Blazing Hotter (Love Under Fire Book 2) (3 page)

“He needs to be pushed,” Laura said.

“Besides,” Thayne chimed in. “He can handle it. Frankie might be an ass sometimes, but he’s tough and determined. We need to focus that on something new.”

***

F
rankie tried to be civil and act as though he were happy to be at the firehouse. Really, it just reminded him of how disabled he was. His strong, able-bodied former coworkers did things with such ease. Like eating. It took all Frankie’s concentration to hold a fork and stab the pieces of already-cut enchilada Laura had brought him. He was grateful she cut it before bringing it out without making any comment on it. At least he was saved from that embarrassment. Around him, the guys had no trouble holding their plates, cutting their food, and getting it to their mouths without accident.

On top of that, there was the fact that Cassie had sat next to his parked wheelchair and stuck to him like glue. Having fantasies about his hot physical therapist was one thing, but he wasn’t so sure he enjoyed socializing with her. Out of everyone here, Cassie truly knew his limitations. Even though he was sure she didn’t mean for it to happen, every once in a while pity filled her gaze when she thought he wasn’t watching her.

“
Que pasa, mi amigo?”
Carlos Santos, a man who had come in as a fellow probie to the fire station at the same time Frankie had, sat on the couch next to Cassie, leaning over her to look at Frankie. “I’ve missed you, bro. Any chance you’ll get off your ass this year and do the community outreach program with us? We can always use an extra set of hands.”

Forcing a smile, Frankie held up his dysfunctional limbs. “I don’t think I’ll qualify as extra hands.”

Cassie’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

For Carlos’s part, he didn’t seem overtly bothered by the evidence of Frankie’s disability. “Who cares? That’s a figure of speech. We’d really like you there. It’s the end of next month and you could run the information booth. Tell kids what they should do if there’s a fire in their house, ya know?”

Frankie shook his head. “I’m hardly qualified to warn about fire safety.”

“Fuck that.” Carlos glared at him before softening his gaze and glancing at Cassie. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I have to call him on his bullshit. I’m sick and tired of him being such a freakin’ pansy and using his burns as a reason not to do anything with his friends anymore.”

Cassie put her hand against Carlos’s shoulder, seemingly in an effort to calm him. “Frankie’s working on it. I personally think he’s ready to leave the rehab center and get on with his life.”

Nice of her to announce that to a room full of men who already figured Frankie was a pussy and not handling his recovery well. Couldn’t she have talked to him about it privately first?

“That’s interesting.” Frankie leaned forward in his wheelchair, not attempting to conceal his frustration. “This is the first I’m hearing about your thoughts.”

She nodded. “I know it is. I wanted to see how you did tonight before making recommendations to your doctors.”

“Yeah? Well, my doctors had some recommendations of their own today. I don’t think I’ll be getting out of the hospital anytime soon.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Frankie. I really am.”

Carlos leaned forward again, eyes narrowed. “What are you guys talking about?”

Frankie didn’t want to tell anyone, not even Carlos who he’d once considered a best friend. If he didn’t say it out loud, didn’t admit that it was happening, maybe this would be another nightmare and he could wake up screaming but get different news from his doctors.

Luckily, before he had to answer Carlos, Laura walked up, taking his plate from him. “It’s present time. Did you get enough to eat?”

He felt as though his smile couldn’t hold out much longer. How long until Cassie and Thayne would relent and take him back to the rehab center? “It was delicious, Laura. Thank you.”

She grinned. “If you ever accepted any of Thayne’s invitations to come to our house for dinner, you’d get this treatment more often.”

“I promise I’ll come over sometime soon.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear you’re going to get out more.” Laura’s smile grew wider. “By the way, we need to get you fitted for your tux soon. The wedding is happening before the end of the summer, no matter what I have to do to make it work.”

Frankie wanted to protest that he couldn’t be in their wedding, especially not within the next month. While he’d originally wanted to be the best man, he had expected to stand next to Thayne, watching happily as his partner married the love of his life. Instead, he was still in this damn chair. He knew Laura wanted a wedding on a beach against the water. How was Frankie supposed to attend something like that? He didn’t want her giving up her dream wedding just so the place was wheelchair accessible.

“Laura, about me being your best man—”

“Attention, everyone,” Thayne called from the doorway toward the ambulance and fire truck bay, cutting off Frankie’s words. “The present we bought is too big to wrap, so gather around here.”

Cassie stood, quickly flipping the locking mechanism off Frankie’s chair and pushing him across the thin brown carpet. “I hope you like it,” she whispered when they came to a stop.

“Now,” Thayne continued once everyone stood around him in a half-circle, “we’ve all missed Hernandez being here with us and have wished him a speedy recovery, but Cassie Flick has done the real work.”

The others gave a polite cheer.

“Frankie.” Thayne turned his attention to him. “We were partners for such a short time, but I feel like you’re the little brother I always wanted.”

Carlos laughed. “The annoying brother, for sure, eh, Thayne?”

Thayne chuckled and the other guys clapped Frankie’s arms and shoulders in good-natured teasing.

“Sometimes,” Thayne agreed. “What I’m trying to say is, Frankie, you’re not only an important part of the firehouse and the men here but of my own family. We’ve worked around the clock getting donations for your gift, and Cassie spent hours and hours making phone calls and fighting the insurance company. I think this is going to make your life so much easier.” He turned toward the doors and yelled, “Bring it in.”

Sterling Jefferson came in through the doors, riding an electric wheelchair. The smile on his wrinkled dark face made him look like a kid at Christmas.

Around Frankie, all the men hooted and congratulated him, happy commotion taking over the room.

A large red bow partially obscured the controlling mechanism on the right-hand side of the chair, and Frankie kept staring at it, dumbfounded. They bought him a mechanical wheelchair? Even if the insurance covered part of the cost, Frankie couldn’t begin to imagine what that must have set them all back.

It also meant Cassie didn’t expect his legs to get any better than they were now.

His hand muscles screamed in protest, and Frankie realized he tried to grip the arms on his wheelchair. Making a conscious effort to relax and attempt another smile, he watched as Thayne’s triumphant grin shifted, fading as a frown took over.

“What’s wrong, Frank?”

“You have to send it back.” Frankie was proud that his voice barely shook. He could handle this.

“Send it back?” Thayne looked over Frankie’s head, staring at Cassie as though asking her to do something.

“I can’t use it,” Frankie clarified, deciding it would be better to get this over with now. They might as well know and the mass pity that he knew they’d give him could start. “I met with a surgeon today. There are no further options for my right hand. With the amount of pain it gives me, they’ve recommended amputation in an effort to improve my comfort and quality of life.”

Startled gasps met his words. Everyone seemed in a state of shock, and Thayne’s gaze filled with sorrow, just as Frankie knew it would.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Frankie said in an attempt to stop them from feeling sorry for him. “I agreed to the surgery. Less pain will be great.” He tried to sound confident and upbeat, to not let them see how terrified he was at the prospect of losing his hand, but it didn’t work. His voice shook and cracked on the last few words.

Cassie’s hands massaged his shoulders and she leaned close to his ear. “I saw the recommendation in your chart. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He jerked his shoulders to shrug her sympathy away. If people acted like this was a horrible thing, Frankie wouldn’t be able to pretend that it wasn’t. He didn’t want to break down in front of everyone and give himself over to the yelling session he’d desperately wanted to have since hearing the news. “Anyway, I can’t use the chair. The controls are on the right side, and I won’t have a hand.”

T
he week following his party, Cassie tried to keep things normal between her and Frankie. She’d kept his therapy routine the same, but his heart really didn’t seem to be into it anymore and he barely tried.

Determined to continue with the regimen, Cassie had him in the physical therapy room, working over his leg muscles. She stretched his right leg fully before bending it back toward his chest. Although he let out a hiss of pain and squirmed slightly on the table, he offered no further complaint while she repeated the action.

He’d definitely been acting weird since his birthday party. It was as though he couldn’t wait to get away from her each day when therapy ended. While she understood he was frustrated about the plans to amputate his right hand and a portion of his forearm, she didn’t think that was the entire problem.

She flexed his leg again but made eye contact with him this time—something that hadn’t been happening between them the past week. “I spoke to the company and your wheelchair will be delivered tomorrow with the controls on the left side.”

“Wonderful.” He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth while she completed another repetition of the stretch. “That muscle’s so tight by my ass that it feels like it rips all the time. Even with you doing the work of moving it, the pain isn’t improving with these stretches.”

Apparently, the powered wheelchair was still a sore spot he didn’t want to talk about. Then again, telling her about his tight muscles was an improvement over the long silences they’d been sharing.

Cassie shifted to the left side of Frankie’s body. “Let me massage it a bit. You have a lot of scar tissue back here, and I think that’s what gives you the tearing sensation.”

Not that the massage was likely to help. It had been far too long. If the scar tissue was going to break down, it would have started to do so by now. It might give him a bit of relief, though.

Frankie rolled to his side, facing away from her but giving her better access to the back of his legs. “Can I ask you a question, Cassie?”

“I wish you would.” She used her thumbs to dig into the hardened tissues. “You’ve been pretty much silent since your birthday.”

“We’re done, aren’t we?”

“Almost. I want you on the stationary bike before ending the session today.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Frankie brushed her hand away with his partially functional left hand, then struggled to a sitting position. His warm brown eyes met hers, and she didn’t like the worry she saw reflecting out of them. “I mean, there isn’t anything more you can do for me. I’m not going to walk again. Ever.”

Cassie sighed and hopped onto the table next to him, letting her legs dangle over the side next to his. As much as she and Thayne agreed they had to get Frankie to face his new reality, she wasn’t looking forward to having this conversation. “You’ll always need therapy, Frank, to keep what muscle tone you do have.”

“But there won’t be any improvement. No true mobility as far as walking.”

He said it with a finality that told her he knew the truth, and perhaps was even coming to terms with it.

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I thought there was a good chance, but the nerve damage was extensive and the scar tissue on top of that makes everything harder. It’s so painful for you to even try that I don’t see how you can ever get to the point of walking again. You haven’t tried to stand for weeks because of the pain, and that doesn’t seem to be improving.”

He nodded. “And so even though I got pissed off about the chair, you really did me a great favor by getting it. It’s going to be my only means of transportation since I won’t be able to wheel myself around. Hell, I can’t handle it now, but it’d be doubly hard to do once they chop my hand off.”

“I didn’t know about your hand when I started working on the chair. But, yes, it’s twice as important now. This rehab center isn’t all you’re meant for. The chair will help you get mobile again so you can start living your life.”

He flexed his left hand in a half fist, as far as it would clench before causing him pain. “Living? What am I supposed to do? What kind of job can I possibly work with no legs and one hand?”

She’d worried about the same thing. “I don’t know.”

“I go nuts here,” he admitted. “The only time I’m truly happy is when I’m with the kids who live in the burn unit. I have to be strong for them, pretend I’m okay so they won’t be afraid.”

“Maybe that’s something you could do,” Cassie said, warming to the idea. After all, if Frankie could get back into some sort of service role, even if it wasn’t being a firefighter, maybe he could get his confidence back.

To her dismay, he shook his head.

“Not only is that not a paying job, some days I just can’t do it.”

Although they’d spent many hours together over the last year, this was the first time Frankie had spoken to her with such candid openness.

She patted his leg softly. “Why not?”

“I see those three kids sometimes in my mind.” A shudder went through his body. “Some days, I can’t imagine being near children, can’t imagine why anyone would
trust
me near them. I couldn’t save those kids, and it kills me a little bit more each time I think about it.”

“No one blames you for those kids’ deaths. It was the arsonist who killed them.”

“That’s easy to say, but I’m the one who didn’t find them in time to get them out of the house.”

“You tried. You tried at the expense of yourself. No one can ask more than that.” Although she knew contact should be kept strictly professional with Frankie, she reached up to stroke his cheek, cupping her hand against his face. “You paid a high price trying to save them. You aren’t a failure, Frankie. You’re a hero.”