Page 108 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
“He’s a single dad,” I refute. “I don’t think we should compare shit to him since I don’t see anyone in his life besides Luke.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, throwing his hand into the air as if he’s fed up with me. “I’m still not sure why you’re here, Grady.”
I look at my oldest brother for the first time and speak the God’s honest truth. “Because it’s easier this way.”
“Easier?” He snorts. “For who? You have seen the calendar, haven’t you?”
“Jesus Christ, can we stop with the goddamn calendar already?”
“Then tell me what or who you were looking at when that photo was taken.”
And here we go again. The same question he’s asked me over and over again during the past few weeks. “I was looking at Dixon. You happy?”
“Yeah. Right.” He shakes his head in frustration. “Okay, if that’s the truth, then let’s call up Mallory. Get her to stop by and have a little no-strings-attached fun.”
I glare at him. Mallory. Known her for years, fucked her many times, but right now, calling her is the absolute last thing I want to do. Not when every time I think of who I want to see, talk to—fuck—I think of Dylan.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I lean forward and put my elbows on my knees and shake my head. “I’m scared, man.”
“Aren’t we all, brother?” He pats me on the back and squeezes my neck. “Aren’t we all?”
The lights are on in the house. Dylan is in there. Her bags are probably packed, and she’s ready to head back to her life, free of fucked-up firefighters.
I sit in the cab of my truck and debate whether or not I can do this. Ask her to stay. Go to work every day and wonder if I’ll be coming back home to her. Put her through the constant state of worry and stress.
Brody’s sad eyes flash through my mind. Shelby and her never-ending mourning.
But does lightning really strike twice?
Does Dylan want more?
Fuck.
I slide out of the truck, grab my workbag, and head into the house. The television’s on. I can hear it from the back door. It’s a low hum, but I realize why it sounds so different. There’s no Dylan singing. No random strums of her guitar. No laughing as she talks to Petunia as if she’s a person. The foreshadowing of what my life is going to hold in the coming months without her.
When I clear the family room, I drop my bag with a thump and that’s when I hear her startled gasp.
Dylan whips her head over to face me, and I can see the tears coursing down her cheeks and the grief in her eyes.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
My thoughts fly as I walk toward her. Did something happen to her family? Her brother? To I don’t know who?
My hands are on her arms, and I bring her into me. She clings to my back as she hiccups out a sob. I don’t know what to
say, but I have to say something.
Then I see the television. The images. The running headlines across the bottom. And I get it.
“The city of Boston is in mourning tonight after four firefighters died when the roof of a Boston factory collapsed. Two more are in critical condition.”
Just when I think I can do this, reality slaps me in the face and reminds me why I can’t.
Goodbye, Dylan.
“Turn it off,” I murmur against his chest as he pulls me in tighter against him.
