Into the Fire (First Responders 3)

Growing up in the same town, she’d always known who he was. He was a few years older than her and she’d watched, fascinated, as he’d outgrown his boyish lankiness and become a man. When they’d started dating, he’d always stayed in shape by playing hockey and softball, but now… Now it was like he’d settled into his body. A man’s body, filled with easy confidence. She generally tried to ignore the gossip around town, but she couldn’t imagine that he spent too many Saturday nights alone. She couldn’t be jealous. She’d been the one to set him free, after a year of dating and a couple of months of wearing his ring.

He hopped up beside her and started the engine. “Look,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “I’ll tell the inspectors to have a look for your bag. There’s always a chance it made it through. It’ll stink to high heaven, but you might be able to salvage your ID.”

She swallowed, once more aware of how gross she looked and smelled. “Thank you, Chris. I really appreciate that.”

He shrugged. “You’ve had a rough day. Are you sure you’re okay?” He stopped at a stop sign and looked over at her.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but she suddenly felt cold and scared and threads of panic jolted through her body. “I just need…I need…” Good God, she needed to put an entire sentence together, didn’t she? But it was suddenly like everything that had happened bulldozed her, leaving her reeling and unsure. “A shower.” It was the only thing she could think of that made sense.

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They turned a corner and she could see her house. Her mother’s car was in the driveway and Ally knew that she couldn’t face her mom and dad, not yet. Her mom would fuss and flutter and her dad would start lecturing about how foolish it was to start the shelter in the first place. It was too much to deal with, and the panic welled up as Chris’s foot touched the brake. “No!” she gasped, gripping the door handle until her fingers went white. “I can’t go home. I can’t face them yet. Dammit.”

Chris put his foot on the accelerator and kept going. Ally let out a breath of relief.

“You need to let them know where you’ll be,” he advised. “They’ll worry.”

He was right. “My cell is in my purse,” she answered, trying to exhale long breaths and regain some sort of composure.

“Use mine. You can come to my place for a while.”

“Your place?” Oh goodness, that probably wasn’t a good idea. None of this was a good idea, and yet the whole day had been a disaster. What was one more?

“Unless you have somewhere else you want to freak out?”

“Freak out?” She straightened her spine. “Excuse me, but I think I’m entitled to a minor freak out after what happened today.”

Infuriatingly calm, Chris grinned. “I never said you weren’t. I’d be surprised if you didn’t, really. So you can come back to my place and freak out in privacy so no one will have to witness it. I don’t mind.”

Something twisted inside her. She didn’t want to fall apart. She especially didn’t want to fall apart in front of Chris. It would be humiliating. He already thought she was a little flighty and scattered, didn’t he? She swallowed thickly. Her throat was sore. You can never settle on anything, he’d accused her, condemnation in his eyes. You can’t expect me to chase you forever.

Suddenly her eyes were burning in addition to her throat.

“Don’t worry,” Chris said quietly. “I’ve seen it plenty of times before. When the danger and fear is over and people relax, then they really get scared. You’re not the first, Ally.”

She supposed his words were meant to comfort, but instead there was a sinking sensation, an emptiness left inside her. No, she wasn’t the first. She’d never come first at anything. It wasn’t news, but somehow it was different thinking it to herself and hearing it from someone else.

He drove to his house, a bungalow hidden by trees on White Rock Road. It wasn’t anything overly special. Probably twenty years old or more, plain white siding, dark blue shutters on the windows. An oversized garage sat to the left of the driveway with a handful of cars waiting outside. A large white and blue sign announced Jackson’s Auto Repair. His business as a mechanic paid the bills, and he was a proud member of the Volunteer Fire Department. Chris was only a year older than she was and he already had a mortgage, a new vehicle, had a career. He was a respected member of the community.

It was rather intimidating.

He’d always had a path clearly marked, hadn’t he? The only thing missing was the wife, the kids, the dog. But give him time. He’d have it all, right on schedule. She’d bet money on it—if she had any.

She got out of his truck before he could come across and open her door. It was perfectly quiet up here—far enough away from the highway that there was no traffic noise, and the nearest neighbor was several hundred yards away and on the other side of a line of maples, their leaves already turning orangy-red in the mid-autumn warm days and cool nights. Her feet crunched on the gravel of his driveway as he went ahead and unlocked the door.

She stepped inside.

His house was scrupulously clean, if a bit barren. A leather sofa, coffee table and entertainment unit made up the sum total of furniture in the living room. There were no pictures on the walls, no little decorating touches. The hall to the left was down to the bare wood, and closed doors led to the assumption that the bedrooms were down there. The kitchen was big and roomy with solid maple cupboards and a table and chairs in an eating area. Beyond the table was a sliding patio door leading to a greying deck.

“I’ve only been here a few months,” he explained. “I don’t have a lot of furniture. I didn’t have room for it in my last apartment, and I’m renovating so it kind of seemed pointless to buy stuff before I get it all done.”

She nodded. “I should call home,” she said quietly. “Or text.” There was an added attraction to texting. It would be a lot cleaner and easier than a phone conversation.

“They’re probably worried. You should call.”

She knew he was right, so she picked up his phone and dialled the number. He was right, as usual. Her mother was horribly worried. She’d always been overprotective and a trouble borrower, ever since Ally’s sister had died in an accidental drowning. Now her voice came through the receiver loud and clear. Ally was constantly aware of Chris standing just a few feet behind her as she made her assurances that she was fine. And then when she said she was at Chris’s for a while, there was a telling pause on the other end of the phone.

A silence that she knew Chris heard as clearly as she did.