Consumed (Firefighters #1)(32)

Where would you have put me? she wondered.

“Anne?”

As he spoke her name, she swung her stare northward, away from the waistband of his black Hanes.

“Danny.”

He blinked a couple of times and lifted his head. “Am I dreaming?”

His voice was a husky whisper, and she knew it was hoarse from drinking, from getting into that fight at Timeout with that rich kid, from trading punches with Vic Rizzo. Moose had given her the rundown. And now that Danny was awake and staring at her, she could see the bruising on the side of his face. He was going to have a black eye tomorrow.

“You don’t look so good,” she said. “No offense.”

Danny groaned as he sat up, and she ignored the cracking sound that was either his back or his shoulder. Or maybe both. And then she had to look at the TV as he rubbed his short black hair—because otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to take her eyes off the way his biceps bulged.

When he reached for a pack of Marlboros, she shook her head. “Are you serious?”

“What.” He put one of the cancer sticks between his teeth. “And I suppose you won’t get my lighter for me, will you.”

“I absolutely will not. I’m not your maid, and you were just treated for smoke inhalation, for godsakes.”

“So which one of those little old ladies called you to come over here?”

As he got to his feet, she turned away and needed a place to go, so she wandered down the hall toward the bedrooms. It seemed weird to look into two of the four spaces and see nothing but dust bunnies and forgotten hangers, Moose had moved in with Deandra, Mick was in rehab out of state—the addiction kind, not the physical. The third bedroom, Jack’s, housed little more than a stripped bed and a bureau that looked as if it were throwing up the shirts and pants that were in its drawers. The final crib was Danny’s, and she merely glanced in as she pivoted around for the return trip.

Anne stopped. He was leaning against the hallway wall like James Dean, that cigarette lit between his fingers.

His eyes were hooded as he stared at her, and she wanted to tell him to put some damn clothes on—except that seemed like an admission that she was noticing his body.

“I’ve lost two and a half of my roommates as you can see.” He motioned to the vacant rooms with his free hand. “Moose and Deandra. Then Mick went into that rehab program. Now Jack is worried about that sister of his again and staying with her. They’re dropping like flies, I tell ya.”

“Times change.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Your face is busted up.”

“Vic needs to lose your number.”

“Moose was the one who called me.”

“Him, too, then.”

“What are you doing, Danny.” She nodded toward his trainwreck of a room. “I mean, look at this place.”

There was laundry on the floor—in two piles that she guessed meant one was clean and the other dirty. The bed was a shambles of sheets and blankets with a bald pillow at the headboard. And the window’s curtain had bought the farm, the rod hanging cockeyed, a blanket nailed in place so he didn’t flash the neighbors.

“I don’t spend a lot of time in there,” he muttered before taking a draw.

She bent down and picked up a flimsy piece of lace. “At least you’re not alone, though.”

He shrugged. “I might as well be.”

“Oh, come on.” Anne let the lingerie dangle. “What was wrong with her? Given the cup size here, I’m thinking her anatomy was just fine.”

Danny was quiet for a while. Then in a low voice, he said, “She wasn’t you. That was the trouble.”





chapter




15



In the suddenly charged silence, Anne decided she hadn’t heard that right. Nope. She most certainly hadn’t heard that.

“Enough with the bullcrap.” She dropped the Victoria’s Secret and wiped her hand on her hip. “Moose is worried about you. A lot of people are worried about you.”

Danny shrugged. “No reason to be.”

“You got into a fistfight.”

“No, I didn’t. I choked the bastard after he insulted Josefina. So I didn’t actually punch him.”

“I’m talking about Vic. You hit one of us—I mean, you. You hit another firefighter—”

“He was in my way—”

“—because he wouldn’t let you kill someone when you’d had six beers in sixty minutes.”

“I’m sober.”

“Not when you were strangling him. And if by some miracle your liver was able to process all that alcohol load by now, then you need to follow Mick’s example and go inpatient.” She shook her head. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing to yourself. You risked your life today at that fire. You blew off procedure—”

“Moose really needs to forget he knows you.”

“—and endangered yourself—”

“This coming from you?”

“—and nearly didn’t get out of there. All for a kid’s homework.” She put her palm up. “And don’t give me that holier-than-thou about how important it was to get it for her. That’s an excuse. If you’re looking to commit suicide, do your department a favor and just put a bullet in your head or hang yourself from the ceiling. But don’t do it on the job where every single man or woman on-site will feel like it’s their fault. That is not fair to them. It’s just not.”