The patchy slick spots she’d dealt with driving to the station had worsened. Now, flakes thickened into an opaque, wind-blown sheet, and the entire surface of the highway was icy. Soup had taken one look at Ian’s frantic face and shoved him into the center seat of the engine, taking over driving duties. Steve and Junior were following in the main tender, with Al far behind in the second tender, a slow beast of a truck. Al’s voice was tense as he requested mutual aid from the surrounding districts. Although all of the neighboring fire departments were quick to offer help, their estimated arrival times were dismal, thanks to the weather and sheer distance.
“Ian,” the chief’s voice barked over Fire’s dedicated channel. “You are on support only on this call. You will not be entering the structure, do you copy?”
Ian didn’t respond. Instead, he stared grimly through the windshield. Rory wasn’t sure if he was oblivious to Early’s words or if he wasn’t going to promise the chief anything.
“Walsh, do you copy?” Early’s voice was harsh.
Giving Ian’s stonelike profile a glance, Soup reached for the radio mic. “He copies, Chief. We’ll make sure he keeps his head.”
Ian didn’t react outwardly to Soup’s promise. Her insides churning with worry for Julius and Ian and all the firefighters about to pit themselves against a house fire, Rory tentatively reached for Ian’s hand. She closed her fingers around his, anxiety gripping her when he remained unresponsive. Worried that she’d reacted wrongly—again—she was about to pull away when he caught her in an almost painful grip that contrasted with his expressionless face. Rory clutched his hand just as firmly, trying to put all her understanding and worry and desperate hope into that one squeeze. Neither of them let go until the engine was pulling up in front of Julius’s house.
For an endless second, Rory stared. She’d expected the cartoon version of a house fire, with flames climbing the walls and leaping from the roof like a crown. This was darker, with only occasional red glows from the lower-level windows giving hints of the inferno inside. A movement by the garage caught her attention. As she turned her head, she saw Junior and Steve rushing to hook up hoses, and she was viscerally reminded of why they were there.
She scrambled out of the truck. By the time she’d rounded the front and rejoined Soup and Ian, both men had donned SCBA gear, and her heart tried to pound from her chest.
“Chief said you were supposed to stay out of there,” Rory yelled over the noise of the engine.
Ian looked at her, appearing calm. Only his eyes were frantic. “He’s my dad, Ror.”
“What are you doing?” Steve demanded. Although Rory was sympathetic to Ian’s need to help, a wave of relief crashed over her when she heard his implacable tone. He’d keep Ian from running into a burning building.
“He’s going in.” Soup was the one who answered. “We can try to stop him, but it’ll take at least four of us even to slow him down, and that’s a fu—flipping waste of manpower, if you ask me. He’s holding it together, right, Beauty?”
Ian gave a short nod, adjusting his mask. His hand trembled the tiniest bit, making Rory’s breath catch.
Although Steve barely paused, it felt like forever before he blew out a hard breath. “Fine. But if you start losing it, you get out, got it? If you don’t, you’re putting your brothers’ lives on the line.”
Holding Steve’s gaze, Ian nodded.
“I need to hear it.”
“Yes sir. If I start to lose it, I’m out.”
“Okay. Go.”
As Ian grabbed the nozzle end of a hose and jogged toward the front entrance of the house, Rory stared after him, frozen.
“Rory!” Steve’s bark made her jump, breaking her paralysis. “I need you on the pump controls with Junior.”
“Yes sir!” Once again, zombie training came to her rescue. If left alone, she would have stood uselessly, silently begging for Ian not to die—but with an order to follow, she could trust her instincts to carry her. She hurried over to climb the steps behind the cab to the top of the truck.
“Hey, Rory.” Junior gave her a hand up. Although he appeared calm at first glance, his face was flushed, and his eyes were wider than normal. Rory wasn’t the only one feeling the rush of adrenaline. A clear cord snaked from the portable radio hooked on his coat to his earpiece. “Let’s give these guys some water.”
Junior shouted out explanations each time he turned a knob or flicked a switch, but Rory found it almost impossible to concentrate. From their perch on top of the truck, she could see Ian opening the front door. Nearby windows lit with flames as oxygen rushed inside. For a bare second, Ian was silhouetted in the doorway before he stepped into the fire.
Rory must have made a noise, since Junior turned his attention from the controls to her.
“Beauty will be fine,” he said loudly, giving her a hearty pat on the back that nearly knocked her off the truck. “Soup, too. They’re old hands at this.” Despite his words, Rory saw the sweat streaking from beneath his helmet, and vapor rising from his skin. It was too cold, and they were too far from the fire for it to be anything but nerves.
Forcing her gaze off the front of the burning house, Rory made herself pay attention to what Junior was telling her. It wasn’t doing Ian any good for her to stare at the house, waiting with her heart squeezing painfully for him to reemerge. The best thing she could do was help on the outside. She had to trust that he knew his job and could take care of himself. Soup was with him, too, she remembered with a feeling of relief. Despite his joking manner, Soup would die for Ian.
Al arrived with the second tender, taking over scene command from Steve. The lieutenant paced, his gaze never leaving the burning structure as he spoke into his radio.
“This shows the pressure of the—” Junior broke off, jerking up his head to focus on the house.
“What? What’s happening in there? Junior, tell me!” Rory demanded.
“It’s fine.” His tight expression told her things were anything but fine. He went silent, obviously listening to the radio through his earpiece. Frustration and tightly restrained panic flared in Rory, and she balled her hands into fists.
“Junior, if you don’t tell me what is going on in that house right this second, I’m going to go home, get one of my many guns, come back here, and shoot you. So start talking.”
He really focused on her for the first time since she’d joined him on the truck. “Whoa. You sound really serious about that.”
“I am.” She was shaking with nerves and aimless fury, her gaze shifting between Junior’s wide eyes and the burning house holding Ian—her Ian. “Tell me what they’re saying.”
“Uh…they’re just at a…delicate point.”
“What does that mean?”
“The smoke’s darkening, and they’re seeing some ghosting on the ceiling.”
It was like he was speaking in another language. Rory wanted to scream, but forced herself to speak calmly. “Ghosting?”
“Isolated flames moving in the hot gas layer.”
“Junior.”
His mouth twisted unhappily. “It’s a possible indication of impending flashover.”
“Flashover?” Although she didn’t know what it meant, the word sounded scary.
“There’s basically four stages of a fire. Flashover is when it goes from the growth stage to the fully developed stage really fast.”
She flinched. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.” After pausing to listen to another radio transmission, he continued. “The burning gases can cause a lot of pressure, enough to blow out windows or doors—”
“Okay!” she interrupted. Now that she knew what was happening, each detail just fired her imagination. Rory pictured Ian’s limp body flying through the air, wrapped in flames… With a hard shake of her head, she shut down the images. “Okay, so they just need to get Julius and get out of there quickly.”
“Right!” Junior’s agreement came too quickly. “They’ll be out of there in no time.”
The seconds ticked by, turning to minutes, and even Junior’s stream of chatter slowed and eventually stopped. A furious-looking chief arrived and stomped over to talk with Al. Rory caught herself staring at the house again, gripping the metal bar in front of her so hard her fingers ached.
“How long can it take?” she finally burst out. “Julius never moves from that chair. How long can it take to get him and get out?”
“It’s hard to see.” Junior stared toward the house, but his gaze was far away. “Even if you think you know where you’re going, it’s easy to get disoriented.”
Bolting to her feet, she stared at him in horror. “You think they’re lost in there?”
“What? No! Of course not.” He looked at the controls and fiddled with a valve she was pretty sure didn’t need fiddling with. “I’m just saying that they have to move slowly. That’s all.”
“Rory!” Chief Early was gesturing for her. As she turned to climb off the truck, Junior bumped her arm lightly.
“He’ll be fine, Rory. They both will.”
She studied his face for a moment, judging his sincerity. He looked more earnest than she’d ever seen him, so she gave a slow nod. “Thanks, Junior.”
As she hurried over to where the chief waited, her gaze kept getting drawn to the house. Even though Junior had retracted his words, they’d left a looping track in her brain. She kept picturing Ian lost in the fire, separated from Soup and the fire hose, wandering from room to room in the flames and smoke until the dreaded flashover blew him into oblivion.
“Sorenson!” bellowed Early, and Rory realized she’d stopped moving, her horrified gaze fixed on the house and her feet locked in place. She forced herself to move, dragging her eyes from the now-flaming front of Julius’s home and focusing firmly on the chief.
“You okay?” he asked, his normally cheery face tight with concern.
“Fine.” It seemed crazy for him to be concerned about how she was doing when two of his men were inside a blazing house.
“You’re not thinking of following him in there, are you?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Could I?”
“What? No!” His brow drew down in confusion. “You haven’t been trained in SCBA, or even passed basic firefighter courses.”
“Then why are you suggesting it?” Frustration and frantic worry made her voice snappy.
“I’m not suggesting it, I’m saying—”
Both of their attentions were drawn by a shout from Junior, and their heads jerked around toward the fire. A form stumbled out of the front entrance, and Rory sucked in a breath and held it, her heart pounding in her ears. The dark shape wasn’t quite right, though—it wasn’t Ian. Then the form materialized, showing it wasn’t one person or even two, but three. Ian and Soup were supporting a limp Julius between them.
All the tension leaked out of Rory’s muscles. She felt like Mr. Hoppity would after all his stuffing was removed.
“Thank God,” Early muttered.
Rory would’ve echoed the sentiment if she’d been able to speak. As it was, she had a hard time not crying with sheer relief. She bit the inside of her lower lip until she tasted blood and the tears had been forced back to where they belonged.
With excellent timing, an ambulance pulled up behind the second tender. Soup and Ian changed course to haul Julius in that direction, and the EMTs jogged to meet them. Although Rory knew she should stay out of the way, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from hurrying toward Ian.
By the time she reached him, they were loading Julius into the back of the ambulance.
“Ian!” She wanted so badly to throw herself at him, to wrap her arms around him and feel the steady beat of his heart. When he turned toward her, though, she jerked to a halt. His gear was blackened, and his face was streaked with soot where it hadn’t been covered by the mask. His face was drawn, and he looked like a stranger—a stranger about to snap.
The ambulance turned, siren blaring and lights flashing, and headed toward the highway. It passed a car parked a block from them.
An oddly familiar-looking car.
Rory squinted to get a better look at the vehicle until an audible inhale from Ian snapped her back to the present situation. He was staring after the ambulance, looking lost.
“Aren’t you going with him?” Rory asked. “What did they say? Will he be okay?”
“No.” His voice was calm—too calm. “I promised him I’d stay and try to save Mom’s house.” As if he’d just remembered the burning building behind them, he turned and took a step toward it. He stumbled slightly, and Rory reached for him but pulled back before making contact.
“He was talking, then?” she asked carefully, watching to make sure he wasn’t going to topple over.
“He tried a few times—he was in and out. We took too long to get him out because I couldn’t find him. We had to look through the whole damn house before we tripped over him in the bedroom.”
“At least he finally got out of his chair.” She closed her eyes. Those had not been the right words. In fact, they were probably the furthest from the right words she could’ve managed.
Ian’s sharp crack of laughter startled her into opening her eyes. “True.” The blank look melted away, leaving him looking scared. “Fuck, Ror. What if he dies? I lost my mom, lost the club… He’s all I’ve got left.”
The fear in his face was flat-out wrong. She’d never seen Ian Walsh frightened—not driving in a blizzard on ice-slicked roads or facing armed burglars or running toward the scene of an accident. Rory was determined to take away that terror. She had no idea how to do it, but she’d get it done. Somehow.
Taking the tiny step forward required to bring their bodies into contact, she wrapped her arms around his middle. His coat was bulky, as was hers, and she felt like she was trying to hug Paul Bunyan. Despite that, she clung to him the best she could.
“I don’t know if he’ll be okay,” she said, figuring she’d probably say the wrong thing yet again but unable not to at least try to give him comfort. “If he does die, though, you are not alone. He’s not all you have left. The entire fire department would lay down their lives for you…well, maybe not Joel Becker, but everyone else would for sure. And uh, me.”
“What about you?” His arms were still hanging at his sides, but she refused to let self-consciousness steal her nerve.
“You have me.”
“Yeah?” His voice was rough. Finally, finally, his arms wrapped around her, hugging her back. Although their gear was too thick and bulky to share body heat, Rory felt so much warmer than she had just seconds earlier.
“Yeah.” They stood in silence as Ian’s brothers in all but blood fought to save his mother’s house. “I still hope Julius doesn’t die, though.”
With a shuddering sigh, Ian tightened his grip around her. “Me too.”