Page 71 of Hot Response
“Yes, I’m okay. And so is Gavin.” She forced herself to look away from the TV and paste a smile on her face. After taking a sip of her coffee because her mouth was dry, she stood up and walked around the couch to give him a quick hug. He wasn’t a fan, but he accepted it. “If you don’t go, you’re going to be late for your meeting.”
He slung his backpack over his shoulder, but didn’t move. “But if Gavin’s there, maybe they’ll interview him.”
She shook her head and shoved him toward the door. “It’ll be a while before anybody does an interview. And only the officers do interviews, so you won’t see Gavin, anyway.”
Once he was out the door, Cait noticed the time and realized she needed to get a move on. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking at the television one last time.
The scroll on the bottom of the screen changed toFatal Fireand Cait felt her eyes well up. Nothing said the fatality was the woman or her little girl, but her gut told her it was. She swiped at her eyes, and then she made a few phone calls and, for the first time in a very long time, called in sick.
It wasn’t really a lie. Her stomach hurt but, even more, her heart ached.
* * *
Gavin sat on the curb, his elbows propped on his knees and his hands dangling between his legs. Head bowed, he stared at the disposable coffee cup that had slipped from his fingers, losing its lid and steaming contents when it hit the pavement. He didn’t care.
He could hear the little girl crying. The screaming for her mother had abated to sobbing and to pleading with the EMTs. She just wanted her mommy.
But her mommy was gone because Gavin hadn’t been able to catch her. Fifteen seconds. Maybe even ten. But if she’d just waited fifteen more seconds...
Gavin knew all the right words. He couldn’t save them all. He’d done all he could. That was the job. Blah blah blah. He knew all the correct words and he’d even had to say the words to others once or twice, but right now they offered no comfort. It would probably be a long time before they could overpower the memory of the little girl screaming for her mother.
A hand closed over his shoulder and squeezed. Gavin closed his eyes, hoping whoever belonged to the hand—probably Jeff, judging by the grip—didn’t say the words to him right now.
After a few seconds, the hand lifted and Gavin opened his eyes to see boots moving away from him.
The cold radiating from the pavement to his already chilled body was starting to hurt, so Gavin finally pushed himself to his feet. Their tour was over. They were returning to quarters and then he’d go home. Maybe he’d sleep or maybe he’d lie in bed and listen to the little girl screaming in his head, but for now he followed the others to the trucks.
Jeff was limping, favoring his knee, but he wasn’t surprised when he waved off the EMT who approached him. It wasn’t an injury, but a chronic problem Gavin suspected was getting worse and the cold didn’t help.
Nobody spoke on the ride back. Utterly exhausted and with the pall of a fatality hanging over them, they simply stared out the windows until the trucks were backed in and they could robotically go through their checklists before handing everything over to the next shift.
Gavin didn’t bother to shower. He just wanted to go home, and he didn’t speak to any of the guys on the way out. Derek Gilman, who was on his way in, slapped him on the shoulder, but they didn’t exchange words.
As he stepped through the firehouse door, a car pulled up to the curb and it took him a few seconds to realize it was Cait’s.
Something shook loose inside of him and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. She didn’t say anything. She just reached across to hold his hand and pulled back onto the street.
“Don’t you have to work today?” he finally asked, realizing his voice sounded hoarse from screaming.Don’t jump. I’m almost there.
“I called in sick.”
“Thank you.”
Cait didn’t ask him any questions. She seemed content to just drive and hold his hand until they parked in front of his building. He knew if he talked about it, she’d listen, but he couldn’t do it. Not yet.
Once they were inside his apartment, he turned to her, though. He wanted a hug in the worst way, but he looked down and realized he must stink of sweat and smoke. But when he looked up again, she was moving toward him, her arms apart.
He buried his face in her neck as she squeezed him tightly. “Did somebody text you?”
“I saw the fire on the news. The camera cut away because I think the camera person realized the woman was going to throw her daughter to you. A few minutes later they changed the headline scroll to fatal fire.”
“I caught the little girl.” Barely, and he’d almost gone off the ladder himself. “The mother...if she’d waited fifteen seconds. I told her to wait and she didn’t, Cait.”
“You saved her little girl.” She squeezed him tighter. “You did everything you could.”
“I was yelling at her to wait. And then...she jumped. I thought maybe there was a chance she’d survive. People fall three stories and survive, but she didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, Gavin.”
