A Firefighter's Promise. Patricia Johns
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Chris put his attention back into his pizza, and when Rachel glanced back in Matt’s direction, she found his warm gaze enveloping her. He reached across the table and took her hand in his broad, warm grasp, giving her a squeeze. He released her fingers almost as quickly as he’d taken them, but she was grateful for the gesture.
“Chris, I saw some video games over there in the corner,” Matt said. He leaned back in his seat and fished around in his pocket, his hand emerging with a fistful of quarters. “Do you want to try them?”
“Can I, Mom?” Chris turned bright, exuberant eyes onto Rachel, the previous heaviness apparently forgotten.
She smiled and nodded. “Sure, sweetie. Have fun.”
Chris accepted the quarters into his cupped palms and headed off toward the video games. They looked almost antique—Pac-Man, some racing games and a claw that dipped into a vat of dusty plush toys. He looked so grown up, standing there with his quarters, and yet so small, all at once.
This move to Haggerston was supposed to give Chris the stability he craved, yet even here, she felt his struggle. He couldn’t put words to it—he was too young to even try. She knew what was in his heart, though.
Who did he belong to?
And her heart replied with every beat, You belong to me.
* * *
Matt leaned his elbows on the table and stabbed at some ice cubes in his glass with a straw. Rachel looked toward her son, and when her gaze flickered back in his direction, color rose in her cheeks. She was gorgeous—and every time emotion sparkled in those dark eyes, he found his thoughts sliding into dangerous territory.
“He’s growing up so fast,” she said.
Matt nodded. “I can only imagine.”
“He’s been asking about his birth mother a lot lately.” She breathed a sigh. “This isn’t easy.”
“She did what was best for him,” he said. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Chris, but he was in rough shape when I found him. He was in a wet cardboard box. His sleeper was soaked, his diaper was dirty and his bottle was rancid. He shivered in my arms for a full hour, and he drank bottle after bottle. I doubt he was getting enough milk before he was dropped off at the firehouse. He was so desperate for human touch that once he figured I’d protect him, he wouldn’t let anyone else touch him.”
She froze at those words, and he immediately regretted them. “I’m sorry. That was probably too blunt.”
“No, no...” She shook her head, blinking back the tears that sprang to her eyes. “I was told about his condition by the authorities, but hearing it from you—” She swallowed, not finishing the thought.
Idiot, he chastised himself. She didn’t need to hear it like that.
“She brought him to the right place,” he said, his voice low. “And he went to the right home.”
Her dark gaze met his, and he was struck by those liquid eyes. Long lashes brushed her cheekbones with each blink, and a soft pink tinged her cheeks. She gave a weak shrug.
“I’d do anything for him. He’s really struggling.”
“You’re a good mom,” he replied. “He’ll be okay.”
She nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “I think Haggerston is just what Chris needs. I keep saying that, but I really do believe it. Sometimes a fresh start is just the ticket.”
Her words struck on the deepest longing inside him, too. She wanted to start over here in Haggerston, and he wanted to start over as far from this town as he could get, but they both wanted the same thing. They wanted to leave behind the old barbs and wounds and start over again—get another kick at the can without the pain that weighed them down. Was it even possible? He sure hoped so, because it was his last hope.
“Couldn’t agree more.” He reached for another slice of pizza.
“I was wondering about something.” She paused, a frown creasing her brow. “When they hired me at Broxton Park Elementary, they mentioned that it had a fire a few years ago.”
Matt nodded. “A big one.”
“That’s scary. Were you there for it?”
“Yeah.” There for it was an understatement. He returned to that dreadful morning in his dreams, where he endlessly searched with his gloved hands, through the murky darkness. He pushed back the memories.
“That had to be terrifying for everyone. How do you do that?” Her thoughtful gaze moved over his face.
“It’s my job.”
“I know, but...” She paused, her intent eyes fixed on him. “Aren’t you scared in situations like that?”
“I’m well trained.” The training was intense. A firefighter learned to react before he felt, to obey an order and question it later. Like in the military, a quick response to command was the secret to success, and for a firefighter, success meant getting everyone out alive.
“I understand the training because my husband went through it, but I never could quite understand how someone could subvert every instinct in his body telling him to get out of there. That’s just simple self-preservation.”
She was right about that, but it was something they didn’t talk about. Being afraid was part of the job, but if they talked about it and fed it, then they were useless in the face of an emergency. Firefighters didn’t talk about fear; they talked about preparation.
“I’m suited up, I’ve got a buddy system and I’m much better prepared for that heat than the victims are. I’m pretty much just focused on finding people and getting them out.”
“You must have a lot of stories.”
Matt chuckled. “Most of the job is paperwork. We do prefire inspections, public education, that sort of thing. I do a lot of reports. Like this restaurant, for example.”
He glanced around them, quickly estimating the risks in the room. Rachel looked around the dining room, following his gaze.
“There are two exits—the door I came in, and a door out the back.” He hooked a thumb toward the front door. “These tables would be like an obstacle course, especially through the smoke. The kitchen is worse, but those prefire safety inspections give us a lay of the land, so to speak. We want to know a building’s layout before we have to stampede in there in full gear. We have a job, and we know what we have to do.”
“So you’re saying you’re too focused to get scared?” she asked.
He chuckled again, amused at her tenacity. She wasn’t going to let this go, was she? He shrugged. “We’re too well trained to admit to it.”
Rachel was silent for a moment. “So, was that the training taking over the first day we met you?”
He raised an eyebrow, considering. “I guess so, yeah. I’ve learned to lean back on the training when I feel—” He stopped, uncertain of even how to decipher the complicated emotions he felt when seeing Chris again for the first time.
“Scared?” she suggested.
He shrugged. “Scared? Maybe. Nervous. Uncertain. Off balance. Anyway, I either knock down doors or spout statistics. As you found out.” He smiled and she laughed softly.
“It makes sense. And thank God for your training—it saves lives.”
“Not enough lives,” he replied. All the training in the world couldn’t bring back Natalie Martin. He’d seen countless school pictures around town of the little girl, clean and brightly smiling. That wasn’t the face seared into his memory, however. He would always remember the face smeared with grime, eyes streaming from the smoke and her hair a tangled mess. He’s see her ashen cheeks as she lay unconscious