Something Worth Saving (27 page)

Unfortunately for me, Sean had just been moved to the truck to take Logan’s place, a transfer he requested.

I was sure I would leave his ass in a fire if I had the chance.

But he said something to me right then that made me think otherwise.

As he sat across from me on the bench, his head hung down. “I know we’ve had our own share of bullshit together . . . and I’m not even sure when it started, but . . . ” He swallowed, and held back what seemed to be tears. I had none left. I wasn’t sure I could cry anymore. “Logan was the type of firefighter we all wished we could be. I’ve never meant a guy more put together than he was. Both on the job and personally.” He looked right at me now, our eyes meeting, understanding. “I’m sorry. I know how close you guys were, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

I gave him a nod. One that said
sure
. I wasn’t sure what to think of him right now.

He handed me today’s newspaper with the cover story of:

SEATTLE
FIREFIGHTER KILLED IN ARSON

We all had a feeling about that fire, and I knew from being on it that something wasn’t right. The explosion that rocked the boat wasn’t some backdraft. There was something on there that caused it.

So far it was still under investigation.

“I hope brass finds him. I do. And I hope that we can put our differences aside . . . for Logan.”

I gave him another nod. I’m man enough to do that. Even if I’m not, Logan would have.

To honor my friend, I’ll be man enough.

Sean left after that, and I stared at the article and the fire chief’s remarks about Logan.

“On behalf of the people of the City of Seattle, I want to express my condolences to the family and friends of Seattle Fire Department Firefighter Logan Jennings, who tragically paid the ultimate sacrifice while rescuing trapped crew members on board a fishing vessel a week ago,” Fire Chief Rushing said. “As we mourn Logan Jennings, we are all reminded of the dangerous job and selfless work of our brave firefighters. Being a firefighter is not simply a job, but a call to serve the public and greater good. In his nine years protecting Seattle, Jennings certainly exemplified the best traits in firefighters everywhere. Currently, the fire that took his life is under investigation.”

G
IVING BROOKE
the contents of Logan’s locker was about as difficult as seeing her face the night he died.

She couldn’t open the box, and I understood why. Just like me, part of Brooke died that day.

“How are you and Aubrey doing? She stopped by yesterday and seemed . . . more depressed than me, and that’s saying something.”

Moving from the kitchen, where she left the box, we sat down in the living room with a bottle of Jack Daniels. We did this a lot. Brooke needed someone to just be there, and I needed someone who understood what I was going through.

Aubrey didn’t. And if she did, she never said. I couldn’t blame her. She was confused for a lot of reasons, and I wasn’t exactly helping that. Neither were Ridley or her mother.

“We’re having problems.” I took the bottle and drank directly from it. “Her fucking mom is in town, and worst of all her ex-boyfriend is here, too.”

“So?”

“They’re up to something. I know it. I just don’t know what. It’s only that part of me has this suspicion they’re planning something.”

“Have you talked to her about it?” Brooke leaned forward to check to see if Amelia was still in her room. Just like when I got here around nine, it was closed.

Part of me thought it was dumb that here I was with Brooke when I should have been at home, tucking in my own kids. What kind of father was I?

Would Logan have done what I’m doing right now?

Yes. He would. He would have checked on Aubrey and the kids every day. I’m sure of that.

“How’s she doing?”

“Who?” Brooke’s eyes went from the movie that was playing in the background to mine.

“Amelia.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Her eyes started to water, and I felt bad for asking. “But she’s fine. Cries a lot . . . and she thinks he’s just on vacation.”

“I can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now.”

“Probably about like us.”

“Back to Aubrey . . . have you told her your suspicions about them?”

“She knows I don’t trust them, but she probably thinks I’m just being paranoid. Maybe I am, but I have this feeling in my gut I can’t shake. I hate her mom for taking Aubrey away from me. And I hold it against her.” I couldn’t believe how easy it was to open up about this with Brooke. Probably because she wasn’t one-sided about the situation. When I talked to Aubrey, without knowing it, she was hearing what she wanted. I was guilty of doing the same. “She had a shitty childhood, and it got worse when she left. Ridley cheated on her the entire time they were together. I don’t trust him at all.”

“Wow.”

“That’s not even the half of it. Georgia is a real piece of work, and I know she wants money from Aubrey. But it doesn’t explain how Ridley’s involved.”

“Maybe you are reading too much into it.” Brooke handed me the bottle, tilting her head. “Aubrey knows something’s up, too, but I think she thinks it’s nothing. She’s more concerned about you.”

“Maybe.”

“You guys need to talk. And I don’t mean Jace and Aubrey talking . . . I mean
talking
.”

I gave her a funny look. “Jace and Aubrey talking?”

“You guys have the communication style of monks.” Her head fell to the side. She was tired, and I didn’t blame her. I didn’t think she’d slept since Logan died. “You never say what’s bothering you, and that’s your own real problem. Both of you ignore everything.”

Apparently Brooke knew us pretty fucking well. My biggest problem wasn’t my words getting me into trouble. It was my lack of words and my reactions. Logan used to say I was silently deadly. And there’s more truth to that than I care to admit.

We sat there with that bottle, passing drinks back and forth, looking at the pictures from their wedding album, when Brooke said, out of the complete fucking blue, “I miss sex with him and the way his body felt pressed against mine.”

I immediately got uncomfortable and pushed the album from my lap to hers. This was not something she should be telling me. For one, I never wanted to think of Logan naked, and I had seen it before. It was something I wanted to forget. And two, I was positive this was beyond our friendship.

“Okay . . . this is where I should go.” My heart started pounding. “Should I call Aubrey?”

“No.” She reached for my arm, grasping it tightly to make me stay put. “Don’t be a pussy. We’re just talking, we’ve had a little too much to drink, and I’m not asking you for anything. I just want someone to be here . . . so I’m not alone. I’m always alone now. Even when there are people here, I’m alone. No one understands this. I don’t want to move on. I want him.”

That I understood. This was why I wanted to be around Brooke. She understood and didn’t try to talk to me about moving on.

“For the record.” I had to point this out. I couldn’t have Brooke thinking that I assumed she would want that from me. “I didn’t think you were asking me for anything. I just thought maybe you’d want Aubrey to talk to about this sort of thing.”

“I know. Aubrey’s great, but she doesn’t understand like you do.” She waved her hand around. “She gets the physical connection that I miss, but nobody knew Logan the way you did. You understood him, and he trusted you in a way he never trusted anyone else.”

That I understood, too. No one could understand unless you were there or you’d lost someone that close to you. And yeah, Logan was sort of a brother to Aubrey, but it’s different. She didn’t feel the massive void in her life now that he wasn’t here. I did. Brooke did.

“I’m calling a therapist.”

“For who?” I leaned my head forward slightly to look over at her. “You or me?”

She laughed, something I had almost forgotten how to do. “Both of us.” She sighed. “How does this happen?”

“I wish I knew.”

We sat there, once again passing the bottle back and forth, and she sighed, leaning her head back against the couch, sinking into the soft fabric. “I need you to tell me everything is going to be okay.”

“I can’t do that. I can tell you I’ll be there for you . . . as will Aubrey.”

“You’re such a pussy.” After setting the bottle on the coffee table, she ran her hands over her thighs and breathed deeply. “I think I’m going to make some cookies.”

“Maybe I am a pussy when it comes to this shit.” I took one more drink from the bottle, letting the burn simmer. “But you’ll never catch me feeding you bullshit lies like that.”

“I know.” Rummaging through the cupboards, she snatched out the ingredients for what appeared to be chocolate chip cookies. Moving around the overly large kitchen with sleek appliances and stone floors, she kept busy. “You’re not a bullshit type of guy. Unless, of course, you’re trying to communicate your feelings.”

“Okay, stop.” I laughed. “Now you’re being mean to me.”

When the cookies were done, we ate them, and I knew it was time I left. Aubrey would be wondering where I was at some point.

“You know what’s worse?” Brooke asked, handing me a plate of extra cookies to give to the kids when I said I needed to go. “I don’t
want
to move on. I don’t
want
to heal. I feel like . . . every day is fucked. It’s depressing. Everyone expects us to move on, but we’re dead inside. How can we?”

She said “we” because she knew exactly how I felt. If anybody knew, I did.

“We have to try,” I said, offering the only wisdom I could. “I’ll tell you what we do. We honor him and we learn from it. That’s what we do.”

Brooke looked at me, concerned. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” My breath hitched slightly. The anticipation as to what she meant had me worried.

“Are you learning from it?”

“What do you mean?” My eyes dropped to my hands.

“Jace,” she sighed. “You’re over here nearly every free night to check on us. What about Aubrey and the kids?”

I didn’t say anything, and she knew. I was avoiding what it really was.

“I do it for them.” I said, not wanting to really admit anything more. “I want them to have a good life. I make good money for them.” My answer hadn’t touched on what I was really doing. I was here because I felt like it was my responsibility. I felt guilty. I didn’t want to admit that to her but my answer, the one I gave her as a distraction, left me open for so much more.

Brooke gave me that look I knew all too well. It was the same one I got from Aubrey. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, Jace. I’ve known a lot of firefighters, Logan and my father, too. You don’t do it for Aubrey and the kids. If you did, you wouldn’t be putting more into the job than you are into your relationship.”

I started to protest, but she put her hand over my mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with it. But don’t say you do it for them when you’re a firefighter by nature. It’s who you are. Being a father or a husband or a boyfriend doesn’t change that. What changes it is how
you
see it.”

For the most part she lost me on this one.

But I understood some of it. And because it was Brooke, she said one very important thing to me that I will always remember: “You work hard and provide for your family, but I’m telling you right now, Jace Ryan, never forget that when the job turns its back on you, takes everything from you, you’ll have your family. Don’t forget them. Don’t make this job your whole life, Jace.”

There was a lot of truth in what she said. Most of which I had never considered.

You may think you’re doing something for someone else — working long hours, stopping by to see your best friend’s widow— when in reality it’s more or less for your own reassurance and your own dreams.

But what about the ones sacrificing the most just so you can have that dream?

Command to dispatch, call in a fourth alarm.

10-4

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Aubrey

Just as I was drifting into sleep, I heard him curse. Immediately I was awake and made my way into the living room, I knew that lilt anywhere.

“Jace?”

“Sorry . . . ” He stumbled around, bumping into toys and the edge of the table, where he set down a plate of cookies. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

I stared at him, wanting the truth, but I’ll be honest — I’d been wondering exactly what he was doing. We hadn’t spoken since the night Ridley kissed me, and it hurt badly that he hadn’t made the effort to do so. Had our relationship really come to this? Had he not come home because he couldn’t talk to me anymore, but he could talk to Brooke?

“Be honest — why didn’t you come home?”

“I needed to think, and I was drunk,” he replied casually, and it hurt because I was what he needed to think about.

He turned and stared at me for the longest time.

“What? Isn’t that you want to hear?” he asked, moving from his place by the table to stand in front of me, swaying. “I didn’t want to come home to you. I didn’t want to come here and get in another argument with you. Is that what you want to hear? Does it make you feel better?”