The midday sun beat down on Delaney's red baseball cap as she wiped the sweat from her brow and bent over to a half-squat position. "Watch out for this slugger," she shouted as Beth O'Roarke stepped up to the plate. Beth wore the dark green academy T-shirt while Delaney sported Quint/Midi Twelve's red one. She'd been playing shortstop on her sister's team for years.
Beth grinned at her. Reed had confided in both her and Ben about his relationship with Delaney. That he'd share such personal information with his friends made Delaney's heart sing.
Yanking on the bill of her cap, Chelsea smiled over at her from the pitcher's mound. "Not to worry. I'm gonna burn the rubber right off this ball, sis. O'Roarke ain't goin' nowhere."
Waiting, Delaney fingered the chain around her neck. Tucked into her breasts was a necklace that had been in Pandora's Box. The charm on the end read Firefighter's Lady. She'd cried when Reed had slid the delicate piece of jewelry over her head. It was tangible proof of how he felt about her.
Beth connected with the third of Chelsea's pitches. The ball arrowed straight at Delaney. Leaping into the air, she caught it but landed wrong, twisted her ankle and went down. From the corner of her eye, she saw Reed bolt off the bench.
What if something happens to you?
Delaney scrambled to stand to let him know she was unhurt. With a flourish, she raised the ball and glove over her head and grinned proudly. Reed sat back down.
After three more at-bats, he strode to the mound, looking sexy as hell in the green shirt and khaki shorts. Delaney cupped her hands. "Easy out," she yelled, bending over and sticking her fanny in the air. She punched her glove. "You're a klutz, Macauley."
He shook his head like he used to before they'd gotten close, yelled back for the hecklers to be quiet—and sent a line drive speeding right by her. Out in left field, Joey Santori stretched for it but missed. As Joey raced after the ball, Reed rounded the bases. Jogging by her, he taunted, "I'm gonna score, little girl," and kept going.
"You already did, Doc," she called out to his back.
He halted on third base and threw her a scolding look.
Delaney delighted in his good mood. For the past week—except for two nightmares and one episode of flashbacks—he'd been obviously happy.
As the academy's side retired, the Quint/Midi Twelve team hustled in from the field. Reed was just heading out. Delaney and Chelsea exchanged mocking quips with him, and Delaney plopped down on the bench, her shorts rising up. Reed had taken a few steps away when Chelsea barked, "Laney, what happened to your leg?"
Delaney glanced down. A purplish bruise the size of a man's hand spanned her thigh. She froze when she realized Reed had stopped suddenly and turned around. His gaze dropped to her leg. Last night, in the middle of a dream, he'd grabbed her. She hadn't told him about the bruise, of course.
As he stared at the mark on her, his face went totally bleak. "I must have done it when I fell on the field," Delaney told Chelsea.
"You wouldn't bruise that fast."
"I've always bruised easily."
Reed's eyes narrowed on her. "Delaney—"
"Get the lead out, Macauley," Eric Scanlon called from the mound. Though Delaney had gently broken off with Eric, he hadn't been happy about losing her to Reed.
Reed said only, "We'll talk about this later," and took the field.
Chelsea dropped beside her on the bench. Though Delaney had shared with her sister that she and Reed were seeing each other, she didn't tell Chelsea anything about Reed's PTSD. That was for him to reveal, if he ever chose to.
Studying the mark on Delaney's leg as if it were some kind of hieroglyphics, her sister said, "Laney, he didn't…" When she raised her head, there was fear in her eyes. "God, I can't believe this of Reed, or of you, but did he do this to you?"
Shocked, Delaney's jaw dropped. "Of course not. He's the gentlest man I've ever been with."
"What was that conversation all about, then?"
"Reed's protective is all." She pulled down the brim of her hat to hide her dissembling.
Chelsea rolled her eyes, a silent elder sibling's Yeah, sure.
"Okay, it's private stuff, Chels." She fingered the chain again. "I can't share his secrets."
"But if he—"
"Trust me, sis. I've never been happier in my life."
Delaney glanced out at first base where Reed stood punching his glove. Though his green cap partly blocked his face, she could tell he was scowling like Scrooge. He looked anything but happy.
* * *
In the Templeton backyard, next to a cedar shed that housed summer equipment, Reed peered across the grass and watched Delaney laugh with one of her teammates, Joe Santori. They were probably rehashing the play Joey had made in the outfield that had won the game for Quint/Midi Twelve. Reed drew in a deep breath and tried to stay calm, but it felt as if he were fighting brushfires. He'd just get one thing under control, and another would flare. His eyes kept straying to her leg, where he'd bruised her. He took a swig of beer from the bottle in his hand. He willed himself to forget what he'd done and enjoy the late afternoon breeze that came off the lake and the August sun that still burned brightly in the sky.
But he couldn't forget. He'd been right in his dire warnings to her—disclosing the secret he'd kept for years had caused nightmares and one flashback. Last night, he'd taken her down with him…
Wildly, he'd kicked at the covers on the bed. In the dream, he was trying to get the gun from Cummings. His leg was a mass of burning pain; he reached for it to stem the flow of blood…and in bed, he'd gotten Delaney instead. She'd awakened with a cry of pain—a hell of a way to come out of a deep sleep. He'd been horrified at what he'd done.
She'd been calm and sympathetic. Holding his head against her breasts—he could still feel the soothing comfort of her skin and smell the sweet scent of her—she'd crooned to him and told him a little pain was a fair trade-off for the hour of pleasure he'd given her before they fell asleep. He'd let her convince him, but now, in the brittle light of day, his shortcomings slapped him in the face. His worst fears were coming true about hurting her, and there wasn't a thing he could do about the situation.
Because he was lost in thought, Reed didn't see Delaney approach until she was practically on top of him. Since they were partially obscured from the group by the shed and a table with a big umbrella, she kissed him briefly on the cheek. They'd told their close friends about their feelings for each other, but Reed didn't want to broadcast their relationship to the whole department.
"What's the scowl for?" She looked like a kid in the baseball cap, shirt and matching red socks.
"I was thinking about your leg."
"You got a one-track mind, Doc."
He shook his head at her. "Are you always this irreverent about serious things?"
"It seems to work best with you." She lifted the beer she held and took a swig. "Otherwise you start playing the role of Arthur Dimmesdale."
"Who?"
"The guy from The Scarlet Letter."
"Ah, I vaguely remember that. What about him?"
"He spends the whole book bemoaning how badly he's treating Hester, but he can't stop himself. Even as a high-schooler, I thought he was a wimp, and she was a jerk to put up with it." She faced Reed fully. "I think men who constantly beat on themselves probably have little, tiny…" She whispered the rest in his ear.
He laughed out loud. God, she could tease him out of a black mood.
She turned to peer out over the Templetons' backyard. Sloping to the lake, the lawn had three levels, with pretty chairs, tables and umbrellas. On the deck was a hot tub, which several firefighters were using after the exertion of the day. Though Francey was benched due to her pregnancy, the Templetons had cheered from the sidelines and thrown this post-game get-together.
Reed moved close behind Delaney so his bare knees grazed the back of hers. Knowing they were partly hidden, he slid his free hand under her team shirt and lightly rubbed her waist. "What kind of guy do you like?"
She closed her eyes and just about purred at his touch. "Hmm. Older men."
"Like Scanlon?"
"Nope, your age is about right."
"And?" He scraped her skin with rough knuckles.
"Men who spoil me."
He thought about the romantic dinners he'd fixed for her, the yellow roses he'd sent to her office, a leopard-print thong he'd tucked under her pillow. "Did I spoil you enough this week?"
"Oh, yeah."
"What else?" He leaned into her, pressing his chest against her.
She leaned back. "Men who give me good sex."
"It's been good, honey," he whispered against her ear. "Real good."
She turned. Lifted her face up to the sun. "Everything's been good. This has been the best week of my life."
His hand dropped to her thigh. "Not every—"
Covering his mouth with her fingers, she shushed him. "Please, don't ruin this. You didn't know what you were doing. And the bruise is a little thing."
He swallowed hard.
"You can kiss and make it better," she offered, her blue eyes giving the summer sky some competition.
Hell, he’d try to let go of his worry. For her. "Yeah, how soon?"
"We could sneak out now."
Smiling he said, "Ah, a woman after my own heart."
"I am, Reed," she said soberly.
"What?"
"After your heart."
He bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from telling her she had it all tied up in ribbons right now. He'd hurt her physically already. It was only a matter of time before he hurt her emotionally. Next week was the anniversary of the shooting, always the worst time of the year for him. God knew what he'd do then.
So he couldn't speak the words of commitment. The words he knew she needed to hear. But he couldn't send her away, either. He squeezed her shoulder and whispered one of her kid-phrases in her ear. "Let's blow this pop stand, sweetheart. I want you now."
"I knew this sex on demand wouldn't be so bad," she drawled, taking his hand and turning toward the lawn.
* * *
It was weird as hell, but Sam had discovered, on his third counseling session with Reed, that he could talk easier, talk more, if they did something together. When he asked Reed, the shrink had agreed eagerly, as if being active was good for him, too. So far they'd jogged around the park adjacent to the academy, worked out with the weights and played a few easy games of HORSE in the gym. Today they were competing in racquetball.
"Your serve," Sam said. Sweat covered his face and dampened his shirt.
"We aren't talking much, buddy," Reed commented, bouncing the ball a couple of times on the academy's newly installed court and gripping his racket.
"Finish serving and we'll take a break." This therapy stuff had been as painful as third-degree burns for Sam. But life was better at home, so he kept coming back. Not that he had much choice if he wanted to return to work. Although he still shuddered thinking about seeing Tommy in the fire, Sam had to admit Reed was helping him.
Reed tossed the ball up and swung down hard. The ball slammed into the corner. It bounced back and Sam got a piece of it. But his shot petered out before it hit the front wall.
"My game." Reed grinned.
Swearing colorfully, Sam headed to his bag and fished out a bottle of water. "You know, you look better lately."
Reed found his own water and drank. "Yeah? You getting used to seeing my ugly mug this much?"
Gulping the drink, Sam leaned against the wall. "Maybe. But it's more than that. Something with you. You gettin' laid regularly, Doc?"
Jokingly, Reed told him what he could do with his personal question, and slid down to sit against the wall. Sam dropped beside him. Reed sipped his water, waited as if he was going to say something big. "I got a woman in my life, Leone. And I have to tell you, it's made me a happy man."
"No shit?"
"I wouldn't lie to you." He waited. "Speaking of women, how's it going with Theresa?"
Sam sighed. "Better. We…ya know…we been close lately."
"Close as in physical close?"
Sam studied the room. "Uh-huh."
"Is it good?"
"Jeez, Macauley."
The psychologist laughed and said, "I'm not playing Peeping Tom. I just want to know if it's been easier to be intimate with Theresa."
"Whatdaya mean?"
"Guys who're grieving, guys who've been through a trauma—like seeing Tommy die—sometimes they withdraw and don't let anybody close, not even women they love."
"Why?"
"So they can't get hurt again."
Sam pounded his racket on the hardwood floor, the sound echoing throughout the cavernous gym. "I feel that way sometimes. But it kills Terry. She says sex makes us closer, and when I wouldn't do it, she felt rejected." His eyes narrowed on the floor, and his heart started to hammer in his chest. "Not like that bitch Jeanine. Tommy and me, we used to talk about…stuff. He said she froze him out sometimes. It used to tear him apart."
When Reed didn't say anything, Sammy looked over. "What?"
"We gotta talk about your ex-sister-in-law."
"No."
"I don't get it. You tell me about sex, but not this woman? Why?"
"She hurt Tommy."
"And?"
"He shoulda had the best. Always. I'll never forgive the cu—" He stopped. Glared at Reed. "Hey, pretty clever. I'm talkin' about her."
"Keep going."
Sam jumped to his feet. "Nope. I'll tell you about me and Terry, and the kids. I want like hell to be a good husband and father. But that bitch is off-limits."
Reed stood, too, and as he got up, Sam looked at the doctor's leg. Sam had noticed the scar before, but hadn't asked. "What happened to you, Reed?"
Reed didn't even look down. His face paled.
Sam said, "This have anything to do with losin' that buddy you told me about?"
Swallowing hard, Reed nodded. "Yep."
"Sorry, man. Musta hurt like a bitch."
"It hurt more inside." Reed clapped Sam on the back. "I told you I knew how you felt. But you gotta get it out to get better."
Halfway back to the court, Sam stopped short. "Am I gettin' better, Reed?"
"Yeah, I think you're making progress. It's slow, and there'll be some setbacks, but it's happening."
"Will I be able to go back to work soon?"
"Not for a while, Sammy. You gotta talk about everything before I can okay your return."
"All but…her."
Reed sighed. "For now. Let's play another game then get some coffee. I'm gonna ask you to dredge up some painful stuff today."
"I know, that's why I'm beatin' the pants off you."
"In your dreams, buddy. We're tied."
"The hell we are…" They argued through the next game. For Sam, it was better than blubbering like a baby.
But he knew that would come later.
* * *
Delaney had carted six beanbag chairs to the academy's conference room, which was connected to Reed's office, gotten two bulldozer-type firefighters to move the big oak table, and had arranged her space for today in a small circle on the thick rug. Two boys and three girls now occupied the crayon-colored sacks, in various positions of adolescent slouch. She sat on the big yellow one, as demurely as she could given the suit and heels she wore.
"I'd like to thank you all for coming," she said dryly.
Two kids nodded nervously. One snorted. One wouldn't meet her eyes. And T.J. Leone studied his sneakers.
"I know, I know, your parents made you come. It's okay, I understand."
"What do we call you?" Suzy Roncone, a pretty dark-haired girl, asked.
Marcy Leone smiled. "We call her Dr. Delaney. Or Dr. D."
"That okay with everybody?" Delaney asked.
Most of them nodded.
"T.J.?"
At the sound of his name the boy's head whipped up. His hair was shaggy around his dark eyes—his dark, troubled eyes. Delaney hadn't gotten through to him yet. He was proving to be as tough to reach as his dad.
"What are you thinking, T.J.?"
The boy shrugged.
"You gotta talk about things."
He cleared his throat. At fourteen, his voice had changed but was unpredictable. "Can somebody else go first?"
She scanned the group. No volunteers. "I've got an idea." Out of her bag, she drew a small tennis ball. "We'll start like this. Somebody shares, then gives the ball to another person who goes next."
"Can we pass?" a girl dressed in all black asked. Her name tag read Kassie Talbot. Ah, Chief Talbot's granddaughter. The dark ensemble, as well as lipstick and nail polish the color of the night, probably flipped out her granddad.
"You can, but doing that won't get us far. I wish you wouldn't ask to, Kassie."
The girl shrugged.
Thoughtfully Delaney squeezed the ball. "I'd like everybody in the group to share something about his or her father." No one had a mother as a firefighter. "Say anything. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Anything."
She lifted her arm to toss the ball.
Kassie held up her hand, stopping the throw. "You a member of this group?"
"Of course."
"Then tell us something about your father."
Delaney had had patients corner her like this before. With kids, she'd had to give in more. Besides, sharing some of her past helped them open up, even if it did hurt to dredge up the memories. She thought back to the handsome dark-haired poet of a man who had given her life, and her heart squeezed tightly with regret. "My dad was a sax player."
"No kidding?" Suzy said. "I wanna be a rock star."
"Well, think long and hard about that choice. Not only was he gone a lot, but we had to move when he got restless or bored in one town. And sometimes he and my mother would leave us alone for days at a time."
"How old were you?" This from the young boy who looked like Ben Affleck. Delaney knew he was Kyle, the son of a popular line firefighter.
"It started when I was about seven and my sister was thirteen." Delaney tossed Marcy the ball. "Okay, kiddo, your turn."
Catching the ball, Marcy raised her eyes to the group. "My dad's depressed since Uncle Tommy died."
From the corner of her eye, Delaney saw T.J. stiffen and stare back down at his Nikes. He toyed with the laces.
"Losing someone you love is hard, Marcy. Think about how you'd feel without T.J."
"At least there wouldn't be his scuzzy towels all over the bathroom floor."
"Oh, yeah, and your makeup crap in every drawer and shelf doesn't count as a mess?"
"I need my beauty aids," she said haughtily.
"You can say that again."
Delaney let them quibble because T.J. was talking. She'd seen this before. It was their way of communicating.
Marcy tossed the ball to Suzy Roncone, but she stayed quiet. Delaney nudged her. "Suzy, your dad works with Marcy's father, doesn't he?"
Suddenly T.J. stood. "My dad isn't workin'. Haven't you heard, he's off the line? He wigged out in a fire."
Surprised at the outburst, Delaney stood, too. She crossed to the boy. Grasped his arm and pulled him aside. He was trembling all over so she held on tight. "T.J., I'm sorry if your father's situation embarrasses you."
"I'm not embarrassed. I just want outta here. Can I go?"
She thought for a minute. "You can go sit in Dr. Macauley's office for a bit. Settle down. If you promise to think about sharing stuff with us." Sadly, she smiled at him. "I can help you if you'd give me a chance."
In his eyes she saw a need so great it silenced her for a minute. "Please," she finally said.
"Maybe, but not today."
"All right. Go through that door." She pointed to Reed's office. "Dr. Macauley isn't there. He's with your dad."
T.J. bolted away as if he was being chased by bullies in a dark alley.
Delaney sat back down. "Sharing's hard, guys. Not everybody does it easily."
Marcy bit her lip. "This is about more than Dad, Dr. D."
"Is it? Maybe we can talk about that later. I don't think—"
"T.J. misses Aunt Jeanine. They were pretty tight."
Delaney filed away the information, but turned the conversation back to the group.
She tried not to show how worried she was about the young boy who was so much like his father.
* * *
Delaney Shaw, Reed's own personal obsession these days, was quietly talking with T. J. Leone when Reed and Sam came through his office door. Dressed in a navy linen suit with a slinky red top underneath, and sporting red strappy sandals on her feet, she wore her psychologist's face as she sat on the couch with the young boy. Reed's heart battered his rib cage at just the sight of her.
"Hi, you two." Reed dropped his bag onto the floor by his desk. "Have a good session?"
Delaney shot him a quick look. It told him no. "We made a good start."
T.J. asked, "How 'bout you, Dad? Have a good session?" There was an edge to his voice.
Sammy Leone swallowed hard. "It was a bitch, kid."
That made T.J. smile, albeit weakly.
"Talking about your feelings is tough." Reed crossed to his desk, trying to appear nonchalant.
"Ready to go, son?" Sam asked, rubbing his shoulder. "I'm whipped."
T.J. stood. "Yeah, sure."
Sam watched his son for a minute. Reed knew the father in Leone was worried about the boy. "You wanna stop someplace on the way home?"
"We gotta take Marcy?"
"No, she's going over to Suzy's."
"Just you and me?" Reed caught the yearning in the kid's voice.
Sam smiled at T.J. "Tell you what. Let's go to the locker room first. I'll shower off some of this sweat. Then you and me will do something fun together."
"What?"
"What do you like to do these days, T.J.?"
The boy shrugged. "Movies, mostly."
As they headed to the door, Sam rested his hand on T.J.'s back. "Hmm. Guess I can handle that. What you wanna see?"
He named a currently popular action flick.
"Sounds good to me."
After the Leone men left, Delaney rose and went to the window. She stared out with her arms wrapped around her waist. He crossed to her and lightly clasped his hands on her shoulders. "I'm always surprised how slight you are, when I haven't touched you for a while."
"Why?" Her voice was smoky and she didn't look at him.
"Because you're such a pit bull, I forget your size."
"I feel like a puppy right now."
"Now, that's an interesting turn of phrase." He drew her back to his chest, folded his arms over the front of her. "What did you talk about with the kids?"
"Dads." Her hands came up to grasp his arms.
Ah, he got it. He thought for a minute. Then he whispered, "Tell me about your father."
"Not much more to tell than you already know. He was gone all the time. When he was home, he wasn't really with us. He barely had time for my mother. Let alone me." She expelled a heavy breath.
"I'm sorry." With stunning force, Reed realized something and could have kicked himself for missing it before. "Trusting men must be hard for you."
She nodded. Her hair tumbled softly down her back and shoulders. He could smell the jasmine scent. He lifted his hand to touch the velvety softness. "Turn around, honey."
At first she didn't. Gently he nudged her to face him and saw the moisture in her eyes. Her distress twisted something inside him.
"All that rejection I dished out must have exacerbated this thing with your father.”
She nodded.
"And it hurt."
Straightening, she lifted her chin. "Some, but no big—"
His fingers on her mouth stopped the lie. "Shh, this is a huge deal. I'm sorry I never realized what I was triggering."
"Well, I never knew what I was triggering with you, either. So we're even."
Slowly, he ran his knuckles down her cheek. "Ah, babe, we're nowhere near even. You've given me so much." He battled back the fear. Every time the connection with her deepened, every time he slipped more and more under her spell, he started to panic. "Let me give back to you. Talk to me about this."
"All right." She met his gaze. "Can I trust you, Reed?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm afraid you're just going to bolt out of my life. That I'll wake up one day and you'll be gone."
"Did he do that?"
"Eventually."
When Reed didn't answer right away, she bit her lip. "Never mind, you don't have to answer that." Her hand went to the chain he'd given her. She pulled out the charm and fingered it as if it was a talisman. "I promised I wouldn't push you. It's only been a week. I'm just feeling a little vulnerable right now and—"
"Delaney."
"What?"
"Shut up."
"What?"
"Give me a chance to answer."
She stared at him so solemnly it almost broke his heart.
"I promise I won't ever just leave you. I wish I could promise we'll be together forever, but I can't." Not yet, anyway. "But I won't just leave."
Big fat tears swam in those beautiful blue eyes.
"Oh, honey."
Even though he reeked of sweat from the game, he pulled her to his chest. She clung to him and he was swamped by his feelings for her.
"Thanks," she mumbled against his shirt.
Reed's world shifted again. This lovely woman asked for so little. He hadn't given her nearly enough. And for the first time since he'd met her, he realized his responsibility to her.
She'd given him her heart. He couldn't break it. And in the dim afternoon shadows that came in through his windows, he promised himself he wouldn't. He'd work harder at getting better.
Even next week, on the day of the anniversary.