[Firehouse Fourteen 01.0] Once Burned Read online

  Surprised glances were shared around the table as the men with her looked first at Nick then at Kayla. The accompanying silence was strained, made more so because of the music and noise that continued around them. Jay rested a hand on Kayla's shoulder and nudged her until she looked at him.

  "Mike, what is with you? All he asked was for you to dance."

  Kayla hung her head, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle once more. "Just tell him to get lost."

  Nick remained rooted to the spot, pity and guilt filling him as he watched the sudden change in her. No longer fiery or defiant, she looked lost, defeated. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible—no, he knew he was responsible. There was no question or doubt about that. He should leave, should just walk away and pretend she wasn't here, pretend he didn't know her. But he couldn't. He didn't know why, knew it was irrational, but he couldn't leave, not yet. Not without saying something. "Kayla—"

  "Go away!"

  "Mike, calm down. Jesus. What is wrong with you?" Jay asked, watching her in astonishment. She uttered a short laugh that sounded forced and faced Nick, pinning him with a look of hatred so clear it sliced him, deep and quick.

  "Wrong with me? Why don't you ask him? He's the son of a bitch who almost killed me!"

  Chapter Seven

  "So are you going to talk about it?"

  Mike took a gulp from the plastic bottle in her hand and swished warm water through her mouth before leaning over and spitting it out. The sudden motion made the ground under her feet tilt at an odd angle and she reeled sideways, catching herself against the dumpster. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to focus on Jay's question.

  "Talk 'bout what?"

  "About tonight."

  "Nothin' to talk about," she muttered, resting her forehead against the side of the dumpster. The metal was rough on her skin but cool. Cooler than her skin, anyway. Her stomach rolled and she swallowed several times in an effort to calm it, taking a deep breath when it cooperated. For now.

  "How can you say that? Christ, Mikey, you're close to tossing cookies with your head in a dumpster!"

  "My head…is not…in the dumpster." Mike took another deep breath and straightened, carefully easing her eyes open. She turned her head and squinted at the unfocused blur leaning against her Jeep. "Let it go."

  The blur moved, motioning in her direction and making her head spin again. "I'm not going to let it go. What was that all about earlier? I've never seen you like that before."

  "Jay, please. Just, take me home. Please." She hated the begging whine in her voice but didn't really care at this point. Tomorrow she'd kick herself for it, but tonight she just wanted to go home.

  "What are you going to do about that guy Nick?"

  "Huh? Nothing." Mike pushed away from the dumpster and lurched toward the Jeep, stumbling blindly until Jay placed a steadying hand under her elbow.

  "You're going to have to do something, Mike, because I don't think he's going to go away."

  "Sure he will. Always does. It's his specialty." She climbed over the front seat, muttering under her breath when her knee banged the stick shift before she rolled into the passenger seat. Her stomach tilted again and she closed her eyes, resting her head against the roll bar.

  "Yeah, well, it doesn't look like he's going away to me."

  "Huh?" Mike pried one eye open and squinted at Jay, who pointed at something over her shoulder. With careful effort she slowly turned her head and tried to focus. No good. The outside security light was too bright, making her vision swim. A darker blur wavered in the light and she squinted again, trying to make it out. Still no good. Letting out a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the seat.

  "Mike? Mike! C'mon, wake up."

  "Uh-uh."

  "Mike, you have company."

  "Hm. Uh-uh."

  "Is she alright?" The question came from somewhere to her right and the voice didn't belong to Jay. She tried to open her eyes, wanted to see if she was imagining the voice, but the effort to move hurt too much and she gave up.

  "Yeah, she'll be fine."

  "She doesn't look fine to me. Does she do this a lot?"

  "Enough." There was a pause as the Jeep dipped slightly on the driver's side. Mike swallowed, trying to control her stomach's roll at the motion.

  "Are you sure she's okay? She's not going to fall out?" The question was accompanied by another motion to her right, a touch against her shoulder and waist as someone buckled the seat belt around her. She pushed at the strap across her stomach, trying to ease the pressure, then finally cracked one eye open and glared at the figure next to her. Him. Again.

  His eyes met hers, full of sorrow and, God help her, pity. She didn't need Nicky Lansing's pity. Or anything else he might try to give her. She cleared her throat and let her eye drift close, searching blindly for the water bottle. "Go away, Nick. You've done enough already."

  "Kayla."

  She waved a hand in his direction, trying to ignore him, to brush him away as she continued her search for the water. She leaned forward and grimaced as the lap strap pulled tight against her stomach, tried to swallow, to stop the rolling in her stomach as more of the tequila sloshed around, but it was no good. Her will was no match for the alcohol, and neither was her empty stomach. She reached out, groping, unhooking the seatbelt in time to lean over the passenger side so the feeble contents of her stomach would hit the ground instead of the inside of her Jeep.

  A deep chuckle from her left told her she would have made it, if Nick Lansing hadn't been in the way.

  ***

  Laughter and music. Loud music. The roar of wind blowing, a scream. Burning rubber as tires squealed and metal twisted. A disembodied face, staring. His face.

  Nicky.

  Mike woke with a strangled sob and pitched upright, then grabbed her head with both hands before it could topple off. Maybe she'd be better if it did topple off; it would save her from the pain of what promised to be her worse hangover yet.

  Head still held firmly between two hands, she rolled sideways on the bed, groaning, and swallowed against the rotten taste in her mouth as memories of the previous night assaulted her memory. Tequila. Yuck. Why had she insisted on drinking the stuff, knowing what it did to her?

  The memory of why was too clear, and she groaned again.

  "I see you're finally alive. Barely."

  Mike peeled open one heavy lid and tried to glare at Jay as he leaned against the railing at the top step of her loft bedroom. The glare wasn't very successful, if his grin was an indication. He strolled into the room, looking relaxed and disgustingly sober and clear-headed. He leaned over and placed a cup of coffee on the nightstand, along with a bottle of ibuprofen. She stared at it for a second then closed her eyes, the effort to move too much.

  "What time is it?"

  "Oh, almost one o'clock. I was beginning to think you had died when I wasn't looking."

  "I'd be better off if I had." Silence settled over the room, broken by the squeak of the bed as Jay sat down next to her. She moved her foot to give him more room, groaning as the bed dipped, thankful it was her head spinning and not her stomach. That had been emptied the night before.

  "Mikey, you've got to stop doing this to yourself. I've never seen you as bad as you were last night. It's like you're deliberately trying to self-destruct."

  "Not now, Jay."

  More silence, then a long sigh. Mike held her breath, waiting for the lecture to start, waiting for the words she damn near knew by heart. But there was nothing but silence, heavy and more damning than any words could be. She opened her eyes and looked up. Jay was staring at her, his gray eyes dark with concern as he sat there in silence.

  "So who is this guy Nick?"

  It was Mike's turn to sigh. If she could have managed it, she would have hit him, but her whole body felt as if it had been battered and she couldn't make the effort. Instead, she closed her eyes again and pretended to ignor
e him.

  "C'mon, Mike, fess up. Who is he?"

  "Nobody." God, she sounded so freaking pitiful, even to herself. No wonder Jay looked so worried.

  He grunted his disbelief but said nothing else. The bed dipped again as he shifted and before Mike realized what he was doing, he had pulled the bottom of her shirt up, revealing her stomach and the jagged scar that ran across her right side. "Does he have anything to do with this?"

  Mike glared at him then pulled the shirt from his hand and tugged it back down. "You know, people are going to start thinking there's something going on between us if you keep doing shit like that."

  "Yeah, right. How long have we known each other? Eight years? It would be like sleeping with my sister."

  "Gee, thanks for the compliment. And I really didn't need the visual, either."

  "I aim to please. Stop trying to change the subject."

  "I'm not changing the subject, because there is no subject. Let it go." Mike slowly pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing at the sharp pain behind her eyes when she moved. She reached out a shaking hand for the coffee, took a long swallow, then fought with the cap on the bottle before dumping out four of them and tossing them back with another gulp of coffee. It was sheer fantasy thinking they'd do anything to help, but at least they wouldn't hurt. Unless you counted the ache of moving.

  "So who is he?" Jay's tone of voice said he wasn't going to be put off easily. Mike eased herself back down on the bed and ignored him. "Well?"

  "Jay, I love you dearly, but if you don't let it go, I will kill you. Got it?"

  More silence. Several minutes ticked by and Mike felt herself drifting off into oblivion, only to be pulled back when Jay roughly lifted her off the bed, causing everything to swim. She bit back a scream and grabbed for him, searching for an anchor in the suddenly spinning world but coming away empty-handed. The bathroom loomed before her and this time she did scream, but not before Jay managed to toss her in the large tub, clothes and all.

  Her mouth filled with freezing water when Jay turned on the shower but she could do nothing more than just sit there, letting the cold water rush over her, pasting her clothes to her shivering body. She was too stunned to move, too shocked to do anything but stare up at him. He was leaning over her, careful to stay out of the water spray, pointing a finger at her with a look of steely determination on his face.

  "You're going to sit there until you come to your senses. Then you're going to get dressed and come out and tell me what the hell's going on. Got it?" He didn't wait for an answer, just stared at her for another second then turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Mike winced as the loud noise pierced her skull. She muttered to herself, choosing a few of the more colorful words in her vocabulary, then turned on the warm water and pulled herself to a standing position while she yanked the shower curtain closed.

  She continued her half-hearted swearing as she peeled off the wet clothes and stood under the spray, letting it wash over her, wishing it would wash away the memories as well. How could she even begin to explain Nick? She couldn't. Not to Jay, not to anyone. Hell, she couldn't even explain to herself. Not twelve years ago, not ten years ago. Certainly not now. It hurt too much, dredging up the old memories. Not that she'd ever really forget. Her hand strayed over the roughness of the scar, a jagged tear on otherwise smooth skin. No, she would never be able to completely forget. But she thought she had at least moved on.

  Forcing herself to push everything out of her mind, Mike finished her shower and dried off, then pulled on the sweat pants and t-shirt Jay had left in the bathroom for her. The hangover still held her firmly in its grip, but at least she looked a little better. Maybe. She grimaced at the reflection in the mirror, at the pale skin and the shadows under red-rimmed eyes. A walking corpse. That's what the reflection reminded her of.

  The comparison was too close, too disturbing. She shook he head, forcing the memories from her mind as she walked out of the bathroom, ready to face Jay.

  He was waiting for her downstairs in the living room, sprawled out on the sofa, playing channel roulette with the remote control. She walked by him and pulled it out of his hand, then flopped back on the love seat, groaning at the throbbing in her head. A basketball game blared on the television and Mike snapped it off with the remote, welcoming the silence with a grateful sigh.

  The silence was short-lived, as she knew it would be. Jay sat up and stared at her, sighed, then went straight for the kill. "So fess up, Mike. Who is Nick Lansing?"

  "Ex-boyfriend. See? Nothing deep, dark, or mysterious."

  "You want to tell me something I haven't already figured out? What I want to know is why you react so…I don't even know what to call it. I've never seen you act like that before. So why? Why are you so volatile around him?"

  Mike sighed and rested her head against the cushions, wishing she could disappear in the comforting softness. She couldn't, though, so she tried to decide how much to tell Jay. He was her best friend. What did it mean that he didn't know the full history? That she'd never told him. Never told anyone. And she couldn't tell him now; she wasn't ready, didn't think she'd ever be ready.

  She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and stumbled over the words. "Not just ex, then. I guess you could call him my 'first love'. We didn't part on good terms."

  "And?"

  "And nothing. Christ Jay, what more do you want?" Mike shifted on the love seat and pushed up on one elbow, watching him. "How would you act if you suddenly saw your first love again after ten years?"

  He appeared to consider it for a full minute then smiled a slow, insinuating smile. Mike threw the remote at him in frustration, sparing a brief second of sympathy for whatever woman thought she could reel Jay out of the bachelor pond.

  "Yeah, well, I know a lot more now than I did back then." His expression grew serious as he slid to the end of the sofa, leaning closer to her. "Mike, I know there's more to it than that. I've never seen you as bad as you were last night. Are you going to tell me it had nothing to do with him?"

  "No, I'm going to tell you it was one big coincidence. Don't read so much into it." Her voice was carefully flat, expressionless. If Jay heard just one nuance of emotion, he would pounce on it, and she didn't want to travel down memory lane. Not today, and certainly not about Nick. She didn't want to think about how he had abandoned her, broke her heart.

  Left her for dead.

  Minutes crept by, quiet minutes where Mike knew, just knew that Jay was wondering how much more he could push her. He must have realized he was nearing the edge because he let out a heavy sigh and sat back. "Fine, you don't want to talk about it, suit yourself. Think you could at least manage to talk about this fun-filled program I got suckered into?"

  Mike managed a laugh, at Jay's desperate tone as well as the image of him teaching a drunk-driving awareness program for high school students. "What do you want me to say? You're the one who was stupid enough to volunteer. Sucker."

  "Ha ha. And I didn't exactly volunteer, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You're going to help me, right?"

  "What?" Mike struggled to a sitting position and stared at Jay in open-mouthed shock. He was watching her in wide-eyed innocence, his gray eyes sparkling with humor as he brushed a lock of blonde hair off his forehead. "Now I know you're cracked in the head."

  "C'mon Mikey, I need help. I don't know what the hell I'm doing with this."

  "And I do? Go talk to somebody in Public Affairs. This whole fiasco was their idea, wasn't it?"

  "Yeah, but that doesn't mean they know what's going on. Throw together a new program for good PR, forget about how to make it work. You know how it goes. So you're going to help. Right?"

  "Help how? What makes you think I can do anything that you can't?"

  "Because you're better at that whole instructing thing."

  "This isn't instructing."

  "So? Just come with me tomorrow afternoon when I meet the teacher liaiso
n. I'll owe you one."

  "You already owe me about a thousand as it is."

  "So add it to my tab." Jay stood and stretched, his muscles flexing under the faded denim that hugged his legs. He reached down and grabbed his keys from the coffee table then walked to the door, pausing to study Mike with a look she didn't like. "So I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon?"

  Mike closed her eyes against Jay's concern and nodded, wondering why she was agreeing to get herself involved in something that would probably prove to be nothing more than just another huge headache.

  Chapter Eight

  Nick leaned back in the chair and stared at the clock on the wall. Tick, squeak, tock, squeak. The seconds ticked away in time to the rocking motion of the chair, the only sounds in the deserted classroom. A stack of essays was piled neatly on the scarred desk, demanding his attention, but his mind was somewhere else.

  So much for making use of the last period of the day, his only free one on Mondays.

  He let out a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair in another unsuccessful attempt to rid himself of the one image that had haunted him all weekend: Kayla, drunk and sick in a bar parking lot. Christ, why couldn't he stop seeing her like that?

  Because as bad as that was, it was better than his memory of the last time he had seen her, his conscience piped up. He closed his eyes and swallowed, tasting the bitterness of guilt deep in his throat. Ten years was a lifetime ago, and he still couldn't get rid of it. The guilt, the regret, all of it was still imbedded deep inside him, eating away at him even when he thought he had buried it with his past. Seeing Kayla had made him realize that the past wasn't quite as buried as he thought it was.

  "I don't need this," Nick mumbled to himself. His voice bounced back at him, too loud in the empty room. He ran his hands through his hair again then leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk, thinking. He'd prefer not thinking, but he had tried that already and it hadn't worked.