Brotherhood of Fire (17 page)

He was gone before she could open her mouth to answer.

"Carrie, baby, can you talk yet, tell me what the hell happened? Here, I made you some tea." He handed her the cup, then settled her back on his lap before he took a deep breath and tried to understand what the hell had gone wrong.

Garrett's stomach had dropped out when he had come home to her ashen face and vacant stare. Curled on the couch, eyes rimmed with red, fresh tears poured as soon as she looked at him.

At first, he'd thought someone had hurt her, but she shook her head no when he grabbed her and started checking her for injuries. It took almost five minutes for him to understand she'd had a fight with John. That was enough of a shock, but the empty drawers in the dresser in their bedroom had confirmed her story that he'd left.

He felt numb, cold.
He had known something was wrong when John came into the station, face tight and pale. He'd shook his head quickly when Garrett asked what was wrong and locked himself in the office with the chief, mumbling something about needing to clear up some arrangements. Garrett assumed trouble with the medic certification and gave him his space.
Anger at his deception and that he packed up and left without a word or trying to settle this seethed in Garrett's gut.
Especially since he'd been wracking his brain for the last twenty-four hours to find a way to come to terms with the fact that his best friend and his wife had fallen in love with each other. And he was the one who had made it happen.
She drained half the tea in one long, gulping sip. Sniffed. A leftover sob shuddered through her, and she closed her eyes. His heart wanted to break watching her.
"Mrs. Havers was in her yard. John dug the flowerbed for me; I kissed him. She saw us." It took what seemed like all the breath in her lungs to get that out in a rush.
"Okay. I know he didn't leave because she saw you, what else?" His stomach tightened, gearing up for what was coming.
"I freaked. I mean, I didn't do anything, really. She started screaming something, and I just froze. But he reached out to touch me, like to protect me from her or something, and I shoved him away."
Her eyes were guarded. She stared into her cup, fighting back the hitching sobs that were only just starting to fade. It wasn't his first choice to push, but it had to be done.
"Tell me the rest. You already told me how you feel, now one of you needs to admit he feels the same way. Looks like he isn't going to man up and tell me, so maybe you better."
Her gasp was so loud he cringed. Her look told him everything he needed to know.
"Look." He rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm trying to deal with this. I've spent the last day trying to get my head around it, but it pisses me off you're still trying to hide this from me."
"I'm not hiding it! I told you the truth! It's his place to tell you how he feels, but he's not going to. He left because he doesn't want to come between us." Her eyes cleared some, and she leveled a direct stare at him. "Would he?"
The long pause he needed to even figure out how to answer that gave her what she was looking for. She sighed, her eyes turning dark and flat. "He's right, then. It still shouldn't have ended like this, the things that were said."
"I'm sorry. What did he say?"
Her face turned nearly white, and she fought more tears. Whatever John had said, the words had hurt, still did, and would for a long time.
"It doesn't matter. I hurt him. I pulled back like he didn't matter at all, and he knows how you feel, so that's that, isn't it?"
"If he can't forgive you being a little shocked, I mean, hell, he needs to get over himself, for Christ's sake! As for how I feel, he's a big boy. He's supposed to be my friend. He needs to stand toe to toe with me and fucking deal with it, not run away like a god damn chicken shit."
"Garrett! It's not his fault!"
The distraught look on her face cleared his head of any thoughts of heading straight for the firehouse and kicking some sense into him. She clearly took the guilt down on herself, and he was going to have to set her straight, be here for her first before he dealt with John.
"Carrie, look—I get you feel like you hurt him, but that doesn't mean it's okay for him to stomp off like a little kid and throw this back on you. He's an adult, and he should be able to talk things out, not cut out and go lick his wounds somewhere. He might have had the right idea about just pulling himself out of this to make it easier, but it doesn't make it right to leave it like this. He came in eyes open and willing; he needs to face us the same way."
"You're right. But you didn't see the look on his face. He was so hurt. I didn't know what to say, what to do. I should have been able to deal with it. I didn't deal with things very well either."
"No, Carrie, you dealt with it fine. I'm the one who hasn't done this the way I should have. I pushed you into this, and damn the consequences, I just kept moving along like I didn't know what was going on. Truth is, I did. I didn't want to know. Yeah, knowing how the two of you feel stings a little, but you know what, it's petty jealousy and that's it. If I had to think of someone I'd hand you over to if I knew I was dying, it'd be him. I'd want you with him. He didn't do this right either, he fucking walked. You deserve better than how both of us have handled it. I started this, and I'll be the one to figure this mess out."
His mouth set in a grim line, he pulled his wife into him and kissed away her tears. Tears for the man she had fallen in love with. He had wanted it that way. Hadn't he? Why else would he have kept this going if not to take it as far as they could? He'd known what would happen, but he'd been a childish ass and tried to pretend it would all just work itself out without any problems. Now he had a heartbroken wife, and a best friend who severely needed his ass kicked if he thought he was getting off that easy.

He expected Garrett to be pissed off; hell, he wondered why he hadn't stormed the place the night before looking to kick his ass. That might have been easier, saved him the last twelve hours of heartache.

And that's why he sat perched on the picnic table at 7:00 a.m., waiting for Garrett when he pulled into the parking lot. No sense getting his ass beat inside the fire station where everyone could watch. He didn't have the urge to even fight back. He matched Garrett physically, but mentally, right now, he felt like he deserved to get his ass kicked.

He'd been awake all night, his gut tied in knots so tight he felt sick. Couldn't decide whether he was the biggest pussy on the planet or the biggest asshole, likely both. Walking without a word would have been as despicable a move as the one he'd pulled—yelling at her like it was her fault he couldn't keep his head where it should be instead of in his ass. Head up his ass, acting like a spoiled kid because he couldn't have his best friend's wife.

That thought sent him further into the pit. Garrett. Fucking Garrett, his best friend, the guy who had given him his wife, given him friendship, and he'd basically given them both the big kiss my ass. The disrespect he'd thrown at Carrie, the anger and hurt, he'd had no right, none at all. Just like he'd had no right to keep his feelings about her a secret.

When Garrett strode up to the table, John stood, prepared for some words, a fist, something. Not the cold stare he got.
"You hurt her, asshole."
"I know. Wasn't what I meant to do."
Toe to toe with him, Garrett didn't waiver, but he didn't make a move either. "She didn't mean to push you off. Man up and deal with what's going on."
John threw his hands up, anger and frustration at his own actions welling back up, now made worse because he had to answer to Garrett for them.
"I'm not proud of how I acted. The look on her face was like punching me in the gut, and I god damn pussied out, okay?"
"It doesn't matter, because you're supposed to know better! I trusted you with her, trusted you not to hurt her. You should have taken charge of the shit, told the bitch next door to go mind her own damn business and taken Carrie back inside with you. Problem solved. Instead, you ran like a whipped dog with your tail between your legs. Somebody made it a little hard and you bolted. What the fuck?" Garrett blew out a long breath and paced.
John waited, still standing, half poised to defend himself, half-confused why Garrett wasn't kicking his ass. "I over-reacted about that, I fucking know, but that doesn't change anything. It just shows exactly why this can't work."
"Oh, I'm not worried about what the neighbors think. I'm worried what Carrie thinks."
"Exactly, which is why this is for the best. I'm not running, Garrett; I'm trying to protect her from this getting worse."
"Yeah, because you god damn loved her before you ever touched her." His gut hit the pavement. "You know? Did she tell you?"
"Fuck no, she didn't tell me; she's protecting your ass. Still. And I ought to kick your ass in line for letting her do it. You should have fucking told me! What'd you think I was going to do, throw your ass out for love her when I'm the one who dragged you into this in the first place?"
John shook his head, hands balled at his sides. The apprehension of Garrett knowing the truth washed over him like a wave of nausea.
"How the fuck should I know what you'd do? She's your damn wife! And no, I shouldn't have said the shit I said. She didn't deserve me to slam her like that, but you own this bullshit as much as I do. If you knew how I felt, what the fuck did you expect me to do when you shoved her on me? You think I was going to turn away when you acted like you were going to give her to someone else? You really think I would just blurt out I wanted her
before
all that? That's just as much your fault as mine."
Garrett's stance shifted, and suddenly they were nose to nose again. "I didn't know how you felt until a couple of days ago, or I probably would have never let you near her. And what the fuck did you say to her? That's all I want to know."
The bottom dropped out of his gut, again. Fuck. She really hadn't told him. Good fucking Christ, he'd laid into her like that, and she hadn't spilled to Garrett.
Well, hell, Garrett said man up, why the fuck not now. He deserved to have his ass beat twice as much now that he knew she had hidden what he'd done to her. Protected him even after how he'd been acting.
"I tried to make her call you, admit what was going on with us, and have it out right then and there."
Garrett's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move.
"I told her she wasn't ready, that a lot worse shit would come along than this."
"That's not a big fucking mystery, John. When do you get to the part about you doing something I know is making you feel like a total asshole right now, because like always, I can see it in your fucking eyes."
"For one, I was going to spend the day with her and walk without telling her. Lucky your bitch of a neighbor wised me up. Yeah, real great. Instead, I told her . . . shit. I said something about it being okay for us to fuck her brains out, to be buried up to my balls in her mouth, but not for the neighbor to see her kiss me, for anyone to ever think what we had going on—"
Garrett's fist landed on his jaw before the last syllable made it over his lips. He took the punch with a stagger to the side, didn't even raise his hands to block, and didn't dodge the left to his gut that followed.
Only when Marcus and Dawson pulled Garrett back, yelling and asking what the fuck was wrong with them, did he sit on the picnic table, wiping the blood off his mouth. He leaned his elbows on his knees, hung his head to fight the wave of dizziness.
"Why the fuck didn't you fight back!" Garrett screamed at him, panting. Dawson still held him in a bear hug in case he lunged again.
"Because I deserved that. I didn't mean to hurt her."
"Jesus, you're slow to figure that one out."
John hung his head, silently agreeing with him. "Yeah, so sue me."
"What the hell's going on with you two?" Marcus barked.
"Nothing!" Garrett hissed.
John pulled his arm out of Marcus grip and pulled himself up to full height. One trip down dumb ass avenue was enough. Time to own this. He would eat the words he'd thrown at Carrie, his own purgatory for hurting her worse than she already was.
"You know what's going on, don't you?" He eyed Marcus. They spent half of their lives together at this station. If John knew damn well Marcus and Dawson were doing more than fixing Dawson's old car in that garage—that they were sharing their bed with Mari, Dawson's wife—then there was no way Marcus didn't know what Garrett, John and Carrie had been doing.
"I know only what you want me to know. That's how this works, man."
Garrett groaned a low "
fuck me
" in the background and paced.
John stared straight at Garrett as he confessed his sins to Marcus. "I told her how I felt even when I knew Garrett had trouble with it. Bad enough I put her in that position, but when it started to melt down, I decided to leave. I thought it would make it easier on all of us. Then the neighbor saw us together. Carrie didn't react too well."
"She freak?" Marcus asked.
"Sort of."
"Comes with the territory, you dumb asses. They're women; they are used to people expecting them to think and act a certain way about things. No matter how they feel about us, all of us together, there's going to be a knee-jerk thing they do when people figure it out because they're scared. Want to know what they're scared of, you dumb mother fuckers?"
Marcus was pissed now, pacing between Garrett and John, pointing his finger back and forth at each of them.
"They're scared that someone is going to make this go away, take away the men they love, because society doesn't think it's the way things are supposed to be. You"— Marcus pointed at Garrett—"you should know this; you're her husband. You're the top dog here, idiot; you're supposed to set the tone, keep things in line. Make damn sure your woman is safe, and that John's place is secure with you. Make him understand no one is kicking his ass away, and let him know he has the right to be in charge with her too. Get that?"
Garrett glared at him.
"What? You didn't tell him to come on over and jump in your bed? He just did it, and you went along for the ride?"
"Fuck you, Marcus. You don't know what the hell is going on, and I'm not standing here spilling my personal life out like the six o'clock news!"
"Whatever, asshole, not like everyone in this god damn place doesn't know what everyone else does already. So what'd you think, he'd just come and have some wild sex, and it would all be cool? Fuck man, you fell in love with her, why wouldn't he?"
"I knew he did, and I wasn't going to shove him off for it. He could have fucking told me like a man," Garrett snarled.
"He thought he was being disloyal, brother. You know that," Marcus said softly to Garrett, who relaxed his stance and nodded back, his anger lessening.
"And you"—Marcus turned on John—"you're supposed to take care of shit too. O'Neal might be the name on the address, but you aren't his bitch, you're his brother. You did exactly what she was afraid of, you walked. You keep treating yourself like some second-class piece of shit, no wonder you guys can't figure this shit out. Grow a pair already."
John shook his head and rubbed his aching jaw. "Yeah. I know. I think I learned my lesson."
"'Bout fucking time." Marcus growled. "I've been watching you two. You have a good thing going, a great woman, don't fuck it up. You"—he pointed at Garrett—"get the hell inside while I talk to John."
Garrett turned toward the door, and Dawson followed him in, John could hear the murmurs of their voices all the way across the parking lot, could see Garrett gesturing with his hands, shaking his head.
"He'll apologize. He's just defending Carrie," Marcus said, dropping onto the table next to him.
"He should. I was a total asshole to her. Took it out on her. He doesn't owe me an apology; I owe him one."
"Don't walk. Give it a shot. It's all on the table now, right? Half the reason he punched your stupid ass is because he's scared to death you'll walk out and never look back."
John's head shot up at that, and he caught Marcus's grin.
"Don't play like you're shocked. I'm tight with Dawson that way too. How the hell can you stand around with your dick in your hand, hell, your dick in the same woman, and not have it be the tightest damn relationship you could possibly have with a man?"
John shook his head, couldn't stop the grin.
"Can't believe we're talking about this shit. Can't believe you guys . . . us . . . damn."
"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised how many people go there. I lied a little; nobody in there really knows. I just caught on because I'm in the same situation. Was kind of glad to know we aren't the only ones; it can be a real weird place to be sometimes."
"No shit. I'm figuring that out."
Marcus let out a loud laugh, and John finally relaxed enough to chuckle a little.
"So now what are you going to do? He doesn't want to you to bail out, or he'd have really kicked the crap out of you."
"Funny." John sighed. "I guess if he's trying to make this work I should too. She's worth dealing with his pain in the ass."
"You going in there and telling him?"
"Not yet. I think I better wait awhile, let the urge to pound my face wear off."
"All right. Don't wait too long, though; somebody probably needs to let your girl off the hook too."
"I'll call her."
"Good idea, you sh—"
The loud squeal of the firehouse speaker system kicked into gear. Beeping tones followed by several other chimes signaled a fire, a big one, and before they could finish anything, they were running for their gear, for the trucks.