Island Affair (Keys to Love #1)(2)
The last place Luis wanted to be was sitting in his mami’s kitchen, her henpecking him for details about what was new in his life. Not that he ever had anything special to report or that he’d want to keep secret. Except for today.
His mami possessed a something’s-wrong radar the likes of which the US government would kill to possess. If—more like when—she got wind that his captain had felt compelled to sideline him, her worry gene would kick into overdrive.
Even now, safe from her watchful eyes, Luis cringed at the thought. Few things were more intense than a Cuban mami hovering over her offspring, hell-bent on making things better for them. Whether they wanted her help or not. Case in point, the multiple ways she consistently worked in a plea for him to make true peace with his little brother, Enrique.
No matter how many candles his mami lit after mass at St. Mary’s, praying for her middle and youngest sons to reach an understanding. That wasn’t going to happen. There were some things a man couldn’t get past. Not Luis anyway.
This morning, despite the ants-in-his pants sensation that had him as jittery as a rookie on his first call, Luis had tried to play things off, reassuring her with a casual, “Estoy bien,” when she asked how he was doing.
One look at her arched brow, right fist planted on her plump hip, and he knew she wasn’t buying his “I’m fine” routine. He’d realized right then and there, he needed to get out of her kitchen, outside her radar range, ASAP. Or he risked her interrogation.
Hell, he was too ramped up to discuss the reasons and potential ramifications of the Captain’s decision.
Too frustrated.
Too...
The word scared filtered through Luis’s head like the devil had perched on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. Luis shook the evil antagonist off, ignoring the obnoxious voice and turning his ire on his brother.
“Co?o, ’mano, the only reason I volunteered to bring your sorry-butt lunch was ‘cuz I thought you’d side with me. Not Turner. You can’t possibly think the Captain’s right!” Luis glared at Carlos, who stabbed a piece of amarillo with his fork, then shoved the sweet plantain in his mouth. “Would you quit stuffing your pie hole for a minute and help me figure out how to change Turner’s mind?”
“Maybe,” Carlos mumbled around his food. “I think—”
A Tone Out rang through the speakers, interrupting Carlos. The series of low-and high-pitched sounds signaling an emergency, distinct for each firehouse in the county and city, alerted those on duty in seconds which station should be on the move. Within a couple notes of the Tone Out, the firefighters were either continuing about their business, like Carlos and the others here, or racing for their vehicle.
The walkie-talkie hooked to Carlos’s belt squawked a message from Dispatch relaying information from a 911 call. The rescue unit from Stock Island, the key located immediately before the entrance to Key West, was needed at a residence where someone was experiencing chest pain. Knowing how the Battalion Commander over there ran his station, Luis figured the truck would also head out in support of the ambulance.
Dispatch quieted down, but an uncomfortable sense of dread lingered over Luis. As it had after every Tone Out that had sounded over the past few weeks. Especially when the call from Dispatch involved a car accident. Just like—
Tension seized his chest. The knot in his gut, the need to lash out at someone, something, had him jittery and on edge. He clenched his jaw, burying the unwanted responses. This would pass. It always did. It had to.
Running a hand down his face, Luis wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow. A check of his watch told him he should get out of the way here. Carlos and the other three men would need to start their daily medical and fire training as well as the extra duties required by the FAA since they were located at the airport. Luis wasn’t getting any sympathy over the unfairness of his current dilemma anyway.
“You know what? Forget I said anything,” he grumbled. “I don’t know why I thought you’d understand.”
Lifting his feet off the coffee table, Luis pushed up to a stand. The weight of frustration pressed down on him, squashing his anger, leaving him irritatingly tired. Tired of people telling him how to cope. Tired of hearing that he should seek professional help or he’d never move on.
He didn’t need to sit down with a grief counselor. Forget having another chat with the fire department’s chaplain. The best therapy for him involved pulling shifts at the station. Losing himself in the rhythm of the day-to-day required duties and responsibilities. Fueling his body with the occasional adrenaline rush.
Carlos should understand. The adrenaline was a big part of what drew them all to the job. That whoosh of pulse-jumping excitement when you pealed out of the station, ready to help someone in need.
“Oye, come on. Don’t leave all pissed off.” Carlos set the glass container on the table as he stood. “I’m just saying, maybe some time out on your boat will do the trick. A little sun, fresh ocean air, dropping a line in the water. Yeah, that’s it! Go catch some fresh fish for us.” Carlos’s lips spread in a silly grin, his straight teeth a white flash against his deeply tanned face.
Luis gave his brother the finger on his way through the eat-in kitchen, heading toward the front entrance. Carlos followed, their boot heels thumping on the linoleum floor.
The other firefighter waved at Luis but didn’t look away from the baseball game on the small TV mounted on the wall above the table.