Page 71 of Played
I bark out a jagged laugh. “Hell no.”
He frowns, and though pain sparks inside my chest, I can’t blame him for doubting me. Especially after today’s fucktastic display.
This morning, we were running drills. Training is an ongoing process; it doesn’t stop when we leave the fire academy. Every day we’re doing something if we’re not out on a call. Today, Matt, as the driver engineer, ran a hose-lead-out drill. The purpose of the training is to reinforce the skills necessary to place an initial attack line into operation. And to do it quickly and efficiently. It doesn’t matter if it’s a full engulfed-structure fire or a small car fire; how fast and smoothly we’re able to lead out the attack line—or deploy the first hose stream while additional lines are laid out—determines the difference between success and failure. It’s a timed drill, since quickness is key.
Apparently, I’m not only as slow as a constipated snail, but my technique sucks shit too. From the way Matt stayed on my ass, I couldn’t do anything right today. No one in the company except me receivedthe harsh treatment he doled out. But because he’s a driver engineer and I’m still at firefighter rank, snapping back on him would’ve been viewed as insubordination. So I had to eat each sharp “critique,” stay silent with each jab.
It was humiliating and demeaning. And I couldn’t do shit.
“You sure, Dina? I hope you know you can tell me anything, and there’s no judgment.” Malcolm persists, his dark gaze closely studying me. “That out there”—he waves behind me toward the open bay doors—“seemed personal. If you two’ve had an argument or even something ... intimate that went left—”
“No, there is nothing between me and Matt. Never has been, never will be.” Truth. I can’t stand him.
Malcolm continues to look at me, not saying anything, and guilt worms its way under my skin. I battle not to fidget under his scrutiny. Again, I have the strongest urge to tell him the truth. That I rejected Matt and now he’s taking it out on me through the job. But the same thing that’s kept me silent still wraps around my throat. Anxiety. Worry.
Even now, though he doesn’t know it, Malcolm’s placing the burden on me to police Matt’s actions, to explain them away. He, Cam, and everyone else who witnessed his behavior today should be on his ass, calling him to task. But no. They’re asking me if a relationship went bad.
This is just a glimpse into how it would be if I reported him. They would scrutinize me,myactions,mybehavior. What didIdo to cause his reactions? Though he’s the one harassing me, it would be my responsibility. My fault. Did I lead him on? Did I try to make nice? Even questions about why I’m just now reporting him.
No. It’s tough enough being a woman—a Black woman—in the fire department. In a lot of ways, we’ve made progress. But in many more, it’s still a good ol’ boy institution built and intended for white men. And it operates in that manner.
And even being very aware of that ... I don’t want to lose my job. I love being a firefighter, and I refuse to allow anyone, especially Matt Husband, to steal that away from me.
“All right.” Malcolm dips his chin. “I’m going to take you at your word. But driver engineer or not, promotion or not, Matt comes at you like that again, and we’re gonna have problems. Well, more than we already do, because I got something for his ass.”
“Malc—”
“Nope.” He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “You can dead that, Dina. He was out of line today. And before all this shit, you’re my sister first. And if he can’t respect the firefighter, he’s gonna respect that.”
“Malcolm, please. I don’t want you to get reprimanded over some dumb shit.”
“Nothing about protecting you is dumb. Nothing about one firefighter respecting another is dumb. And don’t worry about being reprimanded. I got this.”
He pecks a kiss on my cheek and walks away, leaving me to groan and pinch the bridge of my nose.
I stare after him, damn near choking on a scream. The same way I felt like I wasn’t being seen or heard during those drills, I’m battling the same anger, the same need. I love Malcolm for wanting to have my back; hell, I’m his sister, I get it. But he’s ignoring—or refusing to see—how him rushing in to deal with my problem steals my power. I’m not weak. I’mnot, dammit. Losing Keshaun didn’t steal my strength. No, dealing with the loss, the soul-agonizing pain, forged a strength in me like flame hardening steel. And they need to recognize it.
Or I need to show it to them.
Fuck, I don’t even know anymore. Is it my fault that I don’t yellLook at me! I’m not a baby. I’m not powerless, voiceless! Let me handle my own shit!Or is it their fault that they won’t open their eyes, look past their own needs to protect and shield me, andseeit?See me?
Dammit.
I don’t know. The only thing I’m crystal clear about is Malcolm “having something” for Matt?
That is just what Ididn’twant to happen.
“Thanks for coming with me tonight, ma. This isn’t exactly what I do.”
I tip my head back, smiling up at Solomon’s chagrined expression. Everyone around us in the VIP section of the club is chilling, dancing, drinking, and smoking. In other words, they’re having a good-ass time as Drake blasts through the speakers.
The glassed-in VIP section is roped off, with security standing at the entrance, preventing anyone who hasn’t been invited to celebrate Ciaran Mahone’s birthday from entering. God, how I want to yell, “You cannot pass, bitches!”
But I refrain.
It’s packed in here, full of Solomon’s teammates, their friends, and a whole herd of nearly naked, gorgeous women. The bottle girls maintain a steady flow in and out, bringing more and more alcohol. The right-winger is going big for his twenty-eighth birthday. And from what Solomon mentioned when he texted earlier and asked if I would join him tonight, his friendship with Ciaran is the only reason he agreed to come out.
I chuckle.
