Boston Fire: Heat Exchange Part 2

He couldn't disrespect Tommy Kincaid by l.u.s.ting after his daughter. The man was not only a mentor of sorts and a second father to him, being his best friend's dad, but he was the reason Aidan was a firefighter.

He'd been eleven years old when his family's minivan got caught up in a s.h.i.t show involving a jackknifed 18-wheeler, two other cars and a box truck full of building supplies. His memories of the accident itself were hazy. Screeching tires. Shattering gla.s.s. His mother screaming his father's name.

But the aftermath imprinted on his memory so clearly it was like a movie he could hit Play on at will. A police officer had gotten them all out of the vehicle and Aidan had held his little brother's hand on one side and kept his other hand on his little sister's baby carrier.

A firefighter was working on his dad, whose head had a lot of blood on it. Aidan's mom was dazed and sat leaning against the guardrail, holding her arm. When his little brother called out to her, she didn't even look at him.

Then a woman started screaming and there were a lot of shouts. The firefighter who was holding some bandaging to his dad's head looked over his shoulder and then back to his dad. Aidan could tell he wanted to go help the woman who was screaming, so he stepped forward.

"I can hold that," he told the firefighter. "Just show me how hard to press."

The firefighter hadn't wanted to. But the screaming and the voices grew more urgent and he had Aidan kneel down next to him. After making sure Bryan put his hand on Sarah's carrier and wouldn't move, Aidan took over putting pressure on his dad's head wound.

"You're okay, Dad," he said, looking into his father's unfocused gaze. "Just keep looking at me and we'll wait for an ambulance together."

He'd been the one to give the paramedics their information and tell them his father took a medication for his blood pressure. Then he'd given them a description of his mom's demeanor since the accident. After asking them to retrieve Sarah's diaper bag from the van, he'd cared for his siblings until his aunt arrived.

The firefighter had shown up at the hospital and given him a Boston Fire T-shirt. "You did good, kid."

Aidan hadn't really known what praise and pride felt like until he looked into the man's warm eyes. "Thank you, sir."

"Some people are born to take charge in emergencies. It's a special thing and not everybody's got it. When you grow up, if you decide you want to save lives, son, you look me up. Tommy Kincaid. Engine Company 59."

Aidan rubbed the Engine 59 emblem on his T-shirt and smiled. He'd been only sixteen the first time he showed up at the old brick building that housed Engine 59 and Ladder 37, looking for Tommy. He met Scotty that day and together they'd never looked back. Friendship. A little bit of trouble here and there. Training. Testing. They'd been inseparable. Aidan didn't know if it was a favor to Tommy or if Fate played a hand, but when the station a.s.signments went out, they'd even been a.s.signed to the same engine company.

His extremely white-collar parents hadn't been able to reconcile their hopes for their oldest son with his drive to serve the public, and things were still rough between them. And maybe his old man was embarra.s.sed to only have one of his sons working with Hunt & Sons Investments-Sarah being destined for more feminine pursuits, like marriage and motherhood, according to their father-but Aidan wouldn't be swayed.

Tommy had become his father figure. Scotty and Danny and the rest of the guys were his brothers. This was his family, and he knew they had his back, anytime and anyplace.

Messing around with Lydia Kincaid was a bad idea. Like a sticking a fork in a toaster while sitting in a bathtub c.o.c.ked off your a.s.s kind of a bad idea.

"Earth to Hunt," Scotty said, and Aidan felt an ugly jolt of guilt for even considering messing around with Lydia while standing right next to her brother, for chrissake. "What the h.e.l.l's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Wicked tired is all."

"What's her name?"

Aidan snorted. "I wish."

"Piper's got a friend I could hook you up with. Her name's Bunny, and she's not bad."

"I'm too old for chicks named Bunny."

Scott shrugged. "I don't think that's her real name. At least I hope it's not. But whatever, man. Your loss."

Aidan didn't exactly wallow in regret. He was tired of it. He was tired of women who saw his face and didn't look any further. He was sick of women who got off on banging firefighters and the women who saw him outside the rink with his bag and wanted to spend a little time with a hockey player.

He didn't mind at all if a woman wanted to use him for hot, dirty s.e.x. But he also wanted her to laugh with him and enjoy a quiet evening on the couch. And he needed her to stroke his hair when the day was s.h.i.tty and to hold him when the nightmares came.

Lydia's laughter rose above the noise of the bar, but Aidan didn't turn to look. He just knocked back the rest of his beer and kept his eyes on the television.

THE OVERLY CHIPPER chime sound that indicated an incoming text made Lydia very reluctantly open her eyes the next morning. Ashley's guest room mattress had seen better days and it had taken her forever to fall asleep.

With a groan, she reached over to the nightstand and felt around until she found her phone. She had just enough charger cord to read the message without picking her head up off the pillow.

What the h.e.l.l, girl?

She had no idea what the h.e.l.l, since she wasn't even awake yet. But then she realized it was a group text, the group being her two best friends, Becca Shepard and Courtney Richmond. With Ashley as their fourth, they'd been inseparable growing up, and there was a group text going on more often than not.

This time it was Becca, and Lydia wondered which of them the message was aimed at. Probably her.

Before she could respond, another text from Becca came through.

Heard you were at KP last night. Ninja visit?

Lydia didn't have time to compose a reply before a response from her sister popped up.

I'm taking some time off. L's home to cover for me.

How long?

Don't know.

Since Ashley was not only awake, but able to type coherently, Lydia dropped the phone onto the blanket and closed her eyes again. Kincaid's didn't open until eleven, so she didn't have to jump out of bed.

But when the phone chimed again she realized that, even if she didn't join in the conversation, the alerts would drive her crazy. After a big stretch, she picked up the phone again.

GNO!.

That was Courtney, and Lydia rolled her eyes. While a girls' night out was appealing, she barely had her feet under her. She hadn't even worked a shift at the bar yet, so trying to get time off would be tough.

Soon. Stop at KP & say hi if you can.

That might hold them off for a while. Long enough to get coffee into her system, at least.

That turned out to be the end of the messages, but Lydia knew she'd tipped past the mostly awake point and wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now. After unplugging her phone, she made a quick stop in the bathroom and then headed downstairs.

Once she reached the top of the stairs, she could smell the coffee and followed the aroma to the kitchen. Ashley was sitting at the table, her phone in hand, and she looked up when Lydia walked in.

"Hey, how did you sleep?"

"Like a baby." It was a lie, but Ashley already felt bad about asking her to come home. No sense in piling on guilt about it. And even a c.r.a.ppy mattress was better than staying at her dad's.

Once she'd made her coffee, she sat down across from her sister and sipped it. If it wasn't so hot, she'd guzzle the stuff. Lydia was a better cook than Ashley, but her sister was definitely better at making coffee.

After a few minutes, Ashley put down her phone and looked at her. "It's been ten days."

"Ten days?" A week and half had gone by before her sister bothered telling her that her marriage was over?

"I thought he'd come back, you know? Like maybe he'd blow off some steam and then we'd talk about it. But he didn't come back. And when I called him, he just closed up and it was like talking to a machine." Ashley stared at her coffee, shaking her head. "More than usual, even. So the more I hope we can work it out, the more he does the thing I can't live with anymore."

Lydia took the time to consider her next words carefully. She had her sister's back, 100 percent, but sometimes having a person's back wasn't as cut-and-dried as blindly agreeing with everything they said. "He's always been quiet. I don't know how many times I've heard the other guys call him the ice man. It's not just with you."

"He can be however he wants with other people, especially the other guys. I'm his wife. If I'm upset and worried or p.i.s.sed off, I need to feel like he at least cares."

"Have you thought about counseling?"

Ashley shrugged. "I mentioned it once and he changed the subject. I'm not sure what the point would be in talking to somebody when he doesn't talk."

"That is the point. A professional can help you guys communicate, including helping him break through whatever block he's got up and talk to you."

"I left a message on his voice mail, asking him if we could set up a time to meet somewhere for coffee. If he shows up, I'll mention it."

"Just don't make it about him-that he needs help because he can't communicate. Make it about you feeling like it would be good for your marriage."

She nodded. "a.s.suming he even calls me back. He keeps texting me, but I want him to stop taking the easy way out and actually talk to me. I want to hear his voice."

"Where's he staying? With his parents?" Ashley's mouth tightened and Lydia leaned back in her chair. "No. Don't even tell me."

"He's staying with Scotty."

"Of course he is." Lydia's hand tightened around the coffee mug and it took supreme will not to chuck it at the wall. "Is Scott working today?"

Ashley looked at her, and then slowly shook her head. "Don't, Lydia. You'll only make it worse."

"It's not right. You're his sister."

"It's better than not knowing where Danny is or having him shack up with G.o.d knows who."

"There are plenty of other guys who could offer him a couch," Lydia argued. "He could crash with Aidan or Rick. Jeff. Chris. Any of them. It didn't have to be your brother. In our father's house."

When Ashley just gave a small shrug, Lydia wanted to shake her. As far as she was concerned, Scott had crossed a line and she wanted her sister to be p.i.s.sed off about it. To demand the respect and loyalty the Kincaid men should be showing her, and not Danny.

But she knew Ashley wasn't wired the same way she was and it took a lot to make her angry. Just like their mother, once she'd had enough, she could give Lydia and Scott a run for their money, and that's what Lydia wanted to see.

"Did I really jam you up by asking you to come back?" Ashley asked. "I'm sorry about what I said about your job, by the way. I was so desperate to get out of being at the bar, but that was dirty."

"I forgive you because G.o.d knows I've vented at you often enough. That's what sisters are for. And you didn't jam me up at all. You were right about me hating that job and, when I go back, I'll find one I like more."

"You should go back to bartending. You're a natural."

Lydia shrugged. Bartending was something she was good at and she honestly enjoyed it, but she'd taken the waitressing job because she wanted something different. Tending a bar that wasn't Kincaid's Pub had seemed at the time like it might be too painful for her.

"I thought about going to school," she said. "But I spent weeks looking at brochures and stuff online and nothing jumped out at me. If I'm going to invest that time and money, I want it to be for something I really want to be, you know?"

"If I had the chance to go to college, I'd go for office or business stuff. I don't even know what it's called, but I think it would be awesome to work in a medical clinic, like for women's health."

"Have you thought about going to the community college?" They'd both been thrown into work young and college had never been a big deal in their family, but if Ashley wanted to go, she should.

"Danny and I talked about it a while back. He was supportive, but Dad made a big deal out of needing me at Kincaid's and you were getting a divorce. Plus working around Danny's hours would be a pain. It was easier to forget about it."

Lydia shoved back at the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her and make her say something stupid, like offering to stay in Boston so Ashley could go to college. Her dad had accused her of being selfish when she'd taken off, and maybe she was, but she couldn't be responsible for everybody's lives. She was still working on her own.

"I'm going to take a shower," Lydia said when it became clear Ashley had nothing else to say at the moment. "We should go out for breakfast."

"I already made pancake batter. I was just waiting for you to get up."

Her sister wasn't the best cook in the world, but she made amazing pancakes. "I hope you made a lot. I'm starving."

Ashley's face lit up with a real smile. "I know you and my pancakes. I practically had to mix it in a bucket."

AIDAN HELD UP a metal rod and looked over at Scotty. "What is this? Does this go somewhere?"

They both looked at the piece of playground equipment they'd spent the past hour a.s.sembling, and then Scotty shrugged. "It doesn't look like it goes anywhere."

"I don't think they said, 'Hey, let's throw a random metal rod in there just to mess with the idiots who have to put it together,' do you?"

"I don't know. If you set something on fire, I know what to do with it. Building things? Not my job."

Chris Eriksson joined them, scratching at a slowly graying beard. "I don't think you're supposed to have extra pieces. A bolt maybe. A few nuts. That looks important."

"Where did the instructions go?" Aidan asked, scanning the playground to see if they'd blown away.

"There were instructions?"

"Funny, Kincaid." Eriksson shook his head. "My kid's going to climb on this thing. If we can't figure it out, we're breaking it down and starting over."

Aidan stifled the curse words he wanted to mutter as he started circling the playground structure. They were surrounded by an increasingly bored pack of elementary students and a photographer waiting to snap a few pictures of the kids playing on the equipment the firehouse had donated and built. When Eriksson had come to them, looking for some help for his son's school, they'd been all-in.

And they still were. This was their community and they all did what they could. But it would have been nice if somebody had been in charge of the directions. After a few minutes, one of the teachers-a pretty brunette with a warm smile-moved closer and beckoned him over.

"We built one of these where I did my student teaching, and I think it's a support bar for under the slide," she whispered. "If you look up at it from underneath, you should see the braces where it bolts on."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. We really appreciate you volunteering your time."

He gave her his best public relations smile, secure in doing so because of the ring on her finger and lack of I'm hitting on a firefighter vibe. "Just doing our part for the children, ma'am."

She nodded and went back to her students, leaving him relieved he'd judged the situation correctly. Having a teacher flirt with him in front of her students would be a level of awkward he didn't care to experience. He'd learned fairly quickly that, for whatever reason, there were women out there who really liked men in uniform, with police and fire uniforms ranking right up there. Fake kitchen fires were rare, but not unheard of, and it seemed like every firehouse had a story about busting through a front door to find the lady of the house wearing little to nothing.

For a few years, he'd been like a kid in a candy store, so to speak, but it had gotten old after a while. He'd grown to hate not being sure if a woman was attracted to him or his job, so one time he'd actually told a woman he was interested in that he was a plumber. It was a lie he kept going for several weeks, until she suffered a plumbing emergency and he was forced to admit he had no idea why disgusting water was backing up into her bathtub.

That had been his longest relationship, surviving his confession and lasting about a year and a half. He'd even been thinking about an engagement ring, but she struggled with his job and in the end, she opted out. Or rather, she opted for a guy who worked in a bank and was home by five and never worked weekends.