with the heroics on every frickin’ run. I am older, after all.” With a smile in his eyes, he laid his gloved hand on Beck’s shoulder. “Semper fraternus.”
Forever brothers. Made a man feel good to know he had these people in his corner. But there was someone else who had always been rooting for him, right from the moment their eyes clashed over a boxing ring’s ropes.
“Lock and load, boys,” McElroy called out, his heavy boot on the sideboard of the pumper’s cab. “Back to the house we go.”
“We need to make a stop, Big Mac,” Beck shot back.
The lieutenant’s face lifted, flashing white teeth bright against ebony skin. “Burritos as big as your head? You’re speaking my language, Rivera.”
Luke threw his helmet into the cab and climbed up. “You can stuff your face later. Our boy needs to take care of important business.”
Beck stared past the truck, down the snowy street, and all the way to the merry band of red and green lighting up the hundredth floor of the Hancock on Michigan Avenue. With no time to shower or change, she’d just have to take him as he was. As Sean used to say, you can’t fall off the floor, boy, the only way is up.
The count was not over. He could still haul himself off the mat.
And this time, Beck would fight to win.
chapter 10
With its gold-leafed pillars and crystal chandeliers, the grand ballroom at the Drake Hotel might seem like an odd choice for a charity gala aimed at helping the homeless, but such was the way of big-time philanthropy, Cochrane-style. Opulence always made people feel important, and the decadent surroundings were intended to inspire subconscious counting of blessings and deeper digging into Benjamin-lined pockets.
“They’re more fake than a three-dollar bill.”
“What are?” Darcy asked her grandmother, and immediately regretted it.