I can't do it. I can't confess to my best friend that the man I'm seeing actually doesn't have a home because his pregnant ex-girlfriend is living in his. "I don't know his schedule this week. I'll stop by the fire station this afternoon."
The smile that floats over her lips is a clear signal that her only focus in this moment is her son. "That sounds like a plan, Bridge."
It's a plan, whether or not it's the right one, doesn't matter at this point. I want answers and the only person who can give those to me is the father of Maisy's baby who just happens to be the man I thought I was falling in love with.
Chapter 3
"I tried to call you twice but you didn't answer."
Dane's voice catches me so off guard that my left shoe lands firmly on the toes of my right one. I hadn't looked up at all as I walked quickly through the crowded streets of Manhattan. After I'd left Zoe's place, I'd tried to call Dane once more as I fidgeted in front of her building, while the doorman kept a watchful eye over me.
There wasn't an answer. I'd hung up just as his voicemail picked up before I'd tucked my phone back into my purse and started the hike from Park Avenue to the fire station Dane worked at. I kept my gaze far enough ahead of me that the possibility of locking eyes with anyone on the street was a non-issue. I didn't want to run into a regular patron of the pub who would pull me into a discussion about where I'd been for the past few months. I didn't have the emotional capacity to listen to another stranger tell me that they recognized me as the girl who had been hit by the police car. I had one focus that only intensified with each step I took and that was talking to Dane.
I couldn't hide the disappointment that swept over my expression when a man dressed in the same type of firefighter gear that Dane was wearing the night of my accident told me that he wasn't there. He tossed the words out in a breathless panic as he boarded the fire truck that was already pulling out into the street. I could only watch as it sped away in its pursuit to stop the destruction that only a fire can cause.
I'd walked back to my place, the fuel beneath each step a stirring mixture of anger and frustration. I didn't bother to look at my smartphone and as I rounded the corner to head up the block towards my building, I'd stopped to buy two apples and a chilled bottle of juice from a vendor who set up his cart in the same spot floors beneath my bedroom window each day.
I hadn't eaten before I'd left for Zoe's and although she offered me an omelet and some toast, I couldn't stomach the taste then. Right now, the fruit and juice is enough to tame the hunger pangs that I can't ignore any longer.
"Bridget," he says my name just as his hands reach out to grab my wrists to steady my balance. "I've been trying to call you for the last hour."
I stare up into his face. His features are exactly as they were the last time I saw him but there's something remarkably different in his stance. His shoulders are tense and pulled forward. His shoe is tapping against the pavement and as his skin touches mine I feel the tremor in his grasp.
"What's wrong, Dane?"
Just as swift as I see relief float over his face, it's gone again. "I know that you tried to call me last night and again early this morning. I couldn't get to my phone. I'm sorry."
"I wanted to talk to you about something," I begin before I look past his shoulder to a delivery truck that has pulled up next to the curb. The jarring string of horns honking a symphony of displeasure at the truck's driver fills the air. "It's really important."
"You want to talk about the fire, don't you?" His eyes dart back to where the truck is now parked. It's blocking a full lane of traffic on the already crowded street.
I want to talk about his son. I want to know if they've chosen a name for him and when Dane thinks his birthday will be. I want to know how he felt when he learned that Maisy was carrying his child and I want to hear him tell me, in his own words, what's going to happen when the baby arrives and what his plan is for every tomorrow after that.
"The fire?" I finally pull my wrists free of his grasp. "What fire?"
His eyes slowly scan my face as if he's searching for some semblance of understanding there. He's a fireman. It only stands to reason that he's talking about a fire he was called out to. I'm guessing it's the fire in Queens that Vanessa mentioned when she'd first arrived at my apartment last night. I assumed when she was hurriedly called back to the hospital, that it was because of that.
"It was bad." His hand darts up to his face to cover his mouth. "There were two kids. Their mom left them alone and..."
The audible gasp that escapes me stops him mid-sentence. I feel a rush of emotions as I remember the woman on the television who had been brought to her knees on the lush green lawn in front of one of the houses that was near the blaze. The wail that came from her had lingered with me and even this morning as I tried to catch a quick glimpse of the day's headlines on the muted television while I watched Zoe feed Vane his breakfast, I'd wondered about that woman and the loss she must have suffered.
"We tried to help them." His shoulders pivot towards me. "They don't know if they'll make it. I stayed at the hospital all night. Ben says it's touch and go."
"I'm sorry...I didn't...I had no idea that happened," I stammer, knowing that throwing a slew of questions at him about Maisy and his son will only add to the overwhelming emotional weight that he's already carrying on his shoulders. I don't want to feel compassion for him right now but I can't help it.
"I wasn't working the fire," he says quickly. "I was at my house and saw the smoke. I ran over there."
I know that the kindhearted thing to do is to ask about the children who were caught in the fire. I feel the tug at my heart as I think about small Vane and what it would do to Zoe, Beck and even myself if he were hurt. I want to stay in that place emotionally not only because it's the honorable place to be, but also because I despise myself right now for wanting to push his concern for those children aside to ask him why he was at the house he shares with the soon-to-be mother of his child.
"I know those kids, Bridget."
"You know them?" I whisper the question back, suddenly feeling guilty for not recognizing how completely torn up he is.
He scrubs his hand over his face. It does nothing to settle his expression. "They live a block over from me. They set up a lemonade stand every Saturday afternoon during the summer. I always take them a few dollars, when I'm not working, to buy a glass and talk to them. They're great boys."
I close my eyes against the flood of emotions I feel. My hand darts to my mouth. It's not because I feel a sob approaching. I need to physically stop myself from blurting out something about the little boy that him and Maisy are about to have.
"I don't know what I would do if I had a kid of my own and they got hurt." His voice turns gruff and takes on a raspy tone. "I sat with their mother all night at the hospital. She could barely talk. It's got to be hell to watch your sons suffering like that."