[Firehouse Fourteen 01.0] Once Burned Page 3

"You look good, Michaela."

  "Compared to the last time you saw me?" The words, full of bitter resentment, tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. She watched him cringe at the accusation but refused to do anything to lessen his discomfort. His suffering now was nothing compared to what she had gone through.

  "Kayla—"

  "Don't call me that!" Mike uncrossed her arms and pushed herself off the running board, standing so there was less than a foot between them. She narrowed her eyes at Nick, clamping her mouth shut against all the words she wanted to pummel him with. Anger, red-hot and bone-deep, coursed through her, scaring her. Her emotions hadn't been this close to the surface for a long time and she hated him for the sudden lack of control that swamped her.

  "I'm sor—"

  Mike stepped forward, cutting him off, and jabbed a finger in his direction, not quite touching him. "No! Don't you even dare say it. You—"

  A shrill alarm cut her off, startling Nick. She ignored him and cocked her head, thankful for the interruption as she listened to the radio that suddenly blared through the engine room. Hurried footsteps echoed around them, coming from different directions as the station came to life. Mike shot one last glance at Nick, who was obviously surprised at the sudden commotion, then walked away without saying anything.

  She felt his eyes on her as she threw on her turnout gear, felt them following her as she ran to the engine and climbed into the jump seat. The smell of diesel exhaust filled the room as the engine roared to life and pulled out of the station, the siren beginning its mournful wail. Mike risked one last look out the window and saw Nick walking around the side of the building, his back to her as he walked away.

  It was the view of Nick she was most accustomed to.

  Chapter Five

  Mike slammed on the brakes, causing the old CJ7 to fishtail in the loose gravel of the parking lot. She reached over and turned down the stereo's volume, stared at the lot full of cars, then faced Jay.

  "Are they giving something away tonight?"

  Jay shook his head, looking around the lot with open-mouthed astonishment. "I have no idea."

  Mike glanced at her watch. Half-past ten. She shrugged, then maneuvered the Jeep around the edge of the parking lot, finally finding an empty space around back. Well, not exactly a space. It was a patch of gravel and overgrown weeds between the dumpster and the encroaching woods, but it suited her purpose just fine. She drained the can of beer she had been drinking, reached above the roll bar and tossed it into the dumpster, then climbed out of the Jeep.

  A deep booming bass shook the walls of the bar as they walked around the side of the clapboard building. Jay paused, listening to the beat before shooting her a crooked smile.

  "Sounds like they have a band tonight. That's a first."

  "Yeah, and so is this crowd," Mike added, shaking her head in disbelief. Their shift had been coming to Duffy's for a little more than two years now and never before had there been this many people here, not even on a Saturday night. That was the charm of Duffy's. It was out of the way, a run-down local dive that served cold beer and frozen pizza to the few loyal patrons who preferred its rural flavor over the influx of high-priced clubs and sports bars a few miles down the road.

  Mike tugged on the wooden door and braced herself against the loud music that washed over her when they entered. The press of bodies forced them to elbow their way to the back, away from the crowd formed around the area where the band was set up. Mike pushed up on her toes to make sure the rest of the shift was at their normal table, then continued through the crowd.

  "This place is too small for this," she complained in a near-shout as she and Jay finally took two seats that had been saved for them. The crowd that had temporarily parted to let them through closed again, effectively shutting out the view of the rest of the bar.

  "Yeah, well. At least they're good." Their lieutenant, Pete Cook, filled two plastic cups from one of the pitchers of beer on the table. He passed them to Mike and Jay, then leaned back in the wooden chair and crossed his arms, a frown tugging at his already drooping mustache. Mike took a sip, only half-listening to the music surrounding them.

  "Not bad," she agreed. "So why the lack of enthusiasm?"

  Dave Warren, the paramedic from their shift, leaned over and jabbed a brooding Pete in the ribs. "Ignore him. He's just upset because they took the pool tables out for tonight."

  The comment was greeted with a small spattering of laughter which was immediately drowned out by the combined noise from the band and crowd. Mike refrained from reminding Pete that he wasn't that great of a player anyway and pushed her chair closer to the wall. She took another sip of the beer then tilted the chair backwards so she could rest her head against the cheap paneling.

  The headache that had been plaguing her since early evening was threatening to worsen, no doubt aided by the commotion going on around her. She noticed Dave muttering something in Jay's ear, watched as both of them turned carefully blank looks in her direction. Mike raised an eyebrow in silent question only to have both of them look away and direct their gazes into the crowd.

  Which was probably for the best, she thought, draining the cup in two long swallows. Knowing those two, they were no doubt gearing up to give her a lecture on drinking too much. Again. The guys at work were closer to her than her own sparse family, but sometimes they took the role of surrogate brotherhood entirely too far.

  Folding her hands around the now-empty cup, Mike closed her eyes and let the bass line of the music seep through her. The last strands of the current song faded away, only to be immediately followed by the raucous introduction of an old rock hit. The crowd applauded its approval, nearly drowning out the voice of the lead singer. Mike frowned and opened her eyes, staring at nothing. For a minute she thought the voice had been Nick's.

  Ridiculous. She just had a bad case of Nicky-on-the-brain, something that had been plaguing her since Thursday night when he had shown up at the station. It was a temporary illness, that was all, nothing that another beer couldn't cure. She let her chair topple forward and motioned to Pete for a refill, raising her cup in silent thanks before taking a sip.

  Her gaze wandered to the crowd pushing in on their private space, faceless bodies writhing to the steady beat, and part of her suddenly wanted to join them. Giving into the impulse, she stood and grabbed Jay's arm, tugging, trying to urge him into the dancing crowd.

  "What are you doing? Are you nuts?" He protested, pulling against her and exchanging a glance with David. She let out a weary sigh and slumped into the chair, shaking her head at both of them.

  "No, I'm not drunk, so you two can knock it off. In fact, I'm not even planning on drinking that much tonight."

  Jay shot her a disbelieving look. "Uh-huh. In that case, maybe we should go someplace else."

  "What?" Mike glanced at the two of them, then at Pete, who was engrossed in a conversation with someone else. "You guys want to leave already? Why?"

  Dave and Jay stood up at the same time, pulling Mike with them. She stumbled to her feet and nearly fell in her attempt to stop them from dragging her across the floor. At the same time, the music stopped, the sudden silence punctuated by an amplified announcement that the band was taking a break. Mike froze, her eyes searching the far corner where the band had set up.

  Nick stood less than fifty feet away, his eyes fixed on hers as he absently propped a too-familiar guitar against the wall. She ripped her gaze from his and shot a panicked look first at Jay then at Dave, who shrugged helplessly.

  "Nobody knew who it was at first. We figured you might want to leave."

  Leave. God, yes, she wanted to leave. But she wouldn't. This was her bar, her hangout, and damned if she'd run.

  Straightening her shoulders, Mike took a deep breath and reached into her pocket, digging out the keys to the Jeep. She turned her head and met Nick's gaze straight on as she blindly tossed the keys to Jay.

  "We're staying. And I changed my mind. I've decided to
do some serious drinking tonight."

  Chapter Six

  Nick paused on the make-shift stage, his hand loosely wrapped around the neck of the guitar as common sense and intelligence warred with emotion. Kayla's gaze met his and even from this distance he could see a spark of defiance in the green eyes. He was a fool ten times over for even thinking about going over and talking to her, especially since it was obvious she had no desire to see him. He got that message loud and clear from the frosty glare, the tilt of the chin, the crisp turn of her body when she walked back to the opposite corner.

  Going within twenty feet of her would rank right up there in the top ten list of stupid moves.

  But nowhere near as stupid as his move ten years ago.

  Nick tightened his hold on the guitar, closing his eyes against the memory and the flare of pain. The moment was brief and unwelcome, but decisive. Kayla had obviously put everything behind her and didn't want to see him for old times' sake. The least he could do was respect that. He busied himself with straightening the equipment around him, a mindless task that wasn't even necessary.

  "I'm getting a beer. Do you want anything?"

  "Yeah, I could handle a soda." Nick turned toward Brian and stifled a groan when he saw the small group of women gathered in a knot by the stage behind him. They were dividing their hungry gazes evenly between Brian and him. Nick's groan grew louder when he recognized the faces from some of the other places where the band had played. "On second thought, I'll go with you."

  Brian rolled his eyes, careful not to let the cluster of groupies see him do it. The two of them smiled cordially as they pushed their way through the crowd and headed to the bar, angling for an empty space so they could get the barmaid's attention. A few minutes passed before someone shoved against Nick, clearing the space next to him. He shot the newcomer an irritated glance and realized it was the man who had come in with Kayla, the same one who had hovered around her the other day at the fire station. The same one she had tossed her keys to just a few minutes ago.

  Nick clenched his jaw against the sudden irrational emotion that spiraled through his gut, an emotion he had no business feeling. The man studied Nick through flint gray eyes, an eerily vacant stare that sized him up while radiating some kind of feral warning. Nick met the stare head-on, refusing to look away, and was gratified when the man nodded slightly then called the barmaid over. Nick's irritation grew at the immediate service the man received. He didn't miss the look of interest on the barmaid's face as she smiled at the man.

  "Hey Angie. We need two more pitchers and Mikey wants some tequila. Might as well just give me the bottle." Resignation laced the man's voice as he leaned against the bar, his eyes still on Nick as he waited for his order to be filled. A charged silence hovered between them and Nick shifted uncomfortably, waiting for something, wondering if the man was going to say anything—or just stare at him the entire time. A minute crawled by as the man grabbed a stirrer from the container on the bar and chewed on it, openly studying Nick.

  Nick ignored him while he gave his order to a second bartender then stood back to wait.

  "Soda, hm?"

  The question startled Nick. After the intense sizing up he had been given, he hadn't expected the man's first words to question his choice of beverage. "Yeah, soda. I don't drink." Anymore, he added to himself.

  "Hm. Wish you could give Mike some pointers on that." The man chewed on the stirrer some more, considering, then held out his hand. "Jay Moore."

  Nick stared at the outstretched hand then grudgingly shook it, introducing himself. "So, everyone calls her Mike?" It wasn't the question Nick wanted to ask. Not even in the top ten. But he had no business asking questions, no business prying into Kayla's personal life. Not anymore. He'd never had that right, not even ten years ago. He sure as hell didn't have it now, not after everything that had happened.

  "What else would we call her?"

  "When I knew her, she went by Kayla."

  Jay studied him some more then shrugged, leaning over the bar to pull the tray the barmaid sat in front of him closer. He rearranged the pitchers, bottle, and shot glasses then picked it up, instructing the woman to put everything on their tab. He turned back to Nick with another penetrating stare. "I get the feeling that was during another life for her. See you around."

  Nick turned and watched him walk away, dodging through the crowd with the cumbersome tray, making it to the table without dropping anything. Laughing faces greeted him as the small group reached hungrily for the fresh drinks, Kayla the first in line. Nick was astonished when she grabbed the bottle of tequila and drank heavily, not even bothering with a glass. None of the men she was with reacted to it at all, not even a single raised eyebrow or a funny joke. Maybe it was normal for her, normal to them—but not to him. Not from Kayla, at least. The Kayla he remembered would never take long swallows from a bottle. The Kayla he remembered would give him hell if he'd done the same thing.

  He closed his eyes, imagining the bitter liquid draining down his own throat. His stomach clenched painfully, even as his mouth watered with a distant craving. Nick grabbed the soda from the bartender and took a sip, washing away the phantom taste of alcohol.

  What had Jay said? That he wished Nick could give some pointers on drinking soda to Kayla? Apparently her name wasn't the only thing that had changed in the long years since he had seen her last.

  He continued watching the table in the corner, not worrying about getting caught staring since nobody was paying any attention to him.

  Kayla was obviously the center of attention, her laughter heard even from this distance. She wore her hair down tonight, a thick mass of loose chestnut waves that curled past her shoulders. As he watched, she shoved a strand of long hair out of her face and leaned over the table to say something to the man across from her. Nick's eyes automatically dropped lower, resting on the shapely bottom that was being shown off. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry at the sight of her tight, denim-clad curves. Kayla had always had a nice body, soft and curvy, comforting. There was no doubt that time had only enhanced it as she matured. She still had curves but she was leaner now, her body toned and tight. It was the body of someone who worked out, who stayed in shape—maybe a little too much.

  She straightened and motioned wildly with one hand, drawing more laughter from the guys surrounding her. He recognized a few of the faces from his brief visit the other night and he wondered if everyone at the table worked with her. Not that it was any of his business, he told himself.

  The gap he had been watching her through filled with people when the jukebox kicked on. The first strands of music were lost in the noise of the crowd before the volume was turned up. Nick's stomach tilted when he recognized the old slow song and he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Kayla to see her reaction.

  She was sitting now, the chair tilted back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her middle and a frown on her pale face. Someone leaned over and said something to her; she seemed to shake herself and forced a smile before downing the shot she had been given.

  Nick tossed back the remainder of his soda and hesitated. He wanted to go over to her, to talk to her. The saner part of him told him that to do so would be the same as ramming a serrated knife into his gut and twisting. Repeatedly.

  Without realizing he had made the decision, Nick pushed through the crowd, not stopping until he reached the table. A second went by before one or two of the men noticed him, another second before Kayla seemed to sense the change around her and slowly looked up. Glassy green eyes finally met his, unfocused at first, then full of emotion that was quickly hidden behind a cool glare.

  Pain ripped through him. And regret. He knew she hadn't meant for him to see, that she'd be horrified if she realized it. But in that split-second when she first looked up at him, before she had a chance to put on that cool detached mask, Nick had glimpsed sorrow and longing in the dark green depths of her eyes. He swallowed against the silent accusation that was now being th
rown his way. You did this to me, the look seemed to say. And he had. Ten years ago when one reckless night changed their lives forever.

  "What do you want, Lansing?" Her voice was cold, unwelcoming, and Nick inwardly flinched. Had he really expected a warm reception? Could he really blame her for how she obviously felt?

  Several pairs of eyes were focused on him and he squirmed under the scrutiny, wondering if any of them knew. Probably not, or the looks would be more hostile. He cleared his throat and turned back to Kayla, who was busy downing another shot. She shook her head and exhaled a breathy sigh, slamming the glass on the table and motioning for a refill. The bottle was barely half-full. Hadn't it been a new bottle when the barmaid gave it to Jay? He couldn't remember, didn't want to think it had been, not when he was wondering how many shots she had downed in such a short amount of time.

  "I was wondering if you wanted to dance," he finally asked, motioning to the floor behind him. He wasn't surprised when she forced a laugh and promptly told him to go to hell.

  "Go on, Mike, go dance."

  "Yeah, go have some fun."

  The phrases of encouragement coming from her friends startled Nick, but apparently not as much as they startled Kayla. She looked around the table in horror, her eyes narrowing on the nearest victim, who happened to be Jay.

  "I. Do not. Want. To dance." The words were short and clipped, uttered through clenched teeth. She let out a quick breath, looked up at Nick, then back at Jay. "Especially with him."

  "Mike, go dance," Jay ordered, pushing the shot glass out of her reach. "Maybe it'll sober you up some."

  "I am not dancing with him. And I don't want to be sober!" Kayla leaned across Jay and tried to rescue the glass from his grip, only to tilt forward and nearly fall into his lap. Nick instinctively reached past Jay to catch her, grabbing her by the shoulders in a gentle grip.

  It was the wrong thing to do.

  Kayla stiffened at his touch, freezing for a split-second before throwing his hands off her and suddenly swinging out at him. Nick stumbled back as Jay caught her flailing arm with both hands. She shook her hair out of her face but made no other move, allowing Jay to push her back into the seat as she glared at Nick.