Face the Flames Page 6

  The ladder on the side of the house was tough. Once he made it through the window, he started down the narrow plank path. The path had a wooden railing along the edge, creating a mock balcony. Past the railing was a sheer drop to the ground floor.

  Disaster struck before he’d run three steps.

  Clay’s knee buckled and he fell hard into the railing, pain flaring in his ribs. The weight of the equipment threw him off-balance, pinning him to the barrier, which creaked ominously. “Shit.”

  Then, the wooden planks gave way with a crack that split the air. Pitched over the side, horror crystallized in Clay’s brain in that split second that he went into free fall. He dropped like a stone, his one-story descent brief.

  He crashed into the flooring below and agony exploded through his back and head. On his back, he was tilted at an awkward angle, and realized he was lying on his tank. His head was throbbing, vision growing dim as the ceiling above him blurred.

  “Clay! Clay, answer me!” Six-Pack boomed.

  “Here,” he rasped.

  Heavy bootsteps raced toward him and his captain’s anxious face appeared above his. “Jesus Christ. Don’t move, okay?”

  He moved his lips, but nothing more came out.

  “Jessop!” Six-Pack called. “We need some help here!”

  More footsteps clomped into the house. Someone cursed, and Clay heard Jessop speak first.

  “I’ll call the team from Station Four next door. We might need transport.”

  No hospital. Please. But he couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t catch his breath. Was the tank not working anymore? Everything grew fuzzier and darker around the edges, his sight shrinking to a pinpoint before disappearing altogether.

  “Clay, man, stay with me.” Howard’s voice was calm, but Clay knew him well enough to hear the underlying panic.

  “Get the mask off him,” Lance barked.

  Working fast, they got the device unhooked and off his face. Immediately, sweet air hit his cheeks and filled his lungs. Hands gently rolled him to the side, then removed the tank as well. The turnout coat was next, followed by the hat. A neck brace was situated around him as a precaution.

  All the while they talked to him, but their voices came from far away. Too far to reach. Disappointment swept over him as the darkness closed over his head.

  I failed.

  • • •

  “Yep, screw that little punk,” Melissa said to Cori Knight with a scowl. “I hope he needs at least a dozen very painful stitches.”

  She was standing in the lobby of Sterling’s ER, leaning on the counter talking to the nurse, who happened to be married to Zack, the lieutenant on Clay’s team. She’d met new people and learned all sorts of things about how the members of the community in the city were so interconnected.

  Melissa really liked the tall brunette, who was vivacious and so different from herself. Cori had once been an exotic dancer, doing so to put herself through nursing school, and had just finished up her studies when she’d met Zack. Good thing, too, because while Zack respected that Cori had gone against her wealthy brothers to forge her own way, the exotic dancing thing didn’t make him too happy.

  “How’d you catch him?” Cori’s eyes were round.

  Melissa warmed to her tale. “The punk ran into a dead-end alley. I got him cornered, then he pulled a knife. Unfortunately for him, the only thing he managed to do with it was cut himself when I took his stupid ass to the ground.”

  Cori laughed. “And here you are, waiting for him to get fixed up before you cart him off.”

  “Right you are. He’s already under arrest for boosting car stereos. And oh, yeah—assaulting a police officer. That’s gonna cost him.”

  The suspect was in the exam room with a uniformed officer keeping watch. That was fine with Melissa. She’d rather be out here talking to Cori than back there listening to that punk-ass kid spouting about police brutality and how he was going to sue the department for injuring him.

  By restraining him and causing him to get cut with his own knife. Which he’d intended to use to kill an officer. What the fuck ever. Some people were so stupid, they’d buy into that “poor criminal” shit.

  A commotion outside the entrance caught their attention, and she turned to see a team of firefighters coming through the door. They were pushing a gurney with their patient on it, faces grim, upset clearly showing in their eyes.

  Melissa recognized the biggest one from the scene of Drew Cooper’s shooting at the gas station. The other two, an older man and a younger one, she didn’t know.

  “Oh no!” Cori hurried forward in distress, toward the patient.

  Melissa spotted the sandy blond hair of the man on the gurney, and her heart lodged in her throat. “Clay?”

  “Training accident out at the McBride Center,” Captain Paxton was telling Cori. “He fell one story and landed on his back. Possible head injury. Vitals are stable, but he lost consciousness before we left and hasn’t come to.”

  Melissa’s hand went to her mouth and she stared, helpless, as they rushed past her, through the double doors leading to the trauma rooms. She hesitated only a couple of seconds before she followed. Nobody stopped her, probably assuming she had official business. Which she did, just not with their newest patient.

  Lingering in the doorway to the room they’d taken Clay, she watched as they cut off his polo shirt. Hooked him to all sorts of monitors. He’d already had in IV in place, so they transferred the bag to the hospital staff, who hung it on a silver stand.

  “Pupils are reactive,” another nurse said.

  “Pulse and blood pressure are good.”

  A tall doctor strode past Melissa into the room, taking over. After examining Clay for a few moments, he nodded. “He’s stable. I don’t see evidence of broken bones or internal bleeding, but I’m ordering a CT scan of his head and torso to be sure. He should be awake by now.”

  “There’s a lump back here, Doctor,” Cori told him, pointing to the area. She looked at Paxton. “Concussion. Was he wearing his fire hat?”

  “Yes, and it probably kept him from busting his head open. Still, this is the last thing he needs after recovering from a profound head injury this past year.”

  The doctor’s gaze sharpened. “Oh? Tell me about that.”

  Amazingly, the doc seemed to be the only one around who hadn’t heard of Clay’s accident and recovery. After the big captain gave him the short version, the doctor frowned. “We’re making his CT priority. Bump whoever is scheduled next and get Mr. Montana in there, stat.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” Cori hurried out to do as he ordered.

  Melissa felt sick. How the hell had Clay managed to fall one story during a training exercise? Who the fuck was supposed to be looking out for him? She wanted answers, and she was going to get them one way or another.

  She stood there until they rolled Clay past to take him for the CT scan. She got a good look at him, and she hated that he was so pale and still. So vulnerable.

  He’d come so far in his recovery, only to have this happen. God, please let him be all right. She didn’t know him, really, or why he was suddenly so important to her. But he was.

  And she wasn’t going to rest until she knew he was out of the woods.

  • • •

  Oh my fucking God!

  Every square inch of his body felt like it had been beaten by hammers. And backed over by a semi truck for good measure. Taking stock, he knew where he was. He was intimately familiar with this position, and he’d never wanted to be back here so soon. Or at all, though that wasn’t realistic thinking for a firefighter.

  Hurt, during a training drill. During what was supposed to be his successful debut to get back into his job. Way to go, shithead. I’m sure Six-Pack was real impressed.

  Footsteps entered the room, approaching his bed. With an eff
ort, he opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. Melissa was there, hovering over him. She looked worried, too, and that knowledge warmed something inside him—and embarrassed the crap out of him.

  “Melissa,” he said, attempting to sit up. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was here earlier getting a perp stitched up when you were brought in.” She took a seat next to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Got him carted off to jail, and I’m back to check on you. How do you feel?”

  He considered that. “My head throbs. All the way to my feet. Yeah, I’m one big ball of aches and pains.”

  “I heard you fell. What happened?”

  His face heated in humiliation. “I’d like to claim I was saving someone, or something cool. I just overdid it at the training center. I got tired from running the drill, and the last time I was in full gear. I was jogging through the mock house when my knee buckled. I crashed into the railing and fell over the balcony to the first floor. Landed on my back and hit my head.”

  Her green gaze darkened. “You were damned lucky you didn’t break anything.”

  “Did they already examine me?”

  “Yeah. You’ve been out for an hour or so, according to your captain. He’s really worried, by the way. I’ll send him in.”

  He caught her wrist when she went to stand. “Wait. Not yet, okay? I’d like to talk to you a bit longer.”

  “Sure.” One corner of her mouth tilted upward.

  He wanted to kiss the spot. Right there, where her smile started. He wanted to see the excitement on her face grow. Damn it, I can’t get hard in the middle of the ER. “So, when are they springing me?”

  “Not so fast. There was talk of keeping you tonight for observation. It would serve you right for scaring everyone.”

  “Oh, hell no. I’ve spent enough time in this place. I’m not staying here overnight.”

  “You’ll stay as long as the doc says you have to,” Six-Pack said in his deep voice. The scowl on his face was ominous as he walked into the room and stood at the foot of Clay’s bed.

  “Cap, I’m not—”

  “This is not a discussion.” The anger on his face was palpable.

  “Um, I’m going to let you guys have some quality time.” Melissa stood, shooting Clay a look of sympathy. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Counting on it.” He gave her a crooked smile, wishing she didn’t have to go. After giving his arm a squeeze, she headed out. But not before turning and giving him a wink behind Howard’s back.

  “What’s going on with you two?” the captain asked, taking her vacated seat.

  “I’m not sure just yet,” he admitted. “I know I’m going to ask her out. She’s a fine woman.”

  The big man made a noise of agreement. “She seems to be. But I’m not here to talk about your love life.”

  A sinking feeling settled in his gut, and he braced himself for whatever his captain and friend was going to say.

  4

  “You’re an idiot,” Six-Pack began.

  Clay stared at his captain, wishing the bed would swallow him whole. That wasn’t exactly what he’d expected the man to say, even if it was true. “Howard—”

  “But I’m an even bigger one for allowing you to push yourself too hard, too fast.” He fell silent for a moment, studying Clay intensely, as if he could see all the way to his soul. He probably could. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to continue the training drills until you’re back into shape and ready for duty. And you’ll do it under my direct supervision.”

  He couldn’t help but bristle some. “Look, I know I fucked up today, but I don’t need a babysitter. I—”

  “This is nonnegotiable, Clay. I’m not babysitting you, count on that. Your stamina isn’t back up to speed, and you could’ve been killed. That would’ve been on my head as much as yours, and believe me when I say I never would’ve gotten over it.”

  Clay’s gut clenched, and he knew Six-Pack was right. For all the man’s tough exterior, he was a nurturer at heart. The captain was solid gold, as good as they came, and losing a man on his watch would destroy him.

  “I’m sorry, Cap,” he said contritely. “I didn’t mean to be reckless, I swear. I was just feeling so high after my first and second runs went so well. I ignored my body’s signals that I was done for the day, and I paid. It won’t happen again.”

  The captain’s face softened. “I know it won’t, because I’ll be there to make sure it doesn’t. We’ll get you on the roster again, but we’ll do it safely.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  The bigger man thought about that. “You and I are going to work out together when I’m not on shift. We’ll run, do weights, exercise. Not too heavy at first, but build up gradually. We’ll run the drills each day until you can do them in your sleep without breaking much of a sweat, just like before.”

  “You really believe in me,” he said quietly.

  “I always have. Don’t doubt that for one second. I knew when you came out of the coma and turned the corner for the better, nothing would stop you. I like being right.” A smile curved his lips.

  “Thanks, Cap. Coming from you, that really means the world to me.”

  “I mean it. You’ve got what it takes to make it all the way back, and I’m going to be with you every step of the way. We’ll get started as soon as you’re out of here and cleared to work out.”

  “You got it.”

  Six-Pack held out his hand, and Clay shook it. The captain said good-bye and left Clay to his thoughts, which were bouncing around in his head like Ping-Pong balls. Howard didn’t say shit he didn’t mean, and that was a huge comfort to Clay. There was real hope, and he clung to it with all he had.

  His goals were in sight. He just had to stay the course, not give up.

  Nothing worth having is ever easy. Isn’t that how the saying went? It had sure proven true in his case. Easy was a word that had been stricken from his vocabulary long ago. Fortunately, he’d risen from the ashes and removed the word surrender from it as well.

  “Are you trying to send me to an early grave?”

  Clay glanced at the doorway and suppressed a groan. Who the actual fuck had called his mother? When he found out who was to blame, he’d skin them alive. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Don’t you Hey, Mom me.” Despite her huff, he saw the very real strain in her eyes and around her mouth. “What in the ever-loving hell are you doing in the ER? And are you wearing . . . turnout gear?” Her eyes narrowed.

  Shit. He swallowed with difficulty as she moved to stand by the bed, glaring down at him. His mouth was dry as cotton. “Well, um, I was running some drills at the training center, getting back into shape, and I may have pushed a little too hard.”

  “Oh, Clay.”

  Her eyes softened, a hint of moisture making them shine, and guilt speared his gut. He’d caused his mother no end of worry and heartache for months.

  “I’m sorry for scaring you. Again.”

  She took his hand. “That seems to be the tune life is playin’ for us lately. When Howard called, he said you fell, but he didn’t mention how it happened. I should’ve known you were out there pushing yourself over the limit.”

  Dammit, Cap. Way to throw me under the bus.

  “I want my life back. I’ve worked damned hard to make it happen, and I’m not going to stop now that success is in reach. Is that so wrong?” He tried to keep the edge out of his tone. Tried to suppress the old hurt that rose whenever he picked up on his mother’s doubt. He knew her misgivings stemmed from the stress of his injury and recovery, that she didn’t mean to discount his efforts to rejoin his team—but it still slid under his skin like a barb.

  “Of course not, baby. Nobody wants that more for you than me.”

  “But?”

  “I won’t lie—I’m scared,” she admitted,
perching on the chair next to him. Her blue eyes, so like his, were haunted. “I’m so damned afraid for you to go back to work.”

  There. She’d said it. His formidable mother had voiced her fear, something she rarely did. He studied her, this still-attractive woman with a core of steel who’d struggled to be both father and mother after his dad had left them. This lioness who’d fought every battle for her son to make sure he had a good home, a happy childhood.

  She’d been through personal hell while Clay was growing up, made huge sacrifices to make ends meet. This was a woman who didn’t scare easily. But the truth was, the wreck and following months had taken their toll on his champion.

  “Mom, I was driving through a green light,” he said gently. “I just happened to be on the job when that guy in the truck ran his red light. That sort of accident can, and does, happen to people every day. I—”

  She held up a hand to forestall his argument. “I realize that. Believe me, I’ve heard it from everyone. It’s an irrational fear, but it’s mine and I’m working on it. Now, tell me how you fell.”

  Keeping it brief, he related the story. When he was done, his mother’s face was white as a sheet of paper. “You fell from the second story? Right onto your back? Jesus Christ, Clayton! What if you’d hit your head?”

  “Um . . .” Apparently Six-Pack hadn’t enlightened her on that part.

  “Oh my God,” she moaned. For a second, he thought she might fall out of her chair in a dead faint. “You can’t afford another head injury, son. You know that.”

  “I know, but I’m fine. It was just a bump, not a big deal.” She saw right through his lie with those laser-sharp eyes of hers. He hurried on to distract her from that line of questioning. “Anyway, I should be out of here soon.”

  “Who’s going to watch over you tonight?” she pressed. “There’s no way you’re staying alone, not with a concussion.” Clearly, she was having none of his bullshit.

  I love my mom. I really do. But I can’t take any more of her hovering over me like I’m going to keel over dead any second. I’m done.