Once Burned (Firehouse Fourteen Book 1) (6 page)

Unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable.

Mike didn't know whether to laugh or cry, a decision made harder because neither reaction would help. So instead, she took a deep breath and lashed out again with her fists, her pent-up anger finding some release in the repeated blows against the stuffed bag. It remained still for the first set then swung wildly under her last assault.

"Hey, would you take it easy?" Jay stepped away from the bag and rubbed at a spot on his chest, apparently the same spot where the bag caught him when he lost his grip. Mike gave him a dirty look and threw two more heavy punches, followed by a hard kick, just to make sure Jay understood what kind of mood she was in. She wiped the sweat from her forehead then stepped away from the bag and shot him another murderous glare.

"Okay, so it was stupid.
I
was stupid. I wasn't thinking."

"There's an understatement." Mike sat down on the bench and wiped more sweat from her face, then draped the towel around her neck and reached for the water bottle. She took a long swallow, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then glared at Jay. The workout had helped nothing. Her frustration and anger were still there, simmering just below the surface, aching for release. She took a deep breath, let it out, took another and held it, counting to a slow ten before releasing it.

"Mikey, c'mon, please. I'm sorry. How long are you going to stay mad at me?"

"For as long as it takes."

"Mikey..." Jay's voice trailed off and he stepped away, slowly pacing back and forth before coming to a stop in front of her. He ran a hand through his hair, causing the short blonde strands to stick up at crazy angles. He dragged the hand down his face and sighed. "I'm sorry. I screwed up, okay?"

"That's putting it mildly."

"I didn't know! Okay? I didn't know. I had the damned paperwork filled out before we even went to that school. How was I supposed to know they'd send the stuff in before our shift even started?"

Mike took another deep breath and leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes to block out the sight of Jay's misery. There was probably some comfort to be found in that, knowing that she wasn't the only miserable one, but it didn't help. Not now. And all because Jay had, for once, actually done his paperwork. Any other time, forms were misplaced or waylaid or sent in late. Or Jay just forgot to do them at all. But not this time. Of course not. And why in the hell couldn't that have happened this time?

Because fate was a bitch with a twisted sense of irony.

She and Jay had been called into the captain's office right before lunch so he could read them the letter he had received from the Public Affairs Office. Out loud, like they were a couple of school kids who weren't able to read for themselves. The letter commended them—no, it commended the captain, who was hell-bent on making Chief—for doing such an outstanding job in launching the pilot awareness program.

Mike leaned against the doorjamb in stunned silence, listening to the captain's voice, smug with satisfaction, drone on and on as he read the letter. But Mike didn't care what it said, didn't care how smug the captain was. She could only stand there, her jaw clenched, and stare at Jay. He stared back at her, his face twisted in horror, his mouth opening and closing silently as red flamed across his face and neck.

Captain Nelson had stopped talking and was watching both of them with that keen sight that let him see too much, then abruptly asked them what the hell was going on. The question—and the captain's impatient glare—was directed solely at Mike. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Jay, who promptly explained that he sent the wrong paperwork in, that Mike couldn't help because of another obligation, that this would be Jay's solo project.

Only it wouldn't be. Not anymore.

Because Jay had outlined such a great program that he wouldn't be allowed to do it solo.

Because Jay needed someone with a higher certification than his to oversee it, and the captain had already put her name on it.

The unspoken threat was there, loud and clear. Mike would be in charge, and she better not screw it up.

And absolutely not, no, they could not find someone to take Mike's place, because that would mean going to another shift. Captain Nelson strongly advised against even thinking about it. Of course he would, because that wouldn't reflect positively on him.

Which meant that was pretty much that.

So now Mike was stuck helping with a program she didn't care about. Stuck working with a man she wished she had never met, a man she really, really wished was dead.

Oh yeah, fate definitely had a twisted sense of irony.

"Mikey, I swear, I'll figure something out. I mean, there's nothing saying you actually have to go to the meetings. You can just sign-off on them. And then, during the actual program, you can just sit in the back and—"

"Jay, stop." Mike took another deep breath and opened her eyes, almost wanting to laugh at the pitiful expression on Jay's face. Almost. She wasn't in much of a laughing mood right now. "I'm not mad at you. Well, nothing I won't get over, anyway. And I can't just sign-off on the paperwork. You know as well as I do that Cap is going to be looking at this too closely. I can't give him any excuse to come down harder on me than he has been. You know that."

Jay sighed and nodded, then dropped down next to her on the bench and leaned against the wall, his position a mirror of hers. "I just wish they'd promote his ass and get him out of here. He's only been here for six months and he's damn near destroyed the shift."

Mike snorted. "Yeah well. At least he doesn't have a hard-on for you. I just wish to hell I knew what I did for him to be watching every move I make."

"It's not just you, Mikey. It's all of us. I think you just notice it more. Or let it get to you more."

She wanted to argue, to tell Jay that it was more than that. She didn't bother. Yes, the captain came down hard on all of them, for all the wrong reasons. But with her, it was a little more personal and had been since his first trick at the station. Mike was so used to the rhythm they'd established over the years, of getting to a scene, sizing it up, and just doing what needed to be done. How was she supposed to know the new captain didn't want anyone so much as twitching an eye before he barked orders? Like the crew was nothing more than a bunch of imbeciles who didn't understand their jobs. One call, that was all it took. One strike for doing nothing more than her job. If the captain had his way, she would already be out. Written up, disciplined, transferred. It didn't matter, the threat was there.

And she couldn't do a damn thing about it.

She uncapped the bottle and took another long swallow, then nudged Jay's leg with her knee. "Don't worry, I'll figure something out. I'll just clench my jaw and deal with it if I have to."

They sat side-by-side for several quiet minutes before he spoke, his voice quiet, almost sympathetic. "So I guess you really loved the bastard, huh?"

Mike froze at the question. She should have expected it, should have had an answer ready. No, Jay hadn't pushed for more information, but she still should have expected it—especially from Jay. He, of all people, would come right out and ask. Especially since he had been dancing around it, subtly asking for more information, for the last several weeks.

Yeah, she should have expected it, should have had an answer ready. But she didn't. And she had no idea how to answer, didn't think she ever would. That part of her past—it was still too painful, too bitter. She tried to put it behind her, tried not to think about it. Ever.

Mike swallowed against the tangle of emotions, trying to figure out how to answer. She decided to be as honest as she could be, for now.

"I was too young and stupid to know what love was."

"Hmph. If you say so." Jay reached out and gently grabbed her hand, squeezing it once before letting it go. "So how long did you wait for him? After the accident, I mean."

"Jay—"

"Sorry. Forget I asked." There was a long pause, the silence unhurried, companionable. Down here, in the basement of the station, they were away from the noise and jokes and bickering and carrying on that accompanied work. They didn't have to worry about being interrupted. Mike knew that was the only reason Jay had felt comfortable enough to bring up the subject. He shifted beside her and cleared his throat. "I am sorry, Mike. I had no idea and now, because of me, you're going to have see him again. Of all the times I pick to do something ahead of time, it had to be this time."

Mike sighed and stood up, absently straightening the weights and mats as her thoughts echoed Jay's exactly. She didn't think he'd appreciate hearing that, though.

"Hey Jay, Mikey! You guys are relieved!" The announcement was bellowed from the door upstairs, echoing off the block walls around them. She glanced at her watch, surprised at the time, then grabbed her uniform shirt from a hook and pulled it on over the dark blue t-shirt, feeling Jay's eyes on her the whole time.

She finished buttoning the shirt then finally looked over at him. "What?"

"I am sorry, Mike, I really am."

"Jay, if you apologize one more time, I'm going to hit you. I know you're sorry, enough already." She paused, watching Jay gather up his things, then headed for the stairs. "And who knows? Maybe it won't be so bad."

"You are such a liar."

"Yeah, well, you can't blame me for trying. Besides, when has there ever been anything I can't handle?" She reached the top of the stairs and leaned back to flip the light switch off, hoping the words wouldn't come back to haunt her.

Mike sat in the front seat of the Jeep, trying her best to ignore the knot twisting in her stomach, trying to convince herself that she was
not
nervous. Not her, the queen of cool. She was
not
anxious. And she most certainly was
not
panicky.

Yeah, right, sure she wasn't.

She clenched her fists tightly around the steering wheel and took several deep breaths, wishing she could be anywhere but where she was, wondering again how this had even happened. Talk about cruel twists.

Giving herself a mental shake, she climbed out of the Jeep, wanting only to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible. Not that this afternoon would be the end of it. No. This afternoon was just the beginning, God help her.

The outside door of the school opened with a muted creak and Mike stepped through, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dimness of the hallway. It looked like any other school hallway and smelled of wax and chalk; the combination threatened to send her back in time, to her own high school days, and she shuddered. That was too long ago and she had no desire to travel down memory lane. Not when Nick would have the starring role in most of those memories.

Mike finally reached the partially opened door of Nick's classroom and paused outside, taking a deep breath to rally her nerves, then stepped across the threshold. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped, her heart stuck in her throat at the sight of Nick. He sat at the desk, bent over with his head resting in his hands. His fingers, long and strong, splayed through his thick hair, giving it a gently-mussed look. He looked...lost. Lonely. Dejected.

No. She couldn't think of him that way. Not now, not ever. Not if she wanted to survive this. Nick wasn't lost or lonely. Impossible. No, the boy she remembered—the man she watched—was too strong, too independent to be lost or lonely. She needed to stop seeing things that weren't there, need to see him for what he was: someone from her past, someone she was being forced to work with for right now. A teacher, nothing more, nothing less.

Except he looked nothing at all like a teacher, sitting there with his elbows carelessly propped on a pile of papers.

Of course, he probably wasn't a real teacher, Mike realized. He probably helped with teaching music or band or something like that, because there was no way her Nicky could be responsible for anything more than that.

Her
Nicky? Where had that awful thought come from? Biting back the sudden anger that accompanied the mental slip, she pushed the door until it hit the wall with a muffled bang, her steps loud as she moved into the room. Nick jumped at the noise, his elbow sliding off a stack of papers and hitting the edge of the desk with a thump she could hear a few feet away. He raised his head, his dark eyes shadowed, almost haunted. No, she must have been seeing things, because the expression was gone as soon as he blinked. His lips tightened into a straight line and he looked away, suddenly focused on gathering the scattered papers and putting them in a neat pile, completely ignoring her.

Two could play that game, she thought, knowing even as she did that it wasn't true. No matter how much she wished otherwise, she'd never been able to ignore Nick. That had always been the problem, was going to be the problem now. But she could at least pretend. Her gaze wandered around the room, slowly taking everything in without really seeing anything. And then one detail in particular jumped out at her.

"Where's Jay?"

Nick glanced at her then down at his watch. He tossed some papers into the open briefcase that sat on the desk then shrugged. "He's obviously running late."

Oh, that was just great. Mike swallowed her groan and took a seat at one of the desks, trying to look casual and collected, trying to distance herself from any emotion. And trying not to watch Nick as he moved, trying not to study him.

He continued gathering items from his desk, tossing some into the briefcase, putting others into a drawer. Each movement was precise, controlled. Mike stared at his hands, at the strength in each of them. They were broad and well-sculpted, the fingers long and tapered. She remembered how well those fingers could dance along the strings of a guitar—still could, apparently. And she remembered what else those hands, those fingers, were capable of doing.

Mike swallowed another groan and closed her eyes, mentally kicking herself. How could she be sitting here, remembering those things? She had no business remembering at all, she should be concentrating instead on what had happened after—No. What she needed to concentrate on was getting this program finished so she would never have to see Nick Lansing again. Maybe then she could put this all behind her and move on.

Again.

"I have aspirin if you need some."

"Excuse me?" Mike opened her eyes and looked at Nick. He was leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms folded across his chest, his long, jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him. She pretended not to notice the way the worn fabric clung to his muscular thighs, or the way the material of his gray polo stretched across his chest and shoulders.

"Aspirin. For your hangover." Nick's deep brown gaze pierced her, studying her with a coolness she didn't quite understand. Watching. Assessing. She narrowed her own eyes in response and sat a little straighter, wishing now that she was standing because sitting put her at a definite disadvantage.

"I am
not
hungover."

"Oh." Nick continued studying her with that cool gaze and it took all of her control not to squirm beneath it. Just what, exactly, did he think he was doing, anyway? "For your headache, then."

"What? I don't have a headache!" Mike ground the words out between clenched teeth, knowing that she
would
have a headache if this kept up. Was this Nick's lame attempt at casual conversation to kill time? They'd both be better off if he just kept quiet. At least, she would be; she didn't care about him.

Nick watched her for a few more quiet seconds then shrugged and straightened, moving to take his seat behind the desk. The chair squeaked under his weight as he shifted, propping the heels of his booted feet on the corner of the desk and resting his elbows on the arm chairs. He glanced at his watch again, the move slow and calculated, then turned back to her. "So, is your friend always late?"

Mike glanced at her own watch and sighed. "Not usually, no." And the fact that Jay was running late was beginning to worry her. If something had happened, he would have called her, but the cell phone in her back pocket was silent. For his sake, she hoped he had a really good excuse.

"So tell me, why are you here? You made it pretty clear the last time that you weren't interested in helping out." Nick steepled his fingers and stared at her, his dark gaze unwavering in its scrutiny. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was baiting her, trying to get some kind of reaction from her. Part of her wanted to give in and give him all the reaction he could handle but she didn't. Instead, she took a deep breath and counted to ten, telling herself not to lose control.

"I didn't have much choice in the matter," she finally admitted. Nick's eyebrows shot up in surprise but he didn't say anything. Mike took another deep breath and rubbed the palms of her hands along her legs, hoping the desk hid the action. "Listen, Nick, unless something changes, we're going to be stuck working together for a while. Maybe we should just, you know, call a truce or something."

"A truce? I didn't realize we were at war." Nick's words were short and clipped, matching Mike's mood exactly. She clenched her jaw tighter and stared at him with the coolest look she could manage, hoping the gaze let him know in no uncertain terms exactly what she felt. He returned her look with an intensity that added to the discomfort racing through her. Time stretched around them, tense and silent until Mike could no longer stand it. She pushed herself out of the chair then slammed it against the desk, muttering an obscenity.

"This is ridiculous. What right do you have to sit there and act like you're the injured party? Tell me that! After all these years—" Mike choked back the rest of what she wanted to say, appalled at the emotion in her voice. Too much time had gone by; none of this should matter anymore. But it did, and she hated herself for it.

She ran a shaking hand across her eyes, pushing her thumb against the left one to stop the tell-tale twitching she could feel building in it. Her gaze traveled to the closed door and she had to stop herself from bolting toward it and running. Yes, she could do it. Run out the door, out of the building, just keep on running. But no matter how far she ran, she wouldn't be able to escape. Escape was only an illusion.

"Kayla." Nick's voice was thick with emotion and entirely too close, making her jump. She whirled around and nearly fell into him, he was so close to her. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her, which only made her stumble more. Heat seared her where his hands rested, one on her shoulder and the other now on her waist. Her pulse kicked up, her heart pounding in her chest, too tight, too heavy. Mike froze, unable to breathe, unable to think, aware only of Nick's touch and the intensity of his gaze as he stared down at her.

No. She had to be imagining it. There was no way he could still have this effect on her, not after all these years. Not after everything that had happened, after everything he'd done.

His hands tightened on her then slowly drew her in, his arms wrapping around her in a hesitant embrace. She closed her eyes as he tightened his hold, refusing to lean into him but unable to pull away. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest, felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek as he held her. God help her, part of her wanted to lean against him, to hide in the strength of his hold. To just let the years fall away as he held her, safe and secure.

"Kayla." His voice was soft, rough with emotion. His arms tightened even more and she felt herself leaning against him, giving in, forgetting. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I never meant to hurt you, not like that."

Mike heard the anguish in his voice and focused on that, instead of the words. She leaned closer, shutting everything out except the feel of his arms around her. Time slowed, meaning little while he held her. And with the slowing came an awareness of the electric tension surrounding them, a thick heaviness in the air that made it difficult to pull air into her lungs. She recognized it immediately as the same heaviness, the same tension that had always surrounded them in the past. It was a living thing, combustible, threatening to explode and consume her.

Even now, after all these years, after all that had passed between them. How? How could she still be so weak, so needy, when it came to this one man?

Her breathing hitched in her chest, echoing Nick's harsh gasp. Slowly she opened her eyes, the lids heavy as she raised her head, already knowing what was to come, her body welcoming it even as her mind screamed out in warning. His mouth descended, slowly, his dark eyes locked with hers. And in that split-second Mike saw something that chilled her.

Pity.

She took a deep breath and pushed Nick away, cursing herself for forgetting, cursing him for making her forget.

Not the heat or the passion. There had always been that between them, a heavy awareness that had consumed them both and threatened to destroy common sense. She had never found anything close to it since then and she had never been able to forget it. Just like she had never forgotten what Nick had done to her.

Until just now.

To see his pity on top of everything else was more than she needed, more than even she could handle. She didn't want—didn't
need
—his pity and she didn't need his words of apology. In fact, she didn't need anything from him.

Mike turned her back on Nick and paced around the small room, frustration adding an edginess to each step. She paused to rub one hand across her eyes, annoyed at the slight shaking in her fingers. She took a deep breath and held it, let it out slowly, searching for some kind of inner calm. What a joke. How could she be calm when every single nerve was dancing with anger and, worse, awareness?

"Kayla." From somewhere behind her came Nick's uncertain voice and she resumed her pacing, wanting nothing more than to put more distance between them. When she went as far as she could, she turned and faced him, hoping her expression betrayed no sign of the emotional battle being waged inside her. She forced herself to stand straight and meet his gaze head on, refused to waver in the face of his obvious confusion.

"What exactly is it you do here, anyway? Teach band or something?"

"Excuse me?"

Mike ran a shaking hand through her hair and forced a slight smile as she repeated her question. Nick stared at her for a long second then shook his head, as if he had trouble understanding her. He sighed then walked over to the desk, leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest while he fixed her with a steady gaze as blank as her own. She had the uncomfortable and very distinct impression that he was seeing too deeply inside her.

"No, I do not teach band." The words were clipped, maybe a little defensive even. "I teach English literature."

"I'm sorry, excuse me?" Mike made no attempt to hide her surprise, wasn't sure she could have hidden it even if she tried. Her eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief. Nick taught English? She must have heard him wrong.