Up in Smoke, page 26
A tear escapes her shiny eyes and runs down her cheek. A round of applause erupts and she walks away, stopping only to kiss her father on the cheek. He says something to her, then she’s in the arms of her friends, Torres and Killian.
They’ll do for the moment, but I need to fix this—and I suspect I know how.
I head into the firehouse, thinking about my next move. But I don’t have long to ponder because the man I want to see is walking toward me, Venti at his side.
“Commissioner, could I have a word?”
Venti stares at me. I try to convey that this is okay, even if it isn’t, and refocus on Chuck Sullivan. “It won’t take long.”
“Sure, Lieutenant. Matt, could we use your office?”
“Go ahead.”
I nod at Venti, who gifts me a look that’s very familiar, one that says “do not blow up your career right now, idiot.” Once in Matt’s office, the Commissioner and I stand opposite each other like gunfighters at high noon.
“How’s the wrist?” he asks after an extra-charged beat.
“Healing.”
“I never got a chance to thank you for what you did, looking out for my daughter.”
“It was a mutual thing.” We saved each other, in more ways than one. “That was a good speech she gave out there. Pity it means nothing to you.”
Sullivan frowns. “Is that what you think?”
“You want her out of the service, you’ve never supported her, and sure she’s here but she’s been alone for a long time.”
The man looks torn between acknowledgment I’m right and sheer annoyance that I am.
“I’ve never doubted her ability, her commitment, her desire. I just don’t think she should be doing it. She’s my only child, all I have left of Joanne. I don’t want to lose her. Is that so hard to understand?”
“No. I’m a father myself. I wouldn’t want my kid in this business, and with the loss you’ve already suffered, you’re doubly careful. I get it. But she’s here, straddling the line between all in and craving your approval. She’s internalized that fear of yours and it’s made her careful. Not on the job, but in here.” I strike my chest, over the heart that beats for Abby Sullivan. “She’s already lost her mother, she may as well have lost you—”
“She hasn’t lost me. I’m right here.”
“Yeah, in the flesh. But you’re not here in the way she needs. Showing pride in her accomplishments, mentoring her in her career, giving her the unconditional love she deserves. She needs someone to believe in her.”
Sullivan’s gaze is hard and flinty. “Someone like you?”
“Yeah, someone like me.” I believe in her, but it’s clearly not enough. Because if it were she would be in my arms right now.
“You were supposed to take care of her, Rossi, not seduce her. I could have your badge.”
He’s right. But we all make bad decisions, especially where the heart is in play. And I’ve no doubt that I only crossed the line once my emotions were thoroughly engaged. Chiara’s right. I was crazy about Abby Sullivan from the jump.
“You could, but I don’t think you will. Because I think you and I have more in common than you’d care to admit. You met your wife on the job, right?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Come on, Chuck, fess up now.”
He walks over to the window and looks out. A long silence ticks over before he speaks.
“I didn’t want her to come back to work after Abby was born. She’d been off the job for a couple of years and there was no need, not really. But she loved it so much. And I couldn’t deny her the chance to do something she loved. If I’d put my foot down, she’d be here today.”
He says all this to the window, giving voice to something he’s probably buried deep for years. Laying out his guilt because he didn’t employ whatever fucked-up marital privilege he thinks he enjoyed twenty years ago.
“You think raining your disapproval on Abby is going to make her give up? Keep her safe?”
He turns sharply. “Eventually.”
“And if you got what you wanted, if she upped and quit today, you’d be happy?” I don’t wait for him to respond. “How long will that happiness last, Chuck? Because you’ll lose her in every other way that matters. It will always be between you, this wall you constructed to keep her safe. To stop her from living.”
From loving. Because that’s what he’s done. Placed her in a glass box where she can keep her heart safe from assholes like me.
Well, this asshole isn’t content to let Abby Sullivan remain cut off from her heart. That thriving, pumping lump of love belongs to me, like mine belongs to her. If I have to be a dick to make it happen, then so be it.
“If you’re willing to play hard ball like this, Chuck, then you don’t deserve her. And I think you know that.”
Forty-one
Abby
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Jude searches my face, his concern evident. We’re standing at the door to my apartment, after hanging for a while eating Thai take-out after the memorial service. “We can watch Killian getting hit on and make fun of his moves.”
“Hey!” Sam punches Jude’s shoulder. “The only fun you can make is of my dance moves. I freely admit I dorkify on purpose to even out the hotness factor.”
Jude looks at Sam fondly. “Your strategies are surprisingly well thought out.”
I pin on my smile until my cheeks ache. “Nah, I’m just wiped after today.”
Sam squeezes my arm. “You did great, Abs. Your mom would be so proud of you.”
Please leave before I start crying.
“I hope so!” If I raise the inflection at the end of every sentence, maybe I can fake my way through this.
Steps sound on the stair, and behind the boys, a burly figure comes into view. My father. He’s still wearing his dress uniform, but looks like he’s just come from a callout that zapped him of all his energy.
“Abigail, am I interrupting?”
“No, the guys were just heading out.”
I hug them both, holding on for a beat or two longer than usual. Jude whispers, “Should we stay?” and I shake my head.
“Thanks, guys. I’ll text later though I won’t expect immediate answers. Because dancing.”
“And sex,” Jude says, then grimaces when he recalls my father’s presence. “Sir.”
My father nods at them and I stand back to let him in.
“Can I get you something?”
“A beer?”
“I have Sam Adams, if that’s okay.” I grab it from the fridge, and try to work out why my father is here. He was softer with me at the service, probably because of the day that’s in it. Likely, normal hostilities are about to be resumed.
I know my father opposes my candidacy because he loved Mom. Still loves her. I saw his emotion when I spoke about her today and I can’t fault him for trying his best to drive me out of the service. If I had a kid, I like to think I’d be all fly-free-little-bird, but probably not.
He’s seated on the sofa, his top shirt button open, his elbows on his knees. Weirdly, just like Roman when he sat on my sofa that first time. I think they’d like each other if they gave it a chance.
I hand him the beer. “You look tired, Dad.”
“Long day. For you, too. You did great up there.” He holds up his beer bottle and clinks against mine. “To Jo.”
“To Mom.”
We sip, then sip again, both all up in our heads. Neither of us is ready to start, and I’m determined to wait for him to make the first move.
“When I met your mother, she had just graduated from the academy. I was her lieutenant and I fell for her the moment I saw her. All that gorgeous red hair, those bright blue eyes, and the way she could rip a man’s ego—well, she had a temper and could slice ribbons off you. But I couldn’t do anything about it so I suffered in silence until one day I had a bad callout. Got burned. We didn’t have the Nomex hoods back then and the gear wasn’t quite as fire resistant.” He carries the scars of that time on his neck. I used to run my fingers over them when he held me in his lap as a girl. “Your mother came to see me in the hospital and brought me a six pack of beer, just snuck it into my room.”
I chuckle. “That’s pretty badass.”
“That was your mom.” He studies me for a moment. “We met at Engine 6.”
My heart thumps hard. “I thought it was a different firehouse. I thought she went there after I was born.”
“That’s where we met. I heard later someone calling it Chicago’s most romantic firehouse because the Dempseys’ love lives kept making news, but before that lot, there was Chuck and Jo Sullivan. The original CFD supercouple.” His smile is fond. “Things were different then, the rules about relationships between crew members not quite as clear-cut. When we got engaged, I transferred out to a different station, but 6 is where it all began, and where she came back to after you were born. When you asked to be assigned there, it seemed like you were trying to follow in her footsteps a little too closely.”
“You thought I was headed down the same road as Mom.”
He raises his gaze to mine, his pain evident. I want to hug away his hurt but I can’t let him off the hook. Not yet.
“I know you don’t trust me, Abigail. When your mother died, I worked a lot, extra shifts even, to block out the pain. If I was too tired, I wouldn’t have to think about her. About losing her. I know I wasn’t around much and I came off as … distant. Maybe I was trying to prepare you if something happened to me. But all my life I’ve wanted nothing more than to protect you. I hoped you’d grow out of this desire to become a firefighter, that something else would be the outlet for your passion. I know you’re good. Everyone I’ve talked to—Fox, Venti, Rossi—have all told me how good you are.”
“You spoke to Roman about me?”
He snorts. “He spoke to me about you. Came to talk to me after the memorial. Has it all figured out.”
My heart flips over and thuds into my stomach. “All what?”
“How I’ve hurt you and why it makes you reluctant to trust people. To give your heart.”
“I understand,” I manage to choke out. “You don’t want to lose me.”
“But I may already have.”
I don’t deny it. This Dad-knows-best business is all well and good when you’re a little girl, but not a grown woman.
He takes my hand and clasps it tightly. “You are more precious to me than life itself, Abigail. You’re all I have and if I lost you …” He swipes at a tear. Suddenly he looks much older than his fifty-seven years. “I’m not sure I could survive that.”
“Dad, I—I get it. I do. But I could be hit by a bus or get a weird disease or I don’t know, trip down the stairs out there! I know you think I’m reckless but not where my job is concerned. Not where the lives of my crew and the people I serve are concerned.”
He nods slowly. “If this is what you want, it’s your choice.”
“And if I choose it, will you respect that choice? Respect me?”
He kisses my forehead. “Yes, mo chroi, my heart of hearts. I will respect that choice. And speaking of choices … what about Rossi?”
I remain silent, unsure where to start. The look on my father’s face says he’s about to give me one of his famous arguments.
“I suspect you have an opinion.”
“Your captain says that Rossi wanted to report the relationship sooner, but you refused. Sure, it would have been frowned upon but if you really wanted to be with him, you could have dealt with that. Gone on the record. So why didn’t you?”
I blow out a breath, reaching for the stock justification I’ve played over and over in my head. “I was sure it would just burn out. A flashover that would scorch everything in its path and leave nothing but ash. It seemed like a lot to risk for something that might potentially go nowhere.”
He stares at me. “Rossi seemed pretty sure of the potential for the two of you from the beginning.”
“He said that?”
“Not in so many words. But I could tell from talking to him that he’s crazy about you. I remember what that felt like with your mother.”
To hear my father speak in such candid terms unlocks something inside me.
“I—I might have felt the possibilities from the beginning but I wanted to keep it to the—uh, physical …” I grimace at putting thoughts of his daughter having sex into my father’s head. I rush forward. “It seemed safer. I wouldn’t become emotionally invested in someone who I need to have my back and vice versa. And if something happened to him, I’d be sad for a while because I once knew of and laughed with and slept with Roman Rossi, but my heart would remain intact because I hadn’t done something foolish like fallen in love with him. I hadn’t made a life with him, a life that would have this great big void in the middle of it if he was gone. Like our lives when Mom died.”
His eyes are wet, and so are mine. It’s weird to be sharing this with my father, and even weirder to realize that if anyone could understand this, it’s him.
We should have talked long ago.
“Abby, do you think I’d trade those years with your mom so I could escape the pain of losing her?”
“I don’t know! Would you?”
He shakes his head. “Not a damn second.”
“So you’re saying I should just make my peace with the fact anything could happen and my heart could break if I lost him?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you not just tell me that you could fall under a bus or get a disease that would take you from me so I shouldn’t be worried about you on the job? You could marry a guy with the safest job in the world and still get your heart broken, but think of what you might have missed. There are no guarantees in life. Every moment I spent with your mother was precious. And every moment I spend with my brave, fearless, beautiful daughter is also precious. Life is full of risk and benefit. When it comes to loving someone, I would think any daughter of mine would go all in.”
The tears stinging my eyelids fight to break free. I swipe at the first escapee.
I recall Roman’s words, that grief is a kind of unexpressed love, stuck inside you with no place to go. He had said one outlet for it was to honor my mother by being the best at my job. Here’s another: talking about her with the people who knew her and ensuring she’s never forgotten.
“Oh, Dad, I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner.”
“I didn’t make it easy for you. But no more keeping it in. The channels are open.” He squeezes my hand. “Sometimes it’s easier to say you don’t care than to explain all the reasons why you do. If you think Rossi is worth it, you need to give him a shot as well.”
Forty-two
Roman
My heart is a galloping mustang in my chest as I push through the doors of Fern’s Diner and look around. That cute old couple is in one of the booths, some teens are making out in another, and the counter is disappointingly empty.
Except for a slice of cherry pie.
The text came in ten minutes ago.
Meet me at Fern’s.
That was it—and that was all it took. I threw on a shirt and jeans and raced over here like they might run out of damn pie.
Which, history says, is a distinct possibility.
Tessa the server, now with a name badge that says “Flo,” appears and places a menu on the counter to the right of the pie. I don’t need it.
I know exactly what I want.
One step toward my future and she appears from around the corner, her eyes glossy, her cheekbones glowing with heat.
The woman I love in the flesh.
“Hi, there,” she says, a shyness in her tone I’ve not heard before.
“Hey, Sullivan, it’s been a day, right?”
She laughs. “That it has. But pie is in my future, so it’s looking up.”
Tessa/Flo puts a couple of forks on either side of the pie with a wink and a smile. I take Abby’s hand and lead her to the same seat as last time, only now I take the one directly to her left. No buffer or barrier like before.
I pick up a fork.
She picks up the other.
We clink our flatware.
And we eat our pie, casting sly looks at each other like either of us might vanish at any moment. It seems we’ve determined that the important words can’t be spoken without full stomachs. The last bite is a piece of crust with a gob of cherry pie filling. I nudge the plate toward her. “All yours.”
She swallows. “You’d give me your last bite?”
“I’d give you my last anything.” Tears fill her eyes. “Abby, sweetheart. Please.” I cup her jaw and catch a tear, then hold on because touching her is everything. I never want to let go.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Roman. That I pushed you away.”
“It’s okay. I get it, or I think I do.” We need to get to the bottom of this. I haul a breath but can’t seem to fill my lungs. “You said we had a good time but we should stop before it got too far. Did you mean that?”
“Yes … and no. I had a good time. More than a good time.” She half smiles at the innuendo but my nerves are too shredded to appreciate it. “The part about stopping before it got too far wasn’t entirely accurate. ‘Too far’ had already happened. I was crazy about you. I am crazy about you. It seemed easier to make the break even though it really hurt.”
“Tell me about it. You certainly picked your moment, Abby.” Concussed, bruised, battered, and high on painkillers.
“I know.” Her cheeks are flushed, every freckle glowing. I love seeing her so emotional, her heart on display. “The thought of losing you in the line of duty brought some stuff to the surface. Whether I’m too reckless, my mom’s death, how my dad feels about potentially losing me. He’s terrified and I didn’t respect that enough. Seeing it from his side when I was smack bang in the middle of being mad at him was pretty confusing.”
I can see that, but best of all, she seems to be making peace with the messiness of it all. “You’re still scared about losing me on the job?”
