Burning Love (7 page)

“Not at all. We’re both tired. I won’t say no to a nice, long, goodnight kiss, but that’s where it ends.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, I kinda like that.”

She laughed and climbed off the couch. “I just bet you do. But don’t get used to it.” Padding into the bedroom, she quickly changed into sleep shorts and a tank top with a sports bra underneath and took care of her nightly grooming ritual. True to his word, Jude did tuck her in, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“Sleep well, beauty.” Leaning down, he brushed his lips over hers.

“I thought you said you were going to give me a goodnight kiss.” Grabbing the front of his shirt, she pulled until Jude half-sat, half-lay on top of her. “Much better. Now do it like you mean it.”

“Gladly.” Sliding both hands into her hair, Jude tried again, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Michaela moaned. She had no idea what about Jude drove her so crazy, but she’d never enjoyed kissing as much as she did with him.

His grip on her hair tightened as he went even harder, tilting her head to dive in deeper. He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth and soothed it with his hot, wet tongue.

She pulled away. “Jude.”

“Yeah?” He moved to her neck and licked her rioting pulse point.

“God, you just….”

Raising his head, he looked at her. “Just what?”

“Drive me crazy.”

He gave her a lazy grin. “Isn’t that the point?” Sitting up, he took a deep breath, his arousal evident as he pushed a hand against his crotch. “You need to get some sleep. Call or text me whenever you get a chance, okay?”

“You too. Definitely let me know how the test goes.”

“I will.”

“Night.”

Once she heard the front door close behind him, Michaela turned onto her side, snuggling into her pillow. Bed had never felt so good.

Jude worked his ass off over the next several days to prepare for the firefighter test. Stacey was pleased with his progress and, for the first time in a long time, Jude saw a ray of light at the end of what had seemed like an interminable tunnel.

He and Michaela were still missing each other more often than not, though they’d managed to sneak out for ice cream and a disastrous game of Frisbee in the park wherein she’d almost collided with a grill and later a dog, and Jude wondered a couple of times whether this whole thing was taking too much effort. Sure, Michaela was a great girl and the first who had fired up his libido in quite some time, but were building relationships supposed to be this much work? Were they trying to do something that wasn’t meant to be? His gut told him no and he hoped his intuition was right.

The day before his test, he got an e-mail saying the calendar had been released and Leo planned to do a ton of publicity for it. Jude had seen the shot they’d chosen—one of him in his pants, suspenders, and hat perched on a block—and had to admit he looked pretty good. Of course, he had no idea about the other guys. Maybe he was the biggest dog in the bunch and no one would pay him any attention. But Jude was proud of his involvement and glad his friend had browbeaten him into it. It felt good to do something worthwhile, and it certainly gave his battered ego a little boost, too.

Not able to sleep that night, Jude spent time going through every aspect of the Firefighter Combat Code—the fancy name for the tests he’d have to undergo to get back on truck duty. Not only did he need to finish each task within a prescribed time limit, he also had to do each thing right. No skipping steps, no cutting corners. His knee hadn’t buckled in nearly a week and Jude hoped like hell it would hold up. It had to. If he had to go into a burning structure on the job, he couldn’t have his knee collapsing. He’d stepped up his upper-body workouts in preparation for the test and at least that part of him felt ready to go.

In the back of his mind, he knew he probably shouldn’t be trying to take the test so soon, but he was antsy to get back on the truck. Plus, he was running out of money. He worried he might have to hire one of those attorneys who specialized in disability cases, and how much of a cut would the guy be expecting, provided he actually made the bastards pay up?

He rolled out of bed about two hours before, figuring it would give him time to warm up and stretch out, have a cup of coffee and a healthy breakfast, and still make it down to the training center in plenty of time.

Jude climbed into his truck, the whole-grain toast and fruit he’d eaten earlier doing a salsa dance in his stomach. The training ground was a familiar place to him and he found it easily, sliding his truck into a parking space in front of the cavernous structure. He took a deep breath. It was now or never.

The test actually consisted of several smaller ones to assess his physical strength, agility, and stamina.

The chief approached and shook his hand. “Do the best you can.”

“Yes, sir. Always.”

“Good man.”

Several people were on hand to administer and monitor various parts of the test. Some were from his own company, like the chief, while others belonged to neighboring districts. Jude nodded at two men. One was holding a stopwatch and the other a clipboard.

The chief went and stood next to them, and Jude felt a bead of sweat work its way down his spine. His upper lip was moist and his heart was pounding out of his chest already. He needed to get a grip, and he needed to get it right the fuck now.

The dummy drag was first and thank God for that, since it was hell on his knees and quads. It involved him walking backward, pulling a two hundred pound dummy along with him. He got through that without any major catastrophes and then went through a series of equipment tests, which he passed with flying colors. Jude knew this equipment inside and out. That had never been a problem.

Next up was the hose-pack carry. He strained some and feared his knee would come out from under him a couple of times as he lumbered up the stairs of their training structure, but the joint held and he made it to the top. Immediately he looked over at the captain with the stopwatch.

“Did I make it?” Shit, he was definitely sucking wind more than he should be.

The man nodded. “Just barely, but yeah.”

The chief, who was stationed at the top of the structure, put a meaty hand on Jude’s shoulder. “Only a few more to go. You’re doing well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They made their way out of the concrete building and over to the aerial truck. Jude looked up. Fully extended, the ladder reached a hundred and twenty feet high. He wasn’t crazy about heights and only did time in the aerial lift when necessary, but had to do the test to pass.

The captain handed him an ax. “You know the drill. Make it up to the top in five minutes or less, fully geared. Ax in your dominant hand. If you can’t make it to the top, run into a problem, or have to be helped back down, you don’t pass.”

Jude wiped the sweat off his brow as the other man regarded him with what looked suspiciously like pity, which pissed him off. He’d done everything so far, hadn’t he? So why the look?

Facing down the truck, Jude gave himself a quick pep talk.

You’ve made it this far. You can do this. You’ve got this
.

With a nod, he put his left hand and right foot on the ladder and began to climb. He had no way of knowing exactly how much time had elapsed, but tried to take things easy at first. They would give him a warning with one minute remaining, and he could always step it up then.

It quickly became apparent that the ax in his right hand was a problem. He’d shattered his left kneecap, and without his right hand to help, he basically had to drag the left leg up each rung. He hoped like hell no one noticed. Only a couple of times had he even been up this high, mostly in training. Usually the guys who didn’t mind heights took point on it, so he figured if he could get through this, he’d be golden.

“One minute,” the captain called up.

Seriously? Does he mean one minute gone or one minute left? Must be one minute left. How did four minutes go by without me noticing? Get your thumb outta your ass and
move.

He glanced up. About a third of the ladder remained, and Jude would have to haul ass to make it. Looking up again, he tried to calculate how many rungs he needed to climb so he could count off.

Then his left foot slipped as his knee buckled and he fell through the rungs of the ladder, his lower half dangling between two of them. Only his upper-body strength kept him on the ladder at all, but in his wild swing to safety, he’d been forced to drop the ax. Once back on the ladder, Jude laid his forehead on his hands. It was over. No way would they pass him with a blunder like that.

“Fuck!”

The chief called up to him. “You okay? You need help?”

“No.” Jude’s voice cracked and he cursed his damn knee. Would he ever be able to return to the job he loved? His eyes filled and he wiped at them as best he could with his gear on. It was not the time to become a blubbering mess. There would be plenty of occasions for that when he got home and could drink himself into a good stupor.

“Come on down, son.”

At least the trip back down was a little easier with the lack of the ax, but Jude kept waiting for his knee to betray him—again. It held and he reached the ground.

“I failed.” He heard his own emotionless voice. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d separated himself from the pain of losing everything he’d worked for, everything he’d ever wanted, refusing to look it dead on. Not now. Not here.

“Yes.” The chief shifted his weight from foot to foot. “No point in putting you through the rest of it. Keep rehabbing that knee and we’ll see where we are a couple of months from now.”

More endless days of physical therapy stared Jude in the face. It didn’t matter, though. He knew his days as a firefighter were over. Stacey had warned him he might always have a trick knee, but he’d hoped with a lot of hard work and a little prayer she’d be wrong. Looked like she wasn’t.

He stripped off his gear, handing it off to one of the captains to bring back to the firehouse. Once back in his truck, he unlocked his phone and sent a text message to Michaela.

Failed
.

After turning the thing off completely, he tossed it on the passenger seat. He wasn’t in the mood to hear his buddies from the station tell him he’d do it next time or whatever other bullshit they decided to throw his way. Jude didn’t want to talk to anyone. Watching bad movies, eating junk food, and drinking until he forgot his own name sounded way better.

Stopping off at a convenience store, he picked up a case of beer and some munchies and then continued home. When he got there, he stripped down to boxers and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He knew he should ice his knee, but fuck it. What did it matter?

Jude twisted the top off his first beer, throwing it in the general direction of the kitchen. After taking a long pull, he picked up the remote. Might as well get used to living like this since he had no freaking clue what he was gonna do now.

The next thing he knew, pounding jerked him awake. Someone at his front door. Jude nearly toppled the bottle of beer next to him as he attempted to achieve a sitting position. What the hell?

“Jude, open up. I can smell the alcohol from here. Open the door.”

Michaela
.

He sighed. Looking around, he took note of the empty bottles and various containers of snacks, but did nothing to clean them up. Rising unsteadily, he trudged over to the door and opened it.

“Jude. Good God, are you all right?” Michaela was still in her chef’s coat and checked pants.

“’Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because you failed your test and now you won’t answer your phone? Geez, Jude, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry. As you can see, I’m fine. Broke and with no job prospects, but otherwise couldn’t be better.”

Michaela frowned, but said nothing, instead moving further into the apartment and grabbing several empty bottles. She took them into the kitchen and he heard an odd scraping noise.

“Really, Jude? Leaving the caps on the floor where someone could split their foot open on them?”

“You’re wearing shoes.”

“Yes, but you’re not. And you’re drunk.” Heading back into the room, she began to throw the empty containers directly into a trash can she carried. That done, she turned and looked at him, assessing him from head to toe as Jude fought not to fidget under her gaze. She rubbed her forehead. “I know how disappointed you are—”

“How can you possibly understand this? I’ve got nowhere to go. Nothing else I can do.”

“Not true and you know it. I’ll let you have your pity party today, but I’m not going to allow you to sink into some pool of despair. We’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah, right.” He poured himself back onto the couch and Michaela frowned again.

“Have you had anything real to eat lately? Did you ice your knee?”

“Are pretzels real?” The scathing look she sent back gave him his answer. “Then no. And no. What’s the point?”

“I never figured you for a quitter.”

Jude stood unsteadily, cursing. “You have a plan! You have your restaurant. I have nothing.”

Michaela didn’t back down. “Like I said, you and I both know that’s not true.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “You got any actual food around here? I can make you dinner.”

For the first time, it really registered that she was standing there still dressed in her chef’s clothes. He closed his eyes in shame and dismay. “Did you come here right from the café? You’re not open for dinner on Thursdays, are you?”

“No, but we’ve got a private party coming in.”

His eyes popped back open. “What the hell are you standing around here for, then? I appreciate the sentiment, but I’d like to wallow for a day or two in peace. I’ll call you.”

She poked his chest just hard enough to make her point, and her not taking his shit oddly aroused him. What did that mean? “No drinking yourself stupid, do you hear me? Go ahead and feel sorry for yourself; I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be. But I’m coming back to check on you in a couple of days, and if you’re still like this, you’ll have a fight on your hands.” Her expression softened. “You know I care about you. Probably more than I should. I hate seeing you like this. I want my strong, confident Jude back.”