in their own way, these people loved him as much as she did. And yet, collectively, she couldn’t help but see them as the enemy. Her primary point of contention as far as she could see was that the thing they loved and admired most about him was the one thing Andrea wished she could change.
Unable to stand it any longer, Andrea whispered in Cal’s ear that she was going to the bathroom. She quickly hurried out of the room, never knowing Cal’s eyes followed her until she disappeared through the doorway.
Once outside in the hallway, she leaned her back against the wall and took a deep breath. She never realized how exhausting holding a fake smile for hours could be. She heard someone ask Cal if she was okay, but she could not make out Cal’s murmured response through the thick wall. Taking another deep breath, she started down the hall, hoping that a splash of water on her face would help hold back the tears that now seemed to threaten her constantly.
A few minutes later, as she stood at the sink patting her face dry, she silently scolded the woman in the mirror. This is the happiest day of his life and you are going to ruin it for him. Pull yourself together!
She glanced down at the small diamond ring on her finger, and her hand went to it instinctively as she remembered just how many times over the past week she’d taken it off and put it back on.
She pulled it off once more, enclosed it in her small fisted hand. “I’m not this strong,” she whispered, imagining the day her telephone would ring and there would be a composed, very professional voice at the other end informing her of their regret…
She turned and leaned her back against the sink. As a nurse, Andrea had seen more death than most people saw in a lifetime, and many of those were lives that seemed to be snuffed out before their time.
She’d stood over the body of more than one firefighter as the line on the ventilator went flat, and found it far too easy to imagine Cal as the firefighter on the table.
“I’m not strong enough to be a fireman’s wife.” But despite her words, she found herself sliding the little ring back onto her finger. She only hoped she could hide her dismay long enough to get through the afternoon.
She checked her appearance in the mirror before she opened the door and found herself facing an expanse of black T-shirt stretched across a wide, muscular chest.
Closing her eyes, Andrea breathed in his familiar scent of soap and Speed Stick deodorant. Cal almost never wore cologne, and Andrea found that she preferred it that way. His own natural scent was enough of an aphrodisiac by itself.
“What’s wrong?” Cal’s deep baritone voice was softened by his concern.
Her eyes went up and up until they settled on soft brown eyes filled with concern. She tried to force a smile, but when she felt the tears welling up, she quickly looked away.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His tone never changed, but there was something very threatening in the words themselves. “You look like you’re about to cry.”
She shook her head fervently. “No, I’m okay. We better get back to the group—they’re going to wonder where the guest of honor disappeared to.” She moved to go around him, and he easily blocked her path.
“They can wait.” Using his index finger, he lifted her chin, and although she managed to keep her eyes downcast, the tiny drop of water that fell on her cheek betrayed her.
She heard his sharp gasp right before he pulled her into a rough embrace. “Baby, why are you crying? Tell me.”
She eagerly wrapped her arms around his rock-hard midsection and held on with all her might. Not yet ready to share the truth…that she was seriously considering giving him back his ring because she could not bear to be his widow.
Holding him in her arms proved to be too much. Faced with the possibility of having to let him go, the water began coursing down her face.
“Andrea, you’re going to have to tell me, I can’t read your mind. What’s got you so upset?”
She pressed her face against his shirt and tried to stifle the flood of tears. She wasn’t ready to say the words. Not yet…not yet.
The loud, buzzing sound that signaled an emergency call reverberated throughout the firehouse, and without hesitation Cal set Andrea away from him. With one quick peck on her forehead, he whispered the words “You know what to do.” And then he was gone.
Andrea stood in the deserted hallway, listening to the quiet firehouse come to life around her. Cal was right. After a year of being his girlfriend and fiancée, Andrea did know what to do.
He’d trained her in civilian procedure and protocol during an emergency as well as he trained his engine team to respond. They even ran through the occasional drill.
Andrea knew everything she needed to know to be a fireman’s wife…except how to stop the uncontrollable shaking she felt take over her body every time the firehouse alarm rang. She turned and hurried back along the hall, trying to focus on the task assigned to her, and not the danger Cal was rushing into.
Once the corridor was quiet, the man crouching in the shadows stepped out from his hiding place. Jeff Collins looked in both directions before heading down the back stairway toward the soon departing engine truck.
Nothing would appear more suspicious than for him to not be on the truck when it pulled away from the firehouse. For a moment, he’d been extremely worried, wondering if the woman would stand there until it was too late, but finally she’d moved off down the hall.
When Cal got up and left the table, Jeff Collins had followed, curious to see what would transpire between the couple. His lips tightened as he remembered the sadness in Andrea’s eyes as Cal was praised and toasted. Jeff was no happier to see Cal get the promotion than Andrea.
His fist balled at his side as he remembered how close he’d come to being the one toasted and praised. It just wasn’t fair. He and Cal had been equals since entering the firefighter academy fifteen years ago, both at the tender age of nineteen. They’d both had distinguished careers. So, why, when it came time to pass out the promotions, was Cal the only man to get one?
Over the past five years, Jeff Collins had maneuvered his way through the ranks, manipulating and cajoling his way up the professional ladder, only to have the prize stolen out from under him in the eleventh hour. Calvin Brown had stolen his promotion.
A promotion, a beautiful fiancée…it just wasn’t fair. He slipped on his turn-out gear and swung up into the truck just as the garage door began lifting.
“Where the hell have you been?” Cal’s voice boomed, drowning out even the sound of the horn warning.
Jeff fought to hide his anger, and swallowed hard. “Sorry, got hung up.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” Cal slammed the front wall to signal the driver that everyone was aboard. “Let’s go.”
Without further warning, the truck began to pull forward, maneuvering its way through the traffic that had come to a complete halt.
Jeff focused on the view of the city flying by, while Cal conversed with Dwight. At times like this, it took everything in him to hide the growing hatred he felt for the man he’d once considered
