Radclyffe - Firestorm

“Jac?” Mallory slid into Jac’s field of vision, her expression perplexed, as if she had been speaking for a while and Jac had not been listening.

Jac jerked straighter, conscious of the flimsy cotton covering her naked torso, conscious of the tightening of her nipples at the mere sound of Mallory’s voice. “Yeah?”

“The storm’s coming on fast and we might have a chance to outrun it, but we’ll have to leave right away. Do you mind skipping the shower?”

Jac didn’t need an interpreter. Mallory didn’t want even the slightest chance of intimacy between them. As if stripping down in the hospital locker room was going to be some kind of threat. Her skin chilled, as if snow already fell on her. As if she were already out in the cold. She jumped down from the stretcher, ignoring the jolt of pain shooting through her shoulder. “That’s a good idea. We need to get back. We can catch up to Sully and the rest of them in the morning then, right?”

Jac kept her face averted as she sorted through the jumble of her clothes and picked out her T-shirt. She balled it up and tossed it back on the chair. It was stiff with sweat and she wasn’t putting it on again. She checked out her shirt. It wasn’t in much better shape.

Mallory grasped her arm. “Here. I know it’s a little funky, but it’s clean and it’s warm.” Mallory held out a navy blue sweatshirt that read Gardiner Tigers above an emblem of the high school.

“Where…?”

“Gift shop.” Mallory grimaced. “Sorry, the selection was pretty slim.”

“It looks great to me. I don’t suppose they had any underwear?”

Mallory laughed. “Not unless you want something in size one that says ‘It’s a boy!’”

“Sorry. Won’t fit the equipment.”

Mallory’s smile flickered for a second. “No, I don’t imagine it would.” She hefted a plastic bag. “I’ve got one, too. I’ll go get the Jeep. You—uh—need any help?”

“Nope. I’ve got it.”

“Great. Okay then.” Mallory backed toward the curtain. “I’ll be right outside in the emergency room parking lot. It’s a black Commander. I’ll get it warmed up and we can hit the road.”

“Be there in a minute.” Jac turned her back to give Mallory a chance to escape, which was obviously what Mallory wanted. This time though, Jac was going to let her go.

*

Mallory sat behind the wheel, clenching the steering wheel so hard her palms ached and the tips of her fingers went numb. Heat blasted from the dashboard vents, but the center of her chest was a solid block of ice. Snow slashed against the windshield, melting into trails of tears that streaked her vision. Irritated, she brushed her fingers over her face and they came away wet. She stared at the glistening moisture on her fingertips. She couldn’t possibly be crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. No, she could remember, she just didn’t want to. The night after Phil and Danny’s funeral. The night after four hundred firefighters and two hundred engines, sirens blaring, had formed a long, twisting procession through the mountains carrying Danny and Phil back to base where their bodies had been lifted by a full-color honor guard into a helitack while a regimental band played taps. She had stood with the rest of her team, her arm in a rigid salute, while the bird lifted off for Danny and Phil’s last flight. Her eyes had been dry, her throat closed, her heart thudding painfully to each beat of the drum. Inside she mourned to the wail of the sirens. That night she’d driven two hours away, gotten a hotel room and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and drunk herself to sleep. Sometime before she’d passed out, she must have cried—when she woke, her pillow was wet. She’d dumped the dregs of the Jack down the toilet, showered, and driven back to base.

She never talked about what happened in Idaho, except when the review board had called her in to recount the details of how she had spotted the safe zone, what factors she had considered, what possible dangers she had seen from the position of the fire front, the prevailing winds, the terrain, and what line she had chosen for her team to dig. She had talked about Phil and Danny then, but the words had sounded as if they were coming from someone else. Her words had been precise, concise, clear, and according to them, procedurally correct. Her judgment had been deemed accurate, her decisions right. They had said she was without fault, but she knew they were wrong.

Mallory tasted salt and licked her lips. She rubbed the rough sleeve of her sweatshirt over her face, erasing the signs of her pain and weakness. Enough. Somehow, wanting Jac had opened the doors to all she had buried, and freed every nightmare memory she wanted to obliterate. The only way she knew to close and chain the door again was to build a wall between her and Jac. She knew she was succeeding. She’d seen the flare of hurt and bewilderment in Jac’s eyes. But Jac was a survivor. Jac would be fine. She wasn’t sure she would be, but at least she was breathing, moving, functioning, and for so long, that was all she had wanted. Enough. She had made those things enough. And now, it had to be.

The passenger door opened and Jac dropped into the seat beside her, bringing a gust of wind and snowflakes with her.

“Sorry,” Jac said briskly. “It’s really bad out there.”

“I know. I was hoping we could get a couple hours in and then maybe grab something to eat when we got ahead of the front.”

“Whatever you want, Mal. It’s up to you.”

Mallory backed out of the parking place and pulled out into the snowy street. Up to her. If it was up to her, she never would’ve met Jac Russo with her dark, burning eyes and her gentle touch. She never would have fallen in love with her.

Chapter Twenty-six

Mallory pulled into a gas station on 89S a little after nine p.m. Traffic on the two-lane was almost nonexistent. Much of the highway was obscured by drifting snow, and most of the time she couldn’t see beyond the tapering cones of her own headlights. Late spring snows, when everyone was prepared for the onset of summer and no one wanted to face yet another whiteout blizzard, always seemed to be the worst of the season. The only positive note was storms like these usually blew in and blew out quickly. With any luck, the morning would bring sunshine and a quick melt. But right now, all she wanted to do was get back to base safe and sound. Her eyes were gritty from staring at the endless expanse of white, the surface unbroken by any other tire tracks. Not even a single set of red taillights glowed ahead to help orient her. The Jeep was quiet save for the rumble of the engine, and at times she felt as if she were alone in the universe. Except she wasn’t. Despite the demands of the tricky driving and the terrible visibility, she was always, constantly, aware of Jac.

Jac lay curled up beside her in the passenger seat, asleep. She’d taken a pain pill in the emergency room and drifted off an hour or so after they’d left Gardiner. Wanting her to rest, Mallory hadn’t even turned on the radio to help dispel the monotony. She didn’t mind the silence. Jac’s quiet breathing provided a soothing buffer against the wind that howled outside the windows. She’d never been quite so acutely conscious of another person’s presence before. She’d had to stop herself more than once from reaching across the space between them and stroking Jac’s hair. She really did not want to think about what that meant.

Easing in next to the snowcapped gas pumps, Mallory parked and released her seat belt. The bright lights above the pumps blazed in through the windshield, glaring directly into Jac’s face. Jac muttered under her breath and shifted uneasily. Mallory leaned over and rubbed Jac’s shoulder, settling her. “It’s okay. I’m just going to get some gas. Everything is fine.”