Fatigue weighed Faith down as she squatted next to the truck, leaning her back against it, finishing her drink. Ten hours was a long fight, but you never really noticed how wiped you were until afterward, when the adrenaline stopped and salvage and overhaul wound down. Once the flames were doused, the firefighters had spent time rehashing the situation as they carried out anything that could be saved, trading stories of what they’d encountered, one-upping to see who’d ended up having the best assignment. Silently questioning if they’d done the right things, made the right decisions. If there was anything they could’ve done better.
Faith’s self-critique was easy tonight—she’d blown it. Oh, sure, she’d gotten her act together and done okay in the end. But walking into that burning building and locking up…
Unforgivable.
And the biggest problem was she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t happen the next time they got called to a big fire.
No one had noticed, but that didn’t change a thing.
She
knew.
Derek Severson and Clay Marlow rested several feet from Faith, still talking as they rehydrated. She stood and disposed of her water bottle. She had a policy of never being the last person back from taking a break.
A few minutes later, the crews had removed as much as they could from the interior and ensured there were no remaining hot spots. Faith noticed a couple hundred feet of hose from their engine that had to be loaded. She headed over and started rolling it, though every muscle in her body was beginning to ache. She was starting to fantasize about falling into bed; it was after 2:00 a.m. and would be a short night, anyway.
She stood and was lifting the first roll of hose to take to the engine when a pain near her collarbone nearly flattened her. She sat down hard, dropped the hose on the ground, muttering swear words to herself.
When she could breathe again, she glanced around, trying to act as if nothing was wrong.
Dammit
… Joe was standing near the engine and staring straight at her. If the concern on his face was any indication, he’d seen everything.
She was afraid to stand up again because it freaking hurt. Another jab of pain, on top of her exhaustion, was liable to make her cry like a girl. Instead, she busied herself with the hose, trying to make it appear as if it wasn’t rolled quite right and needed to be fixed.
“Faith.” Joe loomed over her in the chilly night.
“Yes, sir.” She didn’t look up at him, just worked intently on the nonexistent problem.
He squatted next to her. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing the hose.”
“The hose is fine.”
Finally she glanced up at him.
“You hurt yourself,” he said in a gentle, low voice so no one could overhear. She was eternally grateful for his discretion.
“Not really,” she said, giving up on the hose act.
“I saw you, Faith. Don’t insult me by lying.”
When she looked into those concerned dark eyes, she couldn’t continue to deny it. But she could understate it.
“It was my collarbone. Just a sharp, brief pain, but it’s over now.” Which was the truth. So far. “Long day, I guess.”
He watched her closely for several seconds, as if gauging whether she was leveling with him.
“Do we need to have Scott or Rafe check you out?” he asked, gesturing over his shoulder to the ambulance.
“No,” she said quickly. “Really. It didn’t hurt until just now. I must have twisted wrong as I stood up.”
He wasn’t convinced, Faith could tell. So to persuade him, she had no choice but to stand and prove she was fine.
She picked up the hoses, swallowed and braced herself. This time she rose more slowly. And yeah, the pain was there, but not as bad. She fought through it, refusing to let it show on her face. Because, of course, he was still staring at her.
He brushed her wrist in a touch that was probably not professional, judging by the way it got Faith’s heart racing. Before she could scold herself for her reaction, he spoke—again quietly, so no one could hear. “Don’t be stubborn, Faith. Let me carry one of those. You don’t want to reinjure yourself.”
She didn’t know if it was the mind-blurring fatigue or the feel of his rough fingers so tender on her skin, but she weakened. Let him take one of the rolls from her. She walked by his side to the engine but insisted on putting them away herself. Self-consciously, she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed that Joe had helped her. A couple of guys were nearby, but not paying attention to them; maybe no one had seen. She should’ve just carried both hoses.
“So,” Joe said, still in a private voice. “I want more information on this. Did you injure yourself tonight? Run into anything? Have something fall or hit you? Did you—”
“None of the above, like I told you. You saw the first and only episode and it’s gone now. Can we drop it? Please?”
“I need to report—”
“Any injuries that occur on the job. This isn’t an injury and it didn’t happen on this job.”
“You watch that collarbone. If you have any more problems with it, I want you to see a doctor.”
“Yes, sir,” she said formally.
She could almost swear he flinched.
As she turned away to get back to work, a thought occurred to her. “You’re not going to tell the chief, are you?” He’d flip out and go all protective-daddy on her, which was sweet in theory, but totally unnecessary. And not at all what he needed mental-healthwise, or she needed careerwise.
Joe looked off into the distance and it was all Faith could do not to beg him.
“Don’t you think he would want to know?”
“He’s got too much on his mind,” Faith said. “He doesn’t need to worry about something insignificant like this. If another building falls on me, you can mention it, I promise.”
Joe didn’t seem to appreciate her attempt at humor. When he said nothing, Faith grasped her thick turnout pants in her fist until her knuckles were likely white. “Equal treatment, Joe. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“First Nate’s treatment of you and now this. I’m keeping a lot from the head of the department.”
“But the head of the department wouldn’t really need to know about either if I wasn’t his daughter.”
He exhaled and pegged her with those eyes again. “I’ll keep your secret, Faith. Again. Just promise me about the doctor if you need it.”
She nodded, suspecting her definition of needing it might differ from his. “Thank you.”
She walked away, pretty sure that she could trust Joe’s word—but not at all happy that she had to.
“Come on, Joe,” Jorge prodded, “the Vargas men are going to take this tournament. You’re one of us today. You’re the best and you know it.”
He didn’t want to be a Vargas…but he’d happily take a quarter of their earning power.
“Joe putts like a woman.” Troy, the older of his two stepbrothers and Mr.
GQ,
took out his driver at the second hole. He’d been out on the course regularly, as evidenced by his bronzed skin.
“You wish I putted like a woman,” Joe said. “It’s been weeks since I’ve played, though. Some of us have to work for a living.”
“Speaking of work, did Maurice get you the info on that possible witness for the Sullivan case?” Jorge asked Troy.
“Left me a message. I’ll touch base this evening and take care of it.”
These three—Jorge, Troy and Ryan, the younger, lankier brother, who sported a goatee—weren’t terrible company…until they started talking business. Then it was as if they turned into droning robots that didn’t know when to shut up.
“You’re up, man,” Joe said to Troy as the group in front of them moved on, successfully ending the shop talk, at least for now.
Troy stepped up, spent forever and a half pondering the shot, then hit the ball onto the green. Looking smug, he turned around to face them. “Beat that, suckers.”
“We’re on the same team, dumb-ass,” Ryan said. He was a pretty boy beneath the facial hair, with chiseled features and dark lashes longer than most women’s.
“Same team, sure. But we could make things more interesting.” Jorge dug his wallet out from his back pocket and waved a twenty. “What do you say a little wager among family? Twenty bucks a hole? Winner takes all.”
“In.” Ryan raised his chin, clearly thinking he had a good chance at collecting.
“Hell, yeah, I’m in,” Troy said. “I could use some spending money.”
Being the blue-collar guy, Joe had three measly twenties in his wallet. All the more reason to beat these paper pushers. “Might as well give me your cash now,” he said, moving up to the tee, taking a practice swing.
“You’re all talk, Joe,” Ryan said.
“Put your money where your mouth is,” Troy added.
Joe tuned out everything the morons behind him chattered about and focused. Maybe said a little prayer. He couldn’t afford to lose more than a couple of holes at twenty bucks a pop. He swung and watched his ball arc through the cloudless sky, silently coaching it along. It made it to the green, barely, but he’d take it. Putting was his strong point, in spite of what Troy liked to believe.
Two strokes later, Joe collected his first sixty bucks of the afternoon.
“Can I write this off as a donation to charity?” Troy asked as he handed over his bill.
“Don’t write too soon,” Joe said, buoyed by his victory and letting the insult to his lower tax bracket slide right off. “I’ll be taking more.”
They traded taunts and insults as they walked to their carts, and Joe admitted to himself this wasn’t so bad. Sunshine, golf and his artificial family. Soon they’d be the only family he had.
His mother made no secret that she wanted Joe and his steps to form stronger bonds. The last thing he wanted her to do was worry about him, so he was making an effort. Heck,
still
making an effort, as he had been since she remarried, five years ago. He visited her and Jorge in Corpus more often, since she couldn’t get out much and no longer made the trip to the island. Spent time with these three when he could be doing other things. He would never fit in, but if it gave his mother peace of mind, he’d continue to try.
“You still planning to come for your mom’s birthday?” Jorge asked Joe as they climbed out of the cart at the third tee.
“Of course.” That it could be her last hung heavily on his mind, and he wondered if the thought crossed Jorge’s, as well.
“You got a girlfriend yet?” his stepfather continued.
“Is my mother recruiting you for the get-Joe-married campaign?” Joe took a drink from his sports bottle and closed the top.
Ryan cackled next to him. “I hope not, for Dad’s sake. It’d be easier to get a twelve-year-old girl voted in as governor of Texas.”
“I don’t have to tell you how much your mom worries,” Jorge said to Joe, and the way his tone changed when talking about her, how it softened with affection, reaffirmed his devotion to his wife. “I remind her all the damn time that you’re a grown man, but you know how women are.”
“As much as I’d love to put her mind at ease, I’ll go out on a limb and predict I’ll be showing up by myself,” Joe said.
“You could always pay for a companion,” Ryan suggested.
“I might be able to pay for one night, but that’s eternally better than paying a lifetime for that high maintenance glamour girl you married.” Joe liked what he knew of Shelly, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to give Ryan grief.
“I reckon he got you there,” Troy said, grinning.
“Reckon he did. Price you pay to sleep with a beautiful woman every night.” Ryan didn’t seem too upset by his lifetime sentence. “So how’s the fire department?”
“Busy as a hound during flea season. On top of spring break, I’m going for a promotion. Assistant fire chief. The current guy’s retiring.”
“Will you be able to stay away from the manual stuff as assistant chief?” Jorge asked. “Keep your hands clean?”
Joe shook his head and grinned. His stepfather would never understand. He’d stopped trying to explain it after the first dozen or so attempts. “That’s the downside. Not being able to fight fires myself.”
All three men stared at him as if he’d admitted to romancing livestock.
“You all should shed your suits and ties and try it sometime,” he said, gauging the progress of the team in front of them as they finished up the hole.
“I’ll leave the hero-ing up to you,” Ryan said. “Charred isn’t really my color.”
“I don’t know,” Troy said. “Your heart’s pretty black, bro.”
“Joe,” his stepfather interjected. “You got anything planned in early April?”
“The usual,” Joe said. “What’s up?”
“The guys and I thought we’d see if you wanted to go with us to spring training.”
“Astros?”
“Of course,” Troy said, as if Joe was the densest man on earth.
Joe had been a Rangers fan since he was old enough to beat a plastic bat on the living room floor. Never an Astros fan. He hadn’t been invited to the annual pilgrimage with the Vargas men before. Which meant one thing. “My mother put you up to asking?”
“We wouldn’t listen to her if she did,” Troy said.
The senior Vargas glared at his older son.
“Okay, maybe we would, but this wasn’t her idea.” Troy backpedaled.
“Why don’t you guys watch some real baseball?” Joe asked.
“We invited you on our trip, man,” Ryan said. “No need to go injuring our team.”
Joe asked several questions about the trip and racked his brain for any plans he might have made. Several guys at the station would be off that week—a regular occurrence after the intensity of spring break on the island. It’d be a hassle to get away then. However, though the Astros didn’t do it for him, taking a trip with Jorge and his sons would go a long way in calming his mother’s worries, convincing her they’d do just fine as a family even without her. That was a gift to her he couldn’t deny just because these guys were a bunch of stuffed shirts who liked the wrong team.
“Let me check my calendar and see what I can do.”