Smolder, Page 2

  “Good thing.”

  “Can’t fault the girl for noticing perfection, dude,” I added, and Cami laughed.

  Dylan glanced at me. “I know. That’s why she’s always staring at me.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “Always so humble.”

  “Just like my best friend, huh?” He laughed and held his fist out and I bumped it. “Us ugly guys have got to stick together to be ego boosts for each other.”

  “Whatever,” Cami said, dragging the word out. “Neither of you are even remotely close to ugly, and you know it.”

  Laughing, I took another bite of my steak and stared out toward the water. The sunshine glittered off the light ripples the breeze caused on the surface. Turning my gaze back toward my plate, I paused, adrenaline pumping through me as my brain registered the anomaly my eye briefly caught. Gaze darting quickly over the surface, I scanned the lake, again, seeing a hand break the water, followed briefly by a head bobbing up before sinking under.

  “Hey!” I shouted, jumping from the table and briefly eyeing the beach for Jim, my replacement for lifeguard duty. I spied him further down the shoreline, out of earshot. Grabbing my floatation device, I slipped it over my shoulder. “Hey!” I shouted, pointing to the water as I ran. “Dylan! Call the ambulance!” I yelled over my shoulder as I kicked my shoes off, losing precious seconds before running into the water and diving in.

  A wide ring of ripples spread out from where I’d last seen the swimmer, a woman, I thought, from the brief glance I’d gotten. Afraid to take my eyes off the spot, my arms stroked heavily through the water, propelling me as quickly as I could go—yet it seemed incredibly slow.

  Again, ever so briefly, a head bobbed at the surface before disappearing.

  Hang on! I’m coming! I thought to myself, unwilling to risk any energy shouting to the swimmer.

  After what seemed like hours, I finally reached the spot I’d last seen her. Diving down beneath the surface, I tried to spot her, but the water was just cloudy enough that I had difficulty. Coming up, I gasped for air before plunging back into the murky liquid, swimming lower as I flailed my arms around, searching for some kind of contact.

  Damn it! Where is she? I pushed lower, my hands tangling in something soft. Grasping, I realized it was hair. Sorry, I thought as I pulled on it, sliding lower in the water until my arm slid across her breasts and hooked under her arms. Immediately I turned and began dragging her back to the surface.

  Shooting above the water, I greedily gulped in oxygen, filling my burning, straining lungs. “I need help!” I shouted toward the shore and then turned back to the victim. Keeping her head above water with my floatation device, I checked for a pulse and found a faint one, but she wasn’t breathing, her lips already turning blue.

  Straightaway, I initiated rescue breathing, repositioning myself and blowing heavily into her mouth as I tread water.

  “Almost there,” Dylan’s voice filtered through the air and I glanced up from my task long enough to see him and the chief approaching in one of the canoes the department had provided for today.

  Blowing into the woman’s mouth, again, I felt her lungs expand. Suddenly she started coughing, water spraying from her mouth against my face. Panic filled her eyes and she struggled against me, still making choking sounds.

  “It’s okay,” I shouted, continuing to hold her like I’d been trained. “I’ve got you. Help is here. Don’t fight me.”

  Momentarily she paused, and then Dylan’s strong hands were gripping her, pulling her into the boat.

  “You okay, Weston?” Chief called to me and I nodded.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.” I tossed the end of my flotation device to him and he hooked it on the boat, dragging me alongside as he paddled back toward shore.

  Relief shot through me as I heard the woman start to cry. “I . . . I got a cramp,” she stuttered.

  “It’s okay,” Dylan reassured her, sifting through the jump bag he’d pulled off the truck. “I’m going to slip this oxygen mask on your face, okay? Can you tell me your name?” he asked, beginning his assessment of her.

  “Evie,” she replied.

  Evie, I thought to myself as I floated in the water, exhausted. Today is your lucky day.

  Chapter Two

  Russ

  The gunshot fired and I was instantly awake, punching and clawing into the vacant air as a scream tore from my lips. Huffing loudly, I slowly came back to reality, blinking rapidly in the darkness as I shook my head.

  “Holy hell,” I whispered, flopping back onto my pillow and dragging a hand through my hair. It was the third time, tonight, I’d had this nightmare. It was getting to the point where I was afraid to go to sleep.

  Groaning, I slipped out of bed and padded down the hall in my underwear to my spare bedroom, where I’d set up my weight center. Dylan and Cami may have been teasing me about how ripped I was getting, but the truth was that I’d been putting in massive amounts of extra weight-training time every night, trying to work out the mess going on in my head. Clearly, “exercising” my demons away wasn’t working. Maybe it was time to call in an actual exorcist to help me out.

  Flipping on the light, I spied a phonebook sitting on a stack of boxes still waiting to be unpacked from my move. Ticking off the months in my head, I realized I’d lived here nearly two years. If the boxes weren’t unpacked by now, I probably didn’t need what was in them. Considering how long it was taking me to renovate everything on this floor, I’d probably never unpack them, anyway. Dylan had offered to pay for a construction crew to complete it, but I’d wanted to do it all myself. It made it more personal, and I enjoyed seeing the progress as the old place slowly came shining back to life, again. Too bad I couldn’t work on it at night—unless it was painting or something equally as quiet. Otherwise Cami and Dylan would, for sure, realize how much I wasn’t sleeping. Wandering around at night had confirmed one thing, I was fairly certain I was the only one haunting the premises.

  Grabbing the phonebook, I began flipping through the pages looking for psychiatrists that specialized in Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. Cami, Dylan, and I had all seen a therapist, provided by the fire department, when we’d first moved here. Our new chief had requested the sessions for Dylan and me as a requirement of our being hired. We easily completed the mandatory eight weeks with no real issues coming up. Basically, I sat there and told the doctor what had happened, and he asked questions, now and then, about how certain things made me feel. At the time, I didn’t really have any issues. Yes, I had the occasional nightmare, but it was just a dream, right? As soon as our required time was up, I quit going, as did Dylan and Cami.

  I couldn’t go back to the department therapist, now. I knew things were supposed to be confidential, but I didn’t want Dylan or the chief finding out I was back in therapy.

  Sighing in frustration, I flipped through several pages of names, before finally deciding I’d feel more comfortable talking to a woman. Last time, I felt like Dr. Milton determined my masculinity based on how I dealt with the whole event. I wanted someone not associated with the department—someone to whom I could talk freely, without feeling like every word I said was weighed as a determining factor on whether or not I was competent to work.

  Searching for addresses not too far from home, my finger landed on the number for a Dr. Evelyn McKnight. Going back into my room, I grabbed my cellphone and called the number listed, not caring that it was the middle of the night. Voice mail picked up and an automated greeting gave me an after-hours number to call if this was an emergency before prompting me to leave a message.

  I cleared my throat. “Um, hi. My name is Russ Weston. I’d like to schedule an appointment with Dr. McKnight. I, uh, think I’m suffering from PTSD and would like to try and get some help working through it.” I left my cell number and hung up, tossing my phone down on my squeaky old bed before heading back to work-out. Hopefully I’d hear back from them on Monday.

  My thoughts drifted back to the barbecu
e and the water rescue that had taken place. I hadn’t really had a chance to interact with the victim after Dylan had taken over. The ambulance crew was waiting for us when we got to shore, whisking her off to the hospital. Dylan had insisted that I sit in one of the trucks and take some oxygen, just to be safe—which I thought was completely ludicrous, but I did it to humor him, anyway. Then the chief insisted I take the rest of the night off and not work my regularly scheduled shift. I’d been about to argue, but was interrupted when an older couple approached me, the parents of the victim.

  The woman I’d rescued had been picnicking with her family on the other side of the lake from our department party. She was apparently a pretty avid swimmer from what her parents said, so no one thought twice about her going for a swim across the lake.

  They both thanked me profusely before heading off to the hospital. They seemed like nice people. I sent well wishes to their daughter through them, again thinking how fortunate it was that I’d happened to glimpse her in time.

  Life was so fragile. That was a lesson I learned over and over. One minute everything could be moving along normally, the next it could be drastically altered forever—a crippling car accident, a heart attack, a house fire, or the simple act of a gun barrel being placed against your head.

  Life was fragile and not to be taken for granted.

  ***

  “Well, someone has been out scoring the brownie points. Literally,” Dylan said, coming in early in the morning from his night shift, carrying a pan of brownies. Pausing to kiss Cami, who was cooking breakfast, he slid the pan in front of me along with a note.

  “What’s this?” I asked, staring down at the chocolate squares with confusion before glancing up at him.

  “Haven’t you heard? You’re the new local hero. Someone from the newspaper already called the station this morning wanting to interview you about the water rescue thing from yesterday. I guess a bystander at the lake caught the whole thing on video with their phone. It’s already played on the early morning news.”

  “Wonderful,” I said with a groan, not happy at all to hear this. “I was simply doing my job. I don’t need any credit or recognition for it.”

  “Well, when you rescue a local celebrity, of sorts, word is bound to get out.”

  “A local celebrity?” I was completely confused. “What are you talking about? Who is she?”

  “She’s Dr. Evelyn McKnight, a psychiatrist. She’s done a lot of local charity work to help soldiers overcome PTSD. She’s considered quite the authority on the subject and is very well loved by members of the community.”

  “You’re shittin’ me.” I was dumbfounded. This could not be happening. The doctor I’d called last night was the woman from the lake? “Evie. She said her name was Evie,” I muttered.

  “Obviously short for Evelyn,” Cami said.

  “Read the card,” Dylan said, grinning.

  Slowly, I opened the envelope and pulled out a small note card with the words “Thank You” printed in gold lettering. Opening it, I found a short handwritten message.

  “Read it out loud so I can hear it, too,” Cami begged, so I humored her.

  Dear Mr. Weston,

  My husband and I, again, wanted to thank you for saving our daughter, Evie, from drowning, yesterday. It’s so nice to know our community is safer because of people like you, who train and risk your own lives for the safety of others every day.

  Evie is doing well and expected to be released from the hospital later today. She sends her thanks to you, as well.

  If there is ever anything we can do to be of service to you, please let us know. Our family is forever in your debt.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. and Mrs. Kent McKnight

  Carefully, I tucked the letter back into the envelope. “Wow. That was nice of them. And she brought these brownies?”

  Dylan nodded with a smile. “She must’ve been up at the crack of dawn to make them, too. The pan was still warm when she arrived at the department, just before I got off.”

  “They smell delicious,” I said, peeling back the cellophane covering the disposable pan. “I’m thinking we need to have some brownies with breakfast.”

  Reaching into a drawer, Dylan produced a spatula and handed it to me. “I agree. The smell drove me crazy all the way home.”

  Cami set out three small dishes and I carefully scooped us each a large brownie as I pondered over my next move. Obviously I had to cancel my appointment with this woman. Didn’t this make it some kind of weird conflict of interest or something?

  Taking a bite of the brownie, I groaned. It was as good as it smelled. Staring at Dylan and Cami, I suddenly wished I could ask their advice on the matter, but there was no way I could bring up what we’d all been through together, again. We’d worked so hard to get past it. I couldn’t bear to hurt them anymore. They’d been through enough. Now was the time for them to just be happy and enjoy preparing for their upcoming family addition. Their last pregnancy had ended so tragically when Cami had been shot in the stomach. I couldn’t bring that all up again—not when Cami finally spent more days laughing and smiling than crying and being sad. Besides, I didn’t want them to know that I was still having issues with all of it.

  I decided I would call and leave a message right after breakfast—canceling my appointment with Dr. McKnight. I’d waited this long to seek out help, it wasn’t going to hurt me to wait a little longer.

  The phone rang and Dylan answered it, speaking for a moment before holding it to his chest. “It’s the newspaper. They’d like to do a phone interview with you.”

  I shook my head. No way. I wasn’t going to get dragged into this media circus. “You can tell them I’m refusing all interviews. My official statement is this: ‘I love my job and am grateful for the opportunity to be able to help others when needed’. That’s all I’m saying on the matter.”

  Chapter Three

  Russ

  Wide-eyed I stared down at a picture of me in my uniform splashed across the front page of the Charleston Herald newspaper with:

  Hero Firefighter is Grateful for His Job and Opportunity to Help Others written in bold letters underneath

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I grumbled, quickly folding it and dropping it into a nearby garbage can, hoping Dylan and Cami hadn’t seen it. I was going to catch shit for this from the guys at work. Knowing we loved any excuse to razz each other, I suddenly wished I could come down with a bad case of the flu or something before my shift, tonight. Of course, if I did that, they’d probably actually think I was trying to get out of work and would come up with something even worse to torture me with. I was screwed either way.

  The great smells coming from the kitchen signaled that Cami was already awake and cooking breakfast. But, as I rounded the corner, I was surprised to find Dylan alone at the stove instead.

  “Hey, man” he said, glancing at me briefly as I entered.

  “Hey. Where’s Cami?”

  “She’s not feeling well this morning, so she’s sleeping in. The baby moved around a lot last night and it kept her awake. I think it made her back hurt, so I told her to take it easy today and let me wait on her.”

  “Not much longer, now.” I smiled, going to the cupboard to get some plates. “Just a couple more weeks until her due date, isn’t it?”

  “Sixteen days to be exact,” Dylan said with a smile. “Then we’ll finally meet our little girl.”

  Chuckling, I shook my head. “I can’t imagine you as a dad, let alone as a dad to a baby girl. But, if she’s anything like Cami, she’ll be a little angel. On the other hand, if she’s anything like you . . . .” I let my sentence dwindle off.

  “If she’s anything like me, I’ll need to lock her in a cage through her teenage years, for sure,” he responded with a laugh. “And if she’s anything like Cami . . . well, let’s just say I should start practicing my ‘touch my daughter and die’ speech, now.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like a wise plan, my friend.�
��

  “It’s crazy, isn’t it? I mean, looking back on my life, it was all about the girls and how many I could hook up with. Now that I’m going to be a dad, my whole mentality has shifted. Just like that—in the blink of an eye—I suddenly want to strangle any guy who might look at my daughter.”

  Laughing, I sat down in one of the chairs at the table, crossing my booted feet out in front of me, folding my arms. “I think you just described the way Cami’s dad felt about you.”

  Grinning widely, Dylan flipped over the pancakes he was cooking. “In my defense, he did think I was a juvenile delinquent at the time. Once he found out I was actually an undercover cop, things got a lot better.”

  “Somehow I doubt that would’ve mattered much if he’d actually known how much time you were spending making out with and groping his daughter. Cop or not, I still think he would’ve shot you.”

  Still smiling, Dylan nodded. “You’re probably right about that.” A wistful look passed through his eyes. “Damn, those were good days.”

  “Pipe down, big boy,” I teased. “Your wife has had all the good days she can handle at the moment. Give the poor girl a break.”

  “Give the poor girl a break? You’re kidding me, right? It’s totally the other way around.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m dead serious,” he replied. “Haven’t you ever heard about a pregnant woman’s libido? For real—I’m not kidding you. There’s like all this increased blood flow down south for them and they can’t get enough sex.”

  “You’re just shittin’ me, now. Come on.”

  “I’m dead serious,” he repeated. “If you don’t believe me, then look it up. Cami has been a friggin’ wildcat in bed for the last several months. I probably even have the claw marks to prove it.”

  Staring at him for a few seconds, I narrowed my eyes. “Sometimes I really hate you, you know that?”

  Dylan laughed heartily. “Not to be a prick, dude, but you should hate me. I’ve got it all.”