Fuel the Fire (Southern Heat Book 8) Read online

  But he was. One taste of the electricity that seemed to still zap through the air told her that. One look at the doctor, kneeling now in front of Louise, grasping one of her trembling hands in his as he spoke in soft tones. She showed no response, still staring at the wall. Her face showed no recognition that she was even still in the room, let alone that she heard anything that was being said to her. Her mind, at least, probably wasn’t there, Rachel realized.

  She shifted, and her body recognized the weight of Jeremy’s. He was still standing behind her, unmoving, strong. The only sign that he’d noticed everything that had transpired over the last several minutes was the hand he’d laid on her shoulder, a gentle presence at first, but his fingers now tightening against her skin, the tips of them biting into her flesh.

  She turned in his grasp, speaking before she’d made eye contact. “Jeremy, I’m so sorry . . . ” Her voice trailed off when she saw she didn’t have his attention. No, it was right where it should be, his eyes locked as Louise finally broke, a loud sob echoing through the room as Meg sat in the chair next to her. One arm around Louise’s shoulder from the fellow mom-to-be in the room was all it had taken for Louise to break. Loudly. Painfully.

  Tears pricked in Rachel’s eyes as she watched the other woman fall apart in front of the entire room. Liam appeared at Meg’s side, and he, together with Mason and Bill’s chief, ushered Louise out of the room. Likely finally off to that small, quiet room of death that Rachel had been so scared of from the moment she’d laid eyes on the rumpled doctor walking out from the surgical rooms.

  6

  Jeremy

  Days had passed. That’s what the calendar said. They’d seemed like one long one to him. There had been things to mark the time. Meals had been eaten. He’d slept. There’d even been a shift. He’d shown up at the house and stayed there the full twenty-four hours, even though he wasn’t back at work yet. It felt like the right place to be.

  Through all of it, Jeremy had felt like he was going through the motions of regular life while he watched from the sidelines. The atmosphere at the firehouse had been quiet, subdued. A bunch of guys in their twenties and thirties, except for the chief, it was rare to find a time when they weren’t giving each other crap or yelling down the hall about who the hell left their toothbrush in the bathroom again. That week, the halls had been quiet, conversations hushed. It was as if no one wanted to be the one to break the silence that had settled over the group at the hospital.

  He still hated himself for that moment. He’d watched as the doctor approached Bill’s wife, trying desperately to talk himself into another outcome. Any other outcome. It wasn’t until her wail had pierced the room that he’d realized that the firehouse had changed, and permanently. They’d had accidents, sure, but the guys at Monroe had been supremely lucky. No one had lost their life. Everyone had gone home to their families every night. Until Bill. Until now.

  The funeral was coming up the next day, following the wake. Sloane, Mason’s fiancée, had marshalled the troops, cooking and cleaning for it so Louise didn’t have to lift a finger. She’d protested. Better to be busy than have to think about it, he supposed. The rest of Bill’s squad would be there for her when it all hit, whether that was sooner or later, but he wished there was more he could do. A helmet had been sitting in the middle of the table when he’d gotten to work the last shift, and he’d slung a hundred bucks in. He’d add more today. That much, he could do.

  He hadn’t seen much of Rachel since that terrible day at the hospital. She’d given him space, disappearing quietly at some point in the night after slipping his truck keys into his pocket. She’d sent word through via Chief Stone that he could just come in at the end of the week for his regular session and she’d sign his paperwork. He didn’t need to show up for daily therapy anymore. He was all healed. Well, good enough to go back to work, anyway.

  She wasn’t avoiding him entirely. They’d texted, and spoken on the phone one night, but that was all. She probably thought it was the right thing to do, but he hadn’t liked not having her around. Something had been missing. He’d been used to seeing her smiling face every day. He’d pushed himself hard from the first moment he could after the injury, determined to get back to work as soon as possible.

  Jeremy snorted, dropping down onto the couch. Some of it had been the determination to get back to work, maybe even most of it, but there had also been the excuse to see Rachel every day. He’d never thought anything would come of it. She was too damn good to date a guy like him. He was the prankster, always out for a good time. Sure, he was fun to hang out with and he got plenty of laughs, but she shouldn’t settle down with the class clown.

  But then a miracle had happened: he’d asked her out, and she’d said yes. He’d phrased it jokingly so he was ready when she said no, to claim it all was just kidding around. Of course he hadn’t expected her to take it seriously, no need to worry. But then she’d said yes. And that night with her had been fucking amazing.

  It had had imprinted something in him, long after she’d kissed him goodbye and gone back to her place, her life. Suddenly, a relationship with Rachel was all he could think about. He’d had a taste, and he wanted more. Much more. He wanted to slide inside her every night and make love to her until she screamed so loud the neighbors heard, and then wake up holding her in his arms every morning. If that were his life, he’d die a happy man.

  His coffee cup slipped in his grip at the thought, his quick reflexes the only thing stopping it from falling to the ground. Fuck, he was a complete asshole. That should be Brian. Brian, the nice guy, the wholesome, picket fence, would give you the shirt off his back guy. He’d already found his forever, and had a baby on the way for fuck’s sake, when the universe had found fit to take him. How could a guy like Jeremy deserve a fraction of happiness when someone as good as Brian had everything taken away in an instant?

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Jeremy put his mug down before he really did slosh coffee everywhere. When he read the screen, his eyes closed, a low groan escaping his lips. The universe was just fucking with him now. There, in the cute little bubble that looked nothing like a message that should shoot hell through him, sat Rachel’s name.

  Hi. I heard there was a fundraiser for Brian’s family tonight. Would it be okay if I came? I’d like to pay my respects. R.

  His fingers hovered over the screen. How the hell did he reply to that? Of course she was welcome. Pretty much everyone in town would be fucking welcome. Brian was a firefighter, but he’d also been a Little League coach, helped his neighbors shovel snow, and every spring when there was a quiet shift, he’d talk his Captain into driving the engine down to the local preschool and letting the kids sit in the big seat. He’d even turn the siren on. The little dudes had loved it. Would his squad still go, now that Brian wasn’t there anymore to remind them? He’d loved kids, was going to be an absolutely amazing father, and now all that had been snatched away, before he’d even had a chance to meet his child. Jeremy dropped his phone on the table, ignoring the thunk as it landed. Life was so damn unfair.

  His phone lit up again as it landed.

  It’s okay. I understand if you don’t want any outsiders. I’ll just send a check with someone so I can still help.

  Fuck. He really needed to find a new adjective. Fuck truly wasn’t strong enough for how fucked the world was right now. He groaned, running a hand through his hair, and then picked up his phone. He might be an asshole, but Rachel didn’t deserve to be treated like shit just because the world sucked that day. That week, really, and probably for many weeks to come. Still didn’t give him a pass for treating anyone like shit, especially someone as kind as Rachel. He picked up his phone and typed back.

  Of course you’re welcome. Drinks at Benji’s at 9. I’ll see you there.

  He winced at the last bit, but couldn’t make himself erase it, clicking send before he could change his mind. Rachel deserved much better than him, but if she was coming to drink at the loca
l cop and firefighter bar with them, he was sticking to her side like glue to make sure no other fucker put his hands all over her.

  Fuck.

  He needed a fucking dictionary. If he could make it through the rest of the day without giving in and driving over to the hospital. She wouldn’t even need to know she was there. If he could just watch her for a few moments, take her in, give his soul peace for just a few seconds before the world could ruin it again.

  7

  Rachel

  Rachel looked forward to seeing Jeremy again, more than she wanted to admit. She was going to a fundraiser for a fallen firefighter’s pregnant widow—definitely not the place for flirtatious glances, casual touches, especially not between the two of them. Anyone with half a brain would sense immediately that they were more than casual acquaintances, more than once-upon-a-time caregiver and patient.

  Lovers. It had a strange ring to it. An old-fashioned ring, when she thought about it. Rachel stood, shaking the thought from her mind. Tonight was so not the time. She quickly dressed, her forth outfit change already. What did one wear to a fundraiser to help a pregnant young widow of a heroic firefighter? She should’ve asked Jeremy, but she was awkward enough inviting herself as it was. Nevertheless, and even though she knew it was not about her, that no one would be paying her much attention—as it should be—she wanted to make a good impression.

  The wind gusted outside, slamming something against the wall of the building. She startled. Peering out the window, she frowned at the dusky look of the sky. No trees stood directly in front of her window, but outside of her second-floor apartment, a piece of a pretty good-sized branch lay on the ground near the flower beds at the base of the building. Suddenly, the sky darkened still more, like a shadow had just passed over the sun, sucking the life out of her bedroom. Rachel looked up but saw nothing more than a blanket of low-lying clouds. Not like the sun hiding behind one cloud, but an entire sky full of them; dark, gray, and brooding.

  Pulling the olive-green blouse over her head, she stepped to the other bedroom window and glanced down. Her bedroom windows—both of them—opened onto grassy common areas of her apartment complex. She’d been lucky with this apartment. Second floor, nice views, quiet neighbors.

  Beyond the commons, the parking lots and the expanse of Monroe lying to the west, heavier and darker clouds were gathering. They looked like rain clouds, big, fat rain clouds. A brief flash of lightning lit up the darkness, way off in the distance. Good, they needed the rain. It had been pretty dry all spring and she welcomed a good thunderstorm, boomers she called them.

  Rachel glanced at the small clock on her bedside table. She’d better hurry up or she’d miss the entire fundraiser. As she hurried back into the bathroom, the wind gusted against the window. She eyed herself in the mirror over the bathroom sink. Ponytail or braid? At least she’d finally gotten the outfit right. Another gust of wind, so loud she could hear it inside. Braid it was. At least that way, she had half a hope of it staying in place when she stepped outside. Her practiced fingers weaved her hair into a thick French braid—an elastic band and two bobby pins later, she was done. She nodded in satisfaction just as a crackle split the air, followed seconds later by a brilliant flash of lightning, then an incredible crash of thunder so loud it shook the walls of her apartment. She startled, nearly leaping out of her skin, but then laughed at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  She had wanted boomers, and she’d gotten one. It sounded like a cannon shot right outside her window. The panes shuddered in their frames and even her floor rumbled with the shock of it. She had to leave in a minute, but took one more peek out her bedroom window. Rachel’s eyes widened at the clouds gathering, appearing even darker in the sky, almost a blackish purple. Well, they were in for a storm. Did she have an umbrella? Couldn’t remember. Damn.

  Well, she wasn’t inclined to let a little thunderstorm and a few drops of rain ruin her anticipation of seeing Jeremy, but even as the thought ran through her mind, guilt pushed it away. The fundraiser was for Brian and Louise. It wasn’t about her, her stupid infatuation with Jeremy, or her desire to see him again. How could she think about pleasure, about Jeremy’s sense of humor, when poor Louise was grieving? She’d never see her husband again, never to feel his arms around her, making love to her, raising their baby together.

  She was being ridiculous. She’d just seen Jeremy a few hours ago—not weeks, or even days ago—and already she couldn’t wait to see him again. Her feet stopped dead outside her bedroom door, eyes wide and pulse pounding. Was she falling for Jeremy? In a more than a just-sex kind of falling? Was it even possible?

  Sure, she’d been his physiotherapist for months. She’d seen him multiple times a week, had spoken with him, laughed with him, commiserated with him, and yes, admired his physique as any other warm-blooded woman would do. That hadn’t meant anything. She called it invisible flirtation, but then things have gotten physical. Of course, she’d been physical with guys before, but not with a patient, and never with a guy like Jeremy. He pulled her toward him, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. She couldn’t even explain how he did it. It was more than his body, more than his sense of humor, more than his career as a firefighter. It was him.

  Oh hell, she could fool herself seven ways from Sunday and it wouldn’t change the fact. She had—

  Three sharp raps on her front door startled her, prompting a frown. What now? She was already running late. And with an oncoming storm . . . she sighed and quickly walked to the door, flung it open, figuring it was one of her neighbors—

  “Jeremy?” she gasped. “What you doing here?”

  He smirked. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

  She knew he wasn’t serious. Pleasantly surprised by his unexpected appearance, she couldn’t help but smile, but that soon morphed into a frown of confusion. “I was meeting you at the fundraiser, wasn’t I?” She blinked. He’d told her that he would, hadn’t he? He didn’t say he would pick her up. No, she hadn’t—

  “Storm’s on the way,” he broke in. “Figured this would be your first humdinger since you moved here, and thought I’d better drive you in my truck. It won’t blow away in a gust of wind.”

  “As if my car would,” she laughed. He lifted an eyebrow and she had second thoughts. “Would it?”

  Jeremy chuckled, reached out, and pulled her toward him. She melted into his embrace, inhaling the wonderful scent of him, wishing that they didn’t have to go to the fundraiser, that a fellow firefighter hadn’t fallen in the line of duty, hadn’t—

  Another massive gust of wind, another flash of lightning, and another wall-shaking crack of ensuing rumbling of thunder startled her again. She jumped slightly in Jeremy’s arms. Geez, she was jittery today. “I usually love thunderstorms, but—”

  The shrill, undulating sound of a siren interrupted her. Eyes wide, she leaned back, looking up at Jeremy, and then turned toward the windows in the living room. “What’s that?”

  He immediately released her and stepped toward the window but standing off to the side as he brushed the curtain aside. “Tornado siren.” He turned toward her. “Got a basement in this building?”

  “No,” she said, suddenly afraid. “Is there a tornado out there? Is it coming this way? Do sirens only go off if one’s on the way, or if it’s just a precaution or—”

  He interrupted. “Is there anywhere in the complex that’s marked as a tornado shelter?”

  Her pulse pounding now, Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know.” Had there been something about that in the lease agreement? But why should there be? Georgia wasn’t like some other parts of the country that had tornadoes all the time. Was it? “Should I call the office?”

  Jeremy was already on his cell, tapping his screen with a frown. “Cell tower must have gotten struck or something. Or overloaded. There’s no service.”

  Rachel quickly reached for her purse on the kitchen counter, pulled her cell phone from it, but found the same. She wouldn’t
panic, damn it. It was just a storm. “The bathroom? There’s plumbing in there to hold things down to the foundation . . . maybe the bathtub?”

  He shook his head, gazing around her apartment. Unfortunately, she was on the outside corner of her building. There were six apartments to the building, all with exterior doors. Wherever they went, there was no getting into the interior most part of the building.

  “Where do you do your laundry?”

  What? Laundry? Why was he asking about her laundry? “Oh! Two buildings over! There’s a laundry room in a basement there!”

  “Let’s go.” Jeremy didn’t wait for a reply, grabbing her hand.

  He moved at a steady pace, not running, not freaking out like she was inwardly as they left her apartment. Rachel paused for a second—they hadn’t locked her door. She shook her head even as Jeremy kept moving, towing her alongside him. That was a waste of time. As soon as they left the meager cover of the building, the wind buffeted her. God, it was so strong! It must have been gusting at forty or fifty miles an hour. Her heart thudded, and she looked up into the dark and angry sky. If there was a tornado coming, she sure as hell couldn’t see it.

  “Where is it?” Jeremy’s voice pulled her attention from the sky and she pointed toward the laundry facilities. Some of her neighbors were already heading that way, emerging from their apartment, looking toward the sky, and then walking toward the laundry room. None of them seemed particularly scared or panicked, despite the loud siren still filling the air. Could it really all be a big overreaction?