Reckless (13 page)

Zoe's belly did the knot-and-squeeze beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. “You don't owe me anything,” she said, but the sudden flash of determination darkening his stare locked the rest of her protest in her throat.

“Yeah, I do. Kissing you like that was out of bounds. I won't cross the line again.”

Her pride prickled at the conviction tightening the angle of Alex's lightly stubbled jaw, but she stuffed the feeling aside. This was their chance to get back to business, and she'd be a fool to let her blistered ego keep her from making the smart play. “I'm sure you won't. Fresh start on Monday?” Zoe held out her hand, and after a pause so scant she'd have missed it if she'd blinked, Alex met it with a firm shake.

“Sure.” He let go of her fingers, pushing both hands into the pockets of his jeans before nodding at her untouched drink. “Anyway, I don't want to keep you. Have a good night.”

He turned back toward the dining room, but before Zoe could even swivel halfway around on her bar stool, he'd retraced his steps back to her side. “I know you think I don't take you seriously, but you're wrong.”

Too surprised at his about-face to speak, Zoe sat glued to her bar stool, staring at Alex as he continued.

“The reason I didn't kiss you at the picnic, and the reason I didn't take you inside last night isn't because I look at you like you're my kid sister.”

“It isn't?” she managed, lifting a brow to broadcast her doubt, but Alex stepped in to meet her mistrust head-on. With his hip angled against the bar and her still-seated position, the shift brought them perfectly face-to-face, both his expression and his stance unwavering as he caught her gaze and held it.

“No. It isn't.”

Wait. He was serious. “Then what is the reason?”

The edges of Alex's mouth twitched into an irony-laden smile, but he answered with no hesitation. “The reason I didn't take you inside last night is because I
don't
look at you like that. I see exactly what's in front of me, Zoe. But you and I aren't the only people in this equation, and that's why I was out of line. That's why it can't happen again.”

Zoe's brows tightened in confusion before a bolt of understanding sent them flying high. “You turned me down because my father is your captain?”

“Yeah, Gorgeous,” Alex said, shooting just as straight as ever. “I turned you down because your father is my captain.”

Just when Zoe had thought this whole thing couldn't get any more embarrassing, she'd gone and gotten cock-blocked by her father.

She was going to need more than one drink to relax her way past this.

“That's one hell of a code of ethics you've got there,” Zoe said, the lemony tartness of her martini shrinking her tongue as she took a much-needed sip, and now Alex's smile came more easily.

“Don't sound so shocked. Anyway, you've got some pretty ironclad principles of your own.”

She held up her hands, signaling
guilty as charged.
“I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After all, that's the deal at Eight, right? Band of brothers. All you firefighters have each other's backs no matter what.”

“We do.” Alex's answer was slow but didn't lack certainty. “Somehow, though, I get the feeling your father has your back even above that.”

Zoe's inhale sent a slice of pain between her ribs, jagged and unexpectedly deep. “I used to think so.”

“But not anymore.” Although it wasn't a question, the words hung in the air between them, wanting an answer, and Zoe took another sip from the thin rim of her glass.

“It's complicated.”

But rather than giving in to the deflection, Alex leaned one elbow on the bar, the muscles in his forearm flexing just slightly beneath the pushed-up sleeve of his gray Henley as he got good and comfortable. “Uncomplicate it for me.”

Zoe knew—she
knew
—she should let the subject drop, thank Sara for the drink, and head home to her cookbooks and her bubble bath. What's more, she knew that when the rubber met the raceway, Alex would let her take the out if she dodged the conversation with a little more gusto. But something way down deep in her belly sparked to life at the bold yet simple way he stood there in front of her, calmly waiting, as if spilling her feelings about the recent strain on her relationship with her father was just as no-big-deal as talking about Monday's lunch menu at Hope House.

And Zoe had been dying to spill her feelings for months.

Chapter Twelve

One of these days, Alex was going to remember to be careful what he wished for
before
he got to hankering, but today? So not that day. He hadn't meant to ask Zoe about her father; hell, he hadn't meant to say a single word beyond the apology he knew he owed her. After he'd gotten over the two-sided shock of her being in his local hangout and the down-to-
there
back of the top she'd chosen for her night on the town, Alex had walked himself over to Zoe's spot at the bar to deliver the “I'm sorry” and leave her in peace. But the hurt on her face combined with the vulnerability beneath it had his words flying out before he could temper them.

The best laid plans had nothing on this woman.

“My father and I haven't really seen eye to eye for a while,” Zoe started, picking at the edge of her cocktail napkin with her fingernail. “I guess it all started a couple of years ago when he got hurt.”

Alex's breath went tight in his lungs. “That was a hard time for all of us.”

It was an understatement, of course. Mason had died and Brennan had fallen off the grid in the wake of his career-ending injury only six months before Captain Westin had been hurt, too. The scene had been hairy when they'd arrived, with a storefront already heavily involved and multiple reports of entrapment. Another engine had been on scene, and Westin had relinquished his second-in-command post to run point, going inside to lead one of Eight's squad guys and a woman who had been trapped to safety. Part of the ceiling had come down just before their exit, burning through Westin's safety gear and knocking him unconscious. Although he'd proved his salt by making a full recovery, the second-degree burn scars on his neck and shoulder were a constant reminder that life could pirouette on a dime.

Zoe nodded, a tendril of hair spilling free from the loose knot at her crown. “It was always my mother's worst nightmare, that something would happen to him on a call. When you guys lost Mason, and Brennan was hurt badly enough to end his career, she nearly lost her mind with worry. My father swore up and down that he was careful and he'd be fine, but even as a captain, he's always been so hands on.”

“He has,” Alex agreed. Shit, Cap had run the obstacle course with them at FFD's training facility not even two weeks ago, and that thing was grueling enough to make Alex want to tap out on most days. “We prepare for the job the best we know how, but at the end of the day, risk still goes with the territory.”

“Maybe, but for him it didn't have to. When he got hurt, my mother and I begged him to apply for a promotion to battalion chief.” Her voice went low, and Alex's gut took a downward trip to meet it.

“You're serious.” No way. The house could deal with a lot of things, but losing their captain wasn't one of them. Westin was more of a cornerstone at Station Eight than the bricks and mortar, for Chrissake. Every firefighter in the place saw him not just as their commanding officer, but as a father figure.

Some of them more than others.

Zoe's expression didn't budge. “Of course I'm serious. He's been with the department for twenty-five years, Alex. He could've made chief ages ago. He just never wanted to.”

Alex proceeded, albeit with care. “I take it he still doesn't.”

“No. My parents went rounds over it for months. The risks of the job scared the hell out of my mother, and they still scare the hell out of me. After he got hurt, my mom just couldn't take it anymore. But he is who he is. Ultimately, she left.”

Damn. Alex—just like everyone else at Eight—had been shocked to hear about Westin's divorce, although the man had mentioned the split once and once only. The job put a strain on even the best marriages, and probably kept countless relationships from even getting to that stage. Alex had always taken it as a given that marriage was off the table for him anyway. But still, no wonder she was so anti-risk. “Zoe, I'm really sorry.”

“I am too.” Her lashes swept downward, guarding her gaze in the low, soft light of the bar. “Their divorce took me completely by surprise. I know it's kind of corny and clichéd, but for my whole life, our family was perfect. Like, Christmas card, backyard barbecue, Sunday dinner every weekend perfect.”

“That's not corny,” Alex said, and damn it, the words came too fast and too loud. “What I mean is, it sounds like you were happy.”

Zoe froze against her bar stool, her shoulders becoming a long, rigid line. “That's just the point. We
were
happy. I mean, my parents had expectations of me and they set the bar pretty high, but that was okay. Even though my dad was a little ambitious on my behalf, what he wanted from me was mostly fair, and he and my mom always did all that they could to help me reach my goals. The three of us were a team, and we supported each other. Right up until my father didn't.”

“He's a damn good firefighter, Zoe.” Alex reached out, wrapping his fingers around her forearm to quell the
but
he could see already forming on her lips. “I get that it ended your parents' marriage, and that their divorce hurt you. But just because he's devoted to a risky job doesn't mean he doesn't still have your back.”

She dropped her chin, her brown gaze flashing to the spot where his hand curved just above her wrist, but she didn't pull away. “It's not just their divorce and my fear for his safety, although that's certainly not either of our favorite topics.”

“Okay. So what else is there?”

Zoe laughed softly, the sound taking him by surprise. “You really are no holds barred, aren't you?”

“'Fraid so,” he said, but she shook her head, the dark red of her lipstick outlining her wistful smile.

“Don't be. I don't really have anyone I can air this out with, and to be honest, it's kind of nice. In a weird, spill-my-guts kind of way.”

Her pulse beat a strong, steady pattern against Alex's thumb, and he let his grasp linger for a long, sweet second before letting go like he damn well knew he needed to. “I'm glad, I think. But you haven't answered the question.”

Zoe paused, but she didn't dodge the topic. “Let's just say my father is rather disappointed in my career move.”

“He said that?” Shock pulled Alex's head back to look at her full-on. Cap had practically made a full-time job of bragging about her accomplishments, from college to culinary school to the fancy restaurant in DC. He'd been pretty tight-lipped about her coming back to Fairview, but Alex hadn't thought anything of it.

Until right this second, anyway.

“Pretty much, although he's so tight with what he really feels, part of me is just guessing. I mean, I get it. I gave up a sure thing—a successful thing—in order to scrape my way through a very unglamorous uphill battle of a job. He says he doesn't like me working at Hope House because it's in a dangerous part of town, but come on. Where else is a soup kitchen going to be?”

“The neighborhood's a little tough,” Alex ventured slowly, not wanting to admit out loud that he'd specifically timed his departure from Hope House on Thursday to match up with hers for that very reason. While he hadn't seen anything this week that qualified as an obvious danger, Alex had lived in Fairview long enough to be smart about certain sections of the inner city. Plus, he'd responded to enough calls in the warehouse district to know the neighborhood could dish up some bite to go with its bark.

But Zoe wasn't having it. “I'm tough, too, and my father knows it because that's how he raised me. I know he thinks I'm wasting my time and my talent, and he's right that the pay and the stability at Hope House are a lot less solid than what I'd have on the restaurant circuit. But of all people, I expected him to get my being dedicated to my job. After all, he's so dedicated to his that he chose it over his family.”

A curl of something Alex couldn't quite name unwound low in his belly, launching his words out without thought. “Being in-house doesn't quite work that way,” he said, and shit, he was veering into dangerous territory. But for eight years, he'd lived by the words Zoe's father had said to him on his first day at Station Eight, and those words had quite literally saved Alex's life.

“Really?” Zoe asked, half stubborn argument and half genuine question. “Then how does it work?”

“Being a firefighter isn't something you choose. When you're really meant for it, the job chooses you.” He took a sip of the beer that had mystically appeared at his elbow, making a mental note to double Sara's tip, both for being so observant and for not interrupting his conversation with Zoe. “You can't phone it in, and you can't fake your way through it. You're either a firefighter, right here.” Alex paused, just for a second to brush a palm over the center of his Henley. “Or you're not. If you're not, you eventually move on to something else. But if you are, then it's not just your job. It's who you are.”

After a minute of clear and quiet thought, Zoe said, “I don't know. I guess I just thought . . .” Her words faltered, but the warm-whiskey fire in her eyes didn't dim. “I thought he'd always have my back, and that we'd always be a family, but now he and I can't even have a conversation without fighting, even though we never really
talk
about a thing. Between my career implosion and my parents' divorce, I feel like everything I thought I knew just got yanked out from under me. One minute I had things I could rely on, and the next, I just . . . didn't.”

“Yeah.” Alex had his hand over hers before his brain could kill the move. “Sometimes life slaps you with a whole lot more than you bargained for.”

Zoe's brows tucked into a gold-blond
V
of concern and curiosity. “Sounds like firsthand knowledge.”

Annnnnnd he'd officially pushed the boundaries of this conversation. Jesus, since when had spouting platitudes become part of his blueprint? He needed to button his goddamn yap before this little chat needed a tourniquet.

So what if Zoe was dead-on accurate.

“It's a long story,” Alex drawled, digging deep for his most charming smile. “And anyway, we're talking about you, remember? Do you feel any better? You know, in a weird, spill-your-guts kind of way.”

Her laugh loosened the screws on both the conversation and the tension pulling tight behind his sternum, and hell, with those little wisps of hair that had fallen loose to frame her face and the sudden burst of genuine ease in her smile, she really was beautiful.

“Yeah, actually. I do. Thanks for listening.”

Alex tipped his beer at her, although for the first time he could remember, his cocky default felt just the least bit ill-fitting. “Not a problem, Gorgeous. Just remember this next time you want to put me on trash duty in the kitchen, okay?”

The conversation turned to polite but pleasant enough chat about her apartment (not terribly far from the firehouse), hockey play-offs (she was a Flyers fan, which had to piss her Pittsburgh-loving father off something fierce), and whether or not the hot wings at Bellyflop truly earned their “atomic” moniker. (They did, but Alex wasn't above watching Zoe find out for herself. Sadly, she took Sara's word for it.) Finally, after her drink was gone and the conversation coasted to a natural stop, he walked her to her car, forcing himself to zero in on the pavement in front of him rather than risk getting another eyeful of the barely there back of her shirt. The damn thing was cut so decadently low, chances were slim to none that she was wearing anything other than body lotion underneath it.

How a mere swath of cotton could turn even the most in-control guy into a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal, Alex really had no clue. But holy hell, he wanted to slide that shirt off her shoulders to explore the hot, bare expanse of skin underneath. With his eyes. His hands.

His mouth.

“Well,
that
was interesting.”

Alex hadn't even made it back to his regular table in the middle of Bellyflop's still semi-crowded bar area before Cole had lasered in on him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a two-foot bull's-eye in the middle of his chest.

“What was interesting?” Alex asked, even though he heard exactly how lame the question sounded before he'd finished asking. But the last thing he needed was for Cole to make a big deal where there wasn't one, so he sank a thumb into the belt loop of his jeans and leaned against the touch-screen jukebox on the far wall of the bar, pretending to peruse his options while he worked up the most bored expression he could muster.

Cole shot an obvious glance to the now empty spot at the bar where Alex had just spent the better part of ninety minutes listening to Zoe give her frustrations some airtime. “Seriously, Teflon? You're not really going to try and no-big-deal me on this. She's Westin's daughter, for Chrissake. And she's a hell of a lot more grown up than the last time we saw her.”

“Come on, Everett. She had a rough day,” Alex said, modulating his voice to its easiest setting despite Cole's implication. His main reason for going over and talking to Zoe in the first place had been because he'd owed her an apology, not that he could tell Cole that. Even so, letting her sit there all by herself would've been rude. “She just felt like blowing off steam and she doesn't really know anyone else in Fairview. We were only talking. That's all.”

“That's all,” Cole repeated, and the words weren't a question.

Alex's fingers curled tight at his sides, his molars locking together with a soft
clack
. “If you've got something to say, get to saying it.”