The Fireman's Son. Tara Taylor Quinn
wasn’t supposed to have turned out that way.
But one thing was clear...he and Faye...their ship had sailed. He was sorry Frank Walker had turned out to be a bastard. Honestly sorry.
But that didn’t change the fact that Faye had cheated on Reese. Cheated him out of the life—the family—she’d promised they’d have together.
“Elliott wasn’t abused, physically, but he...heard...what was going on between his father and me,” Faye said, breaking the silence that was leading to him picking up the piece of paper on his desk. “He...my son...has issues. Ones that could ruin his life if we don’t get them under control. It’s believed that his best chance of success is to spend at least the next semester being homeschooled at the Stand, with specialized counseling, and see if we can break through his walls and help him work through things.”
Issues. Specialized. Things. He could imagine. But he didn’t really understand.
The vagueness left him unsettled.
“You’re not a nurse.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
He knew that. He’d read her file.
“But I’m a damned good EMT.” She’d grown more outspoken than he remembered her. Stronger.
And yet, she’d always had the strength to move mountains. It had just been a quiet strength.
“A single mother with a troubled son.” He shook his head. She’d given him the legitimate out he needed to get rid of her. “There’s no way you can be relied upon to work the kind of hours your position is meant to fill,” he said. “On call three nights a week. Twelve-hour shifts.”
He understood her desperation. But surely even Faye knew that he couldn’t cover for her—even if he’d had a mind to.
“I’ve got that all worked out.” She told him about her landlord, Suzie Preston, who worked at the Stand. She was in the library but only because she was retired. The woman had been a counselor at a domestic violence shelter for more than thirty years.
Her eyes begged him. They knew him. Knew he wouldn’t turn her away.
But he couldn’t have her here. Day after day. Even when she wasn’t on duty, he’d know that she’d be back.
For a brief second, he considered quitting. Moving on.
Except that he’d signed a contract. To renege on that for no good professional reason would be a permanent black mark on his record.
In the end, he did what they both had known he would do.
He nodded.
He saw the tears that sprang to her eyes and swore silently.
Out loud all he said was, “Stay out of my way, Faye. I mean that. You’ve got the job but as far as anyone knows, you and I do not and never have known each other.”
She nodded, pursing her lips as though biting back a smile.
“I mean it. No one here knows my past prior to Tabitha.” He wasn’t going to have people watching him.
Wasn’t going to have gossip.
And most certainly wasn’t going to have anyone getting the idea into their heads that Faye could somehow heal the gaping hurt caused by his wife’s death.
She couldn’t.
Because as ashamed as he was to admit it, it wasn’t his wife’s death that had caused the chasm within him.
It was Faye’s cheating that had torn at his heart.
And his unborn child’s death that had ripped it in half.
“I understand,” Faye said now, reaching for the door handle. “I expected as much. Which was why I expected you to call me before I came to work.”
He would have dismissed her, but she’d already stepped out.
And not a second too soon. He needed a drink. Maybe more than one. Didn’t matter that it was eight o’clock in the morning. He’d been up all night.
Life had a strange way of dealing its cards. Faye was a cheater who had a child. He was a man who’d been cheated on, with a dead wife on his conscience—and a lost child because of it.
Reaching for his keys, he thought of the beer in his fridge. Then he remembered the evidence bags locked in his trunk. He wasn’t going home to drink. He was going to LA.
Maybe he’d spend the night there.
Away from Faye and all of the memories she’d brought back into his world.
Even the good ones were bad now, tainted because they hadn’t meant enough to her.
Going out for UC’s homecoming had been more important to her than he’d been. Than their four years together had been.
He’d gotten her message loud and clear.
He wasn’t ever going to need to hear it again.
HIS HAND SLID across her breast. Cradling it. So soft. So tender. As though it was precious to him.
She shivered. Wondered if she was naked. If he was. In bed, but not sure how she’d gotten there, or even where “there” was, she snuggled closer to him, smelling the musky scent on his skin. Wanting to be closer yet. Finding warmth to soothe her coldness.
His departure was imminent. Fear surrounded his leaving. He couldn’t go. She couldn’t stop him. She had to stop him. Couldn’t. Had to...
Faye didn’t know where she was. Drenched, shaking, she stared into the darkness—recognized the small glow of light off to the right...
“Mom?”
Elliott!
Shooting up, she reached for him. Remembered at the last minute not to touch. She could startle him awake.
“You were crying.”
He came closer. Sat on the side of her bed. Like most nights, she was in her own room. His gaze was focused.
Touching her cheeks, she felt the wetness there. Knew he saw it.
“I...was...dreaming,” she said. Her son was awake. She had to think. Shake off the torturous dream. Convince him that she was fine.
That the years of him waking in the night to the sound of his mother’s tears were over.
God, let them be over.
He looked so young standing there...his eyes wide. Innocent. Concerned.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said, taking his hand. Half expecting him to pull away. To see his blank expression reappear as he walled himself off from her.
Instead, he moved closer, leaning toward her until her arms couldn’t help but circle around him and pull him to her. He didn’t resist.
He was tired. She was, too. Tired of not being able to just make Elliott’s world right. Tired of being strong all alone.
Tired of avoiding Reese the past couple of days as she settled into a job that she otherwise would have loved.
Tired of all the regrets.
So she took the rare gift he’d offered her. Sliding down in the bed, she settled her son against her, laid her head on her pillow and closed her eyes.
Morning would come.
And with it, her strength would return.
* * *
ON THURSDAY, REESE pulled into the station with an infusion of energy. He’d had a bit of a hit from the LA lab results—the print