Up in Smoke, page 22
I turn her around and fall to my knees.
A kiss between her legs starts her up again, then I add a long lick of my tongue. This isn’t the first time I’ve treated her to my oral skills, but today, it seems more purposeful, like every lick and suck can convince her of my intent. Hungrily I feast on that pretty pink flesh, spearing inside her with my tongue until she’s writhing against my mouth.
Just before she reaches that peak again, I stand, slip on a condom, and slip inside her.
“Good?” I ask as I fill her up hard and deep. Staying still, I watch her expressions dance and waver. She turns her head away but I cup her chin to face me. “Tell me.”
“You know it is,” she gasps as I repeat the thrust, this time angling to stroke her clit, so sensitive after I sucked it to readiness.
Sure I know, but I know something else.
We could be incredible together, a real force to be reckoned with.
A tear escapes, slipping like a liquid gem from the corner of her eye. The shower’s spray could be the cause but I know the difference.
“Abby, what is it?”
“Nothing,” she says. “Just so good.”
She’s hiding something, and maybe I need her to tap into that current of feeling because it’ll bring her closer to the truth. The truth of us.
“It is. So good.” I close my eyes, then open them because I don’t want to miss a thing. “It could be like this all the time.”
“Roman,” she whispers, a plea for me to stop or continue, I don’t know. But I have to get under her skin.
I move inside her, marveling at how wet and tight and perfect she feels. She clutches at my shoulders, then my back and my ass. Pulls me closer, sealing the connection, telling me with her hands what she can’t say with her words.
I fuck her deep, rocking into her with unmistakable intent.
Finally, she gasps, “Please, don’t stop. Stay right here.”
Words in the passion of the moment, but as close to Abby’s truth as I’ve ever come.
“Not going anywhere. Staying right here with you.”
Her eyes meet mine, those blue oceans I would happily dive into. She recognizes the moment and Christ, does it scare her.
She’s not the only one. I’ve fallen for this woman in the worst possible way. I shouldn’t even be receptive to it—I just got out of a multi-year hellscape and never thought I’d be looking for someone to share the load. Because that’s what it feels like: a heaviness in my heart that’s numbed me for years.
But with this woman, I feel lighter, like a true meeting of minds, bodies, and souls is possible. With her, I feel free.
She looks away, but I won’t let her. “I’m right here, ciliegina. Nowhere I’d rather be.”
Maybe that’s the assurance she needs because something in her lets go of the fear. She softens, in body and spirit, and holds my gaze. It’s a little defiant, as if she thinks doing that will harden her against me.
Nice try, Cherry Pie.
I keep everything connected: the erotic tie that binds us together, the locked gazes that force us to reckon with what’s possible, the heartbeats syncing with every thrust. I interlink our hands and squeeze, and she arches up into me like she can’t get close enough.
I push deeper to let her know she can.
I can give her close. I can give her the world.
She just has to take it.
Thirty-four
Abby
We’re en route to a structure fire in Humboldt Park and I’m in my usual spot, sitting across from Roman. Both of us are quiet, the playful banter of our co-workers swirling around us. As Gage takes the truck in a wide turn, my foot shoots out to steady myself and accidentally touches his boot.
“Sorry.”
“No problem,” he murmurs.
I’m ultra conscious of Wozniak watching for any crumbs he can use against us. If it was just a sexy affair, I might not care so much. Roman’s a big boy and he knew what he was getting into. But I’m beginning to wonder if it ever was casual. If we’ve been fooling ourselves all this time.
That night he walked me home after dinner with his family, he said: How about we pretend that’s all it is?
We agreed to lie about our intentions in hooking up. We both knew it felt like more, that saying it means nothing would be merely paying lip service to the notion of a fling. Like we’re so clever and above all that emotional nonsense.
But we’re not—or at least, I’m not.
He agreed to my rules, but I wonder if he knew it was only a matter of time before I fell headlong into him.
Maybe he knew already. Recognized the connection for what it was.
The truck pulls up outside a three-flat and everyone jumps out, all eyes drawn to the gray smoke billowing like a steam engine’s output from a window on the second floor. Two trucks from different stations are already in play, so any rescues are likely done and dusted and we’re probably here to help with venting and fire suppression.
Roman talks to the officer in charge and returns to us.
“They’ve already pulled a grandmother and two kids out. Looks like we’re here to make the pretty flames go bye. Brooks, Simpson, work on the aerial and assess for venting the roof. Acosta, Sullivan, you get us connected to the water. Woz, do a recce around the back. I’ll head in and see where we’re at.”
With affirmations of “yes, LT,” we set off to do our jobs. After opening the hydrant and hooking up, we head inside where Roman meets us.
“No fire on the first floor, but the second is smoky and hot. Let’s advance the line up the stairs and find it.” He eyes me, his gaze all steel but with something different there. I worry it’s already changed between us, that our relationship is placing a weight where none should exist. “You good to go, Sullivan?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Danny and I haul the hose up the stairs while Woz and Roman scout ahead. The hose is heavy as hell, but this is why I work out—to make sure I’m ready when I’m needed. No visible signs of fire greet us, just heavy smoke and sweltering heat. It’s weird not to see any flames but feel like it’s all around us, waiting to announce its arrival.
Roman raises a hand, calling for quiet. “Listen.”
I strain my ears, trying to hear whatever Roman does.
“Don’t hear anything,” Danny says, just as it hits me. An odd, keening sound, low and almost unearthly.
“It’s a whimper, like a pet, maybe? No one said anything about animals.” I can’t hear it now and neither am I sure which direction it came from.
Roman nods at me. “Just wanted verification my ancient ears are still working. Keep looking for the fire, Wozniak. I’ll check on the noise.” He heads off through the smoke, shouting for anyone who might be here to call out.
We follow Woz’s lead. The visibility is becoming worse, the air thicker and hotter.
“Where the fuck is this fire?” Danny asks.
I sniff the air, detecting something else beyond the smoke. Something fishy.
Plastic insulation for burnt wiring often gives off a briny smell. Not so strange, except it reminds me of something I read about during training.
“Maybe it’s in the walls?”
Woz turns to me, putting the clues together quickly and coming to the same conclusion. “You might be onto something, Sullivan. Let’s open her up.”
He means taking a hook to the walls. A slither runs down my spine. “Maybe we should wait for the LT?”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Woz gives me a look that says I shouldn’t have challenged him.
“Don’t think we need to wait for your boyfriend.”
I don’t look at Danny, who had to have heard that crack. Of course, it could be just a typical workplace jibe, given that I’m the only woman on the crew.
But there’s more to it than that. Woz won’t be waiting for Roman. He’s making the call and to hell with it.
Just then Roman comes out of a room near the end of the corridor, and goddamn it if he isn’t carrying Spider Man. Or a little kid dressed like your friendly neighborhood Spider Man.
Could I love this man any more?
Oh.
I really thought that.
Three long, ground-eating strides, and he’s with us.
“Where did he come from?” My voice sounds weird, and while I want to think it’s my mask, I know it’s because of the terrifying knowledge I now possess.
I’m crazy-stupid in love with this amazing man.
“Asleep in the closet. He woke up a second ago but he’s suffering from smoke inhalation.” His tone is angry because the responding crew should have found him, but he’s trying to rein it in so the kid stays calm. It’s not clear why no one reported a missing kid but I expect we’ll get the details of who fucked up and in how many ways later.
That’s when Roman notices Woz poised with the Halligan.
He’s barely asked, “What are you doing?” when Woz takes the all-purpose tool to the wall.
Rip! The blow back is immense and it’s just as I suspected.
Hidden fires look like they’re out or non-working but often in older houses with voids, knee walls, and attics, they are secret killers ready to strike. I didn’t notice any dormers in the roof but that doesn’t mean there isn’t some attic space with deadly flames racing through the rafters.
And this is exactly what’s happening. As soon as Woz vents, the entire hallway erupts. Fire and flame are pouring out of the walls and the ceiling.
Hello, disaster, welcome to the party.
The blast of heat has knocked Woz back, Halligan in hand, and he falls heavily against me, sending me crashing. As I regroup, my first instinct is to check Woz as the person nearest to me.
He’s unconscious.
Worse, a slew of burning debris has crashed from the ceiling separating our crew, me, Woz, and Danny from Roman and the kid. Thankfully, Roman was able to turn and shield himself and the little superhero from the force of that blast.
He shouts through the flames. “Situation assessment!”
I poke at Woz who’s starting to come to. How many times do I need to save this guy’s ass? “Woz, you awake?” I look around for Danny.
“Right here, Abby. Come on!” Danny pulls on Woz and shoulders him under his arm. The guy is heavy, so even though Danny could probably carry him, two people would definitely be better.
But I can’t leave Roman.
A side table in the hallway is now on fire, as is a gallery of framed photos. I stand and knock them off the wall with my Halligan, hoping that’ll help to slow the fire’s progress.
“Danny, get Woz out!” I shout over my shoulder, though he’s already dragging him toward the top of the stair. “Roman, can you get through?”
Still protecting his charge, he’s inching back as the flames in the hallway start to consume everything in its path.
He assesses the space, up-down, side-to-side. “Can you clear the floor?”
The debris is lighter there and starting to burn out. Using my hook, I knock fire-ravaged plaster out of the way, creating a narrow pocket. Roman places the kid on the floor and pushes him across, far enough that I can grab his hands and pull him to my side. The kid moans, which I take as a good sign. Moaning children are live children.
“Got him?”
“Yes!”
“Take him to the medics now.”
“But—”
“Now, Abby!”
In this moment, the kid is the prime directive. I turn and race down the stairs—also on fire, by the way—and meet Gage at the entrance.
“Gage, get him to the EMTs!”
“On it.” When I turn back, he shouts after me, “What the hell, Abby?”
“Roman’s still up there!”
His response is lost to the air because I’m already hauling ass back up, the smoke now so thick I can’t see one foot in front of the other. Climbing blind is no fun, but we’ve practiced this in the smoke box at the academy. Sure, Sam had to save me one of the three times I entered it, but two successes are better than none.
“Rossi, call out!”
Nothing but the crackle of burning paint. I fall to my knees where the smoke is thinner, and a couple feet in, I encounter an immovable object.
Roman.
Somehow he got past the bottleneck in the hallway but collapsed about six feet from the top of the stair. I yank at his shoulder.
“Roman, wake up!”
He lifts his head. Blood is oozing from a wound on his temple. He must have hit his noggin along the way.
“Abby, what the—?”
“Can you get up? Or do I have to drag your ass out of here?”
By sheer Roman Rossi will, he shakes himself awake. “I’m right behind you.” He sounds groggy but at least he’s speaking.
“Age before beauty,” I yell. “Get moving.”
He does, going ahead of me, though I imagine it kills him to do it. He’s the one who’s compromised in this situation, potentially concussed and dizzy, so I have to take the rear. We’re crawling along the landing to the top of the stair and reach a pocket of space that’s not filled with smoke and flame. He stands, dragging me upright with him.
“I told you to leave.” He coughs the words out.
“So you can claim all the glory? No chance.”
He grimaces. Blood trickles from that cut on his forehead; he blinks it away behind his mask.
In sync, we both assess the stairs. They’re practically engulfed and there’s a good chance we’ll break our ankles if we try to descend.
“I’m really pissed that you came back for me,” he says, his voice scratchy, “but then you’re such a pain in the ass that I suppose it’s to be expected. Christ, I love you, Abby Sullivan.”
Did I hear that right? Did he say he loved me? No, it has to be the head injury. He loves that I’m here saving his hot Italian ass, that’s all.
Only my heart appears to have gone with the original interpretation. It’s soaring, and it’s not just the adrenaline of being slap bang in the middle of a working fire.
Roman is still talking, like he didn’t just tell me that he loves me.
“But now you’re going to follow orders, okay? We’re going to have to make a run for it down the stairs. If we wait any longer—”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
I take a step; the next rung collapses and Roman hauls me back by my jacket with my foot in the air like a Looney Tunes cartoon.
“I’m Indiana Jones in this scenario, Abby.”
Meaning he’s going first like Indy in The Last Crusade, stepping on those stones to avoid the Grail Chamber’s death traps. It’s about twelve steps, but one of them is gone and Lord knows the condition of the rest. Roman takes the first step past the collapsed rung, treading carefully, testing his weight. If it can hold him, I should be good.
One more step … He loves me.
Another one down … And I love him.
Step number three … He fucking loves me!
He’s made it halfway down with me following in his wake when I hear it: a creaking sound. Not good. Ceiling tiles rain down on us, burning plaster bombs, and the stairway’s bannister shakes, a fiery tremor that portends an earthquake.
The stair starts to give, like it’s had enough of our pussyfooting nonsense and has lost all respect for anyone with such a careful tread.
I grab onto Roman’s arm just as the bannister falls away, my lieutenant with it.
And I fall with him …
Thirty-five
Abby
Hospital waiting rooms are the saddest places on the planet.
Hospital waiting rooms filled with smoke-stinking, dirt-streaked firefighters are even worse. All the members of B Platoon are standing around, scrolling through their phones, like it’s completely normal to have two of our own receiving medical care after being pulled from an inferno that destroyed a three-story building.
“How can you be so calm?” I say to Gage.
He looks up, his clear blue eyes troubled. “This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last.”
Of course. He was sixteen when he lost his dad and brother, and I’ve no doubt he’s punctuated other runs with visits to the hospital.
Perhaps realizing that his last statement isn’t all that helpful, he turns his phone over. “Okay, let’s get your mind off the obvious, Candidate. Would you rather accidentally like an old photo of your ex on Instagram or accidentally send a sext to your dad or mom?”
Tyler points at Gage. “That’s evil, man!”
Gage grins. “I know. As for me, sexting all the way. If my dad was still here, he’d understand completely.”
Danny shudders theatrically. “Nope, nope, nope. Option number one, all my exes love me.”
Gage mutters, “Typical. What about you, Abs?”
“Ex, for sure.” My father would have a coronary. I reach for the soothing vibes of my mom’s pendant.
It’s gone.
No no no!
Maybe it’s stuck in my clothes but a quick pat down assures me of the worst—I’ve lost my most precious memento. This day continues on its relentless quest for premium suckage.
Tyler notices my unease. “You okay?”
“My necklace. It must have slipped off.”
I’m searching the ground in case it fell off when I arrived when Captain Ventimiglia blows in and takes a seat beside me.
“How are you holding up, Sullivan?”
“Okay. Have you heard anything?”
He shakes his head. “They’re tough guys, so let’s assume the best. You want to tell me what happened?”
I’d rather not but the captain probably wants to take my mind off our injured colleagues. “Roman—Lieutenant Rossi—and I got caught at the top of the stairs. It became involved pretty quickly, the steps no longer safe. Roman went first and as we neared the end of the second flight, the bannister collapsed. I grabbed him but he had too much momentum.”
I landed right on top of him, probably broke his ribs, maybe even punctured a lung. The next minutes were a haze of action as Gage and Tyler dragged us out. Throughout it all, Roman was unconscious, as he was strapped to a gurney and whisked away to Northwestern Memorial.
