Light My Fire (Running In Circles Book 2), page 12
“Second degree burns, I think,” Knox said, and Fitz felt a small wave of relief. They wouldn’t suffer the way he did. He glanced at them, both lying on beds with masks on their faces, and he pushed back old memories of what his skin felt like for so damn long after the fire. The endless, searing pain with no relief. “What about your guy?”
At his tone, Fitz gave him a glare, but he didn’t call him on it. “I gave him some oxygen and he’s okay. Just a little tired.”
“Coughing is going to be murder on those busted ribs,” Knox said.
Fitz was more than aware. “I’m going to drive his car back to his rental. Take the truck and file the report. I’ll check it over when I get back.”
“Should I take you off shift so you can…take your time?” Knox asked.
Fitz’s jaw tensed. “Don’t.”
Lifting his hands in surrender, Knox took a step back. “Alright, Chief. Relax. I’ll get it handled.”
Fitz knew this was against protocol. Fitz knew this was against all of his training. Leaving Knox and Diego to finish up this mess so he could personally escort one out-of-towner for a little smoke inhalation? But there was no changing his mind. He knew himself well enough for that.
Moving to the other side of the truck, Fitz peeled away his jacket and set his gloves on top before he walked back to Antoine who’d laid his head back against the cool metal. His breathing was slow, but a little hitched on the inhale, and Fitz tried not to worry.
He remembered that pain all too well, the ache in his lungs, the coughing, the fatigue. And he knew this was nothing like that. This was a small blip, and he’d be fine in a day or two.
“Alright,” he said, and Antoine startled upright, wavering again until Fitz offered a steady hand. “Keys.”
Antoine glowered, but he dug them out of his pocket and pressed them against Fitz’s palm. “It’s a rental, so don’t crash it.”
“I’m not the one with the record, Hollywood,” he told him. He couldn’t stop himself from laying a hand on Antoine’s waist, and it was a mark of how beat down he was that he didn’t fight Fitz’s grip. The car wasn’t too far off, luckily, and Fitz got Antoine settled before he climbed behind the wheel and adjusted the seat back. “You’re short.”
“My brother’s shorter,” Antoine retorted like that meant something. His head was pressed against the window, and his eyes were closed. “They always knew from the height, and his eyes.”
Fitz’s brows dipped into a frown, but he didn’t ask Antoine to clarify what the hell he was talking about. It didn’t seem fair to prod him for information when he was this weak and vulnerable. He made the short drive in awkward silence, then parked under the carport, coming around to help Antoine to his feet.
“What’s the code?” he asked when they got to the front door.
“S’broken.” Antoine pulled away from Fitz to get his key out, and when his fingers shook as he tried for the lock, Fitz closed a hand around his and held his hand steady. “I can do it,” Antoine grumbled, but that was an obvious lie.
Fitz let go when the deadbolt gave way, and he took a step back, but Antoine walked in and left the door open behind him. It was a moment, a threshold, a choice. His feet felt rooted to the spot, but he knew he had to do something before Antoine looked back, because the second their eyes met, where he was standing would matter.
His right foot shuffled forward, then his left. His fingers brushed the door as he stepped past it, but he could only feel the pressure against his dead nerves and scars. He groped for the handle and closed it—not enough to shut all the way, but enough to make a statement.
Antoine finally looked back, and Fitz saw it—the longing, the want, and maybe even a little fear in his eyes. His lips were pursed, like he was trying to hold back his words, and Fitz made another choice right then. His hand reached back, and he closed the small gap between outside and in.
Antoine let out a small puff of air, then he wavered again, and Fitz was across the room, holding him tight.
“You need your bed,” he murmured.
Antoine gestured vaguely to the bedroom door, so Fitz walked him over and stepped into what might have been the most tidy, well-put together rental he’d ever seen. He was utilizing the dresser and closet, his luggage tucked away neatly against the far wall. The bed was made, everything was just so.
It was very much like him, and Fitz felt a need to reach out and disorder something. “Get out of these clothes and into something that doesn’t smell like smoke,” he ordered. “I’m going to find you a washcloth.”
Antoine muttered something Fitz didn’t catch, but he didn’t care. He found a stack of freshly bleached cloths in a cubby near the sink, so he ran the water until it was warm, and scrubbed a little of the squared hotel soap over the rough fabric before wringing it out.
Antoine was in his bed when Fitz returned, wearing a t-shirt and sweats. Fitz could still smell smoke all over him, but he seemed more relaxed as he lounged half upright against a sea of pillows.
“I feel funny,” Antoine murmured. “Like I’m drunk.”
Fitz laughed quietly. “That’s called adrenaline drop. Any worse and I’d say you were going into shock.”
“Is this the normal treatment for fire victims in Savannah?” he asked without opening his eyes.
Fitz snorted as he sat on the edge of the bed and gently ran the cloth over Antoine’s cheeks. He’d need a long, thorough shower, but he had a feeling it was helping. “No. This is rock star treatment. Only the best for our Hollywood guests.”
Antoine peered one eye open at him. “Hollywood is garbage. Have you ever been there? It’s the worst place in the world.”
“I stand by my statement,” Fitz told him. And there it was, that pigtail pulling antagonism, because what he really wanted to do was pull down Antoine’s sweats and suck him until he begged to come.
Antoine didn’t rise to the bait this time, though. He just offered one arm, and then the other as Fitz cleared up the soot and smoke residue. The washcloth was probably ruined, but he’d offer to pay for it if the hosts gave that much of a shit.
When he tossed it to the side and moved to stand, Antoine’s hand darted out and seized his wrist.
“Are you in pain?” Fitz asked, sinking back down.
Antoine swallowed. “Yes. No. I mean, it’s not unbearable.”
Fitz dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. “Do you need me to help? I can get you a pain pill.”
“No.” Antoine breathed out, and Fitz caught movement behind the grey fabric of his sweats and the realization he was getting hard hit him like a freight train. “Why do you hate me so much?”
Fitz’s heart hammered in his chest. “I don’t know. Why do you think you’re better than everyone here?”
“I,” Antoine said. He laughed which triggered a coughing fit, and his eyes filled with tears as he laid a careful hand over his ribs. “Fuck, that hurts.”
Fitz went to soothe him with a slow stroke over his skin, but Antoine shoved his hand lower without preamble. “Antoine…” His voice trailed off as his fingers grazed the spot where the other man was starting to tent against the light fabric.
“I hate the way you say my name,” Antoine said, but there was rich heat in his voice as he held Fitz’s palm to where he was throbbing and hot. “It’s… so…fucking American. So small town.”
“Antoine,” Fitz said again, and then he dragged the heel of his palm over Antoine’s clothed dick.
Antoine arched as far as his body would allow, and Fitz gave up all pretense of not wanting this. He dug his fingers into the waistband of the sweats and tugged until Antoine’s cock was exposed. It was long, and it was thick and uncut, precome beading at the tip. His mouth watered, but he knew he wasn’t going to give in to what he wanted. Not yet. He had some willpower left, even if it was just a thread.
He lifted his left hand, then changed his mind and made a loose fist with his right. He couldn’t feel Antoine’s cock—not really. A faint heat, a little pressure, but the fire had taken most of that away from him. “You want it, Hollywood, you need to do the work. This is my burned hand, and I don’t have nerves there anymore.”
“Why that one?” Antoine asked, even as he began to thrust his hips.
Fitz closed his eyes, his desire too fierce to watch all of it. “Because I can’t feel you. Because I don’t want to remember how you feel.”
“Fuck you,” Antoine breathed out, and thrust harder.
“I already can’t forget your fucking mouth, your tongue, the way your fingernails felt ripping at my skin.” He had some range of motion, and he helped the slide, but it wasn’t necessary. Antoine was fucking his fist without abandon. “I don’t think I’d survive remembering this.”
“Fuck, fuck, you’re such a…why do you have to…oh God,” Antoine gasped. His entire body shuddered, and Fitz opened his eyes just in time to see him spill ropes over Fitz’s skin.
He couldn’t feel that either, but he didn’t need to. He could see it. He could smell it. If he just lifted his hand to his lips, he’d be able to taste it. He hesitated, then wiped it on the duvet instead. “You need sleep.”
“Just like that?” Antoine asked.
Fitz flinched at those words, then rose, but he turned and looked down at him. What he wanted was to crawl into bed with him, push his hair back from his face, and kiss him. “Do you want it to be more?”
He saw the war in Antoine’s eyes, saw what it cost him not to answer.
“Take care, Antoine,” Fitz said.
He was almost to the door when he heard a voice from beyond the doorway. “I was lying. I like the way you say my name.”
Fitz closed his eyes, bit his tongue, and refused to give in.
CHAPTER 12
Antoine was grateful for the fire for one single reason—he had an excuse if he wanted to hole up in his room for two days and postpone any meetings so he could recover. In reality, his body felt fine. He woke up with twinging lungs and his ribs aching fiercely, but he was no worse for the wear. He ordered room service for breakfast instead of picking over the buffet, though, and laid in bed after his coffee, staring at the slow turn of the ceiling fan and trying not to think about how Fitz’s hand felt on his dick.
Not that it was possible. His hand was stiff and the skin hard and thick, and his fingers had no give. And it was colder than he liked, and yet somehow the best hand job he’d ever experienced. Fitz had done almost the entire thing with his eyes shut, only looking down as Antoine spilled all over his knuckles.
Not having eye contact helped, but he could hear the echo of Fitz’s words in his head, and they gutted him. “I don’t want to remember how it feels.”
Antoine was no stranger to rejection. He was turned away more often than he scored when he was looking to hook up, but somehow, this hurt so much worse. When Fitz left, he turned over on his side and stared at the wall until sleep claimed him, but he didn’t feel better in the morning.
The coffee churned in his stomach, so he stood up and walked out onto the back patio. The sun was out, but the air was thick with the humidity of an impending storm, and Antoine welcomed any excuse to stay behind the walls of his room and not risk seeing the other man.
It wasn’t like Antoine hadn’t done this before. He’d fallen for people who didn’t want to want him, but did anyway, and then resented him for it. He’d been in several relationships, some spanning years, some just weeks. He’d even said “I love you” more times than he wanted to count. But comparing that to the way Fitz made him feel—so furious and so wanting—none of his past felt real.
He wished his brother was coming to see him that week. Hell, he could probably text him and ask if he could fly out sooner, but he knew Marcel didn’t want to be an emotional cushion. He had his own life—a good one—and it was unfair of Antoine’s problems to interfere.
If he was going to isolate himself, Antoine figured he could get some work done, so he grabbed his laptop and worked outside until the skies in the distance started to threaten to open up.
Remi had already approved all of Antoine’s suggestions so far, and he was scheduled to speak at the city council meeting the following Thursday. After that, he’d await the decision, ask if they wanted any contractor help since it came with his services, and then…well. Then he’d be booking his flight home.
He’d be saying goodbye to this place for good, because as much as he was enamored with the old city streets, there was no reason for him to stay.
He was pulled from his thoughts when his phone began to buzz, and he was startled to find Nellie’s name on the screen. She was Fitz’s sister, but she didn’t seem the kind of person to meddle in his affairs, so he answered.
“Nellie, how are you?”
“Not bad. Heard about your harrowing escape from the kitchen fire,” she said with a laugh in her voice.
Antoine groaned and leaned back in the lounge chair. “Don’t tell me it made the front page of the paper.”
“It did, actually, but you were listed as victim number three. I only know it was you because Fitz made a big fucking deal this morning on the phone about keeping your name off the record.”
Antoine’s eyes widened. “He’s that ashamed of me?”
Nellie laughed. “Sweetheart, I don’t think shame is what was motivating him. Anyway, I just wanted to check in with you. I’ve seen first-hand what fire can do to a person so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Of course she knew what it was like. He winced, thinking about what she must have gone through when Fitz was burned. Fitz had clearly overcome his past, but Antoine hadn’t thought about the other people who had been around him.
He did a quick assessment and while there was still a little thickness in his lungs, he didn’t feel as bad as he anticipated. He told himself it had absolutely nothing to do with what had happened with Fitz. Reluctant hand jobs couldn’t cure anything. “I’m not bad,” he said after a long beat.
“Are you?” she pressed.
Antoine let out a tiny sigh and adjusted his position to take some of the pressure off his ribs. “Well, everything hurts. Feels like I got hit by a car, almost choked to death on a cupcake, and then trapped in a kitchen that was on fire.” He stopped when she laughed. “But really, I’ve had worse.”
“That’s hard to imagine, babe.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Trust me, my brother and I were reckless as kids.”
“You?” she asked him. Before he could offer evidence, she cleared her throat. “Do you want to go on a drive with me? I need to check out some properties over by the lake and I thought maybe you’d want to get out for a bit.”
He was startled by the offer, but everything about her tone said she was being honest. “Sure. I’m not up for a big hike or anything, but if you really want company…”
“I do. And I could use a friendly ear. I’m…I got a call today. I’ll explain it when I get there.”
Antoine wanted to remind her that they were practically strangers, but that didn’t seem very kind. And honestly, he liked her, even if he didn’t really know her. “Give me time to shower, yeah?”
“Go ahead. I’m dropping Owen off at his work, then I can swing by and pick you up. Talk soon, babe.”
When the call ended, Antoine took his time scrubbing himself as much as he could, though as he dried off, he could still smell the fire from the night before in his hair. He instantly thought of Fitz, and how long the scent of his trauma must have clung to him along with the pain. It was a wonder he did what he did, but it also made sense.
Marcel was the sort of man who didn’t want to move mountains and set records, but he was also a stubborn man. Any time life kicked him in the ass, he kicked back twice as hard. It was why he was living across the country, not speaking to his parents, and engaged to a man none of his family had ever met.
And much like his brother, Fitz made sense to Antoine in ways most people didn’t. The thought should have been comforting, but instead it just added another layer of confusion on top of whatever the hell he was feeling about the Fire Chief.
Dressed in clean clothes and mostly free of any lasting smoke, Antoine grabbed his keys and phone before heading out to the front porch and taking a seat on the little rocking chair. The streets were mostly empty with the impending storm, but after a beat, he heard a soft bark, and then a figure appeared from around the corner.
It was Oscar. He looked sweet but a little tired in his rumpled pajama pants, his fingers curled around the leash attached to his dog which immediately bounded up the porch steps to sniff Antoine’s shoes.
“I was hoping I’d run into you today,” Oscar confessed. Antoine’s brows lifted and he gave Oscar’s ensemble a look, making him blush. “Talia texted me about the fire last night and I was worried about you. I saw your name listed in the paper this morning but there weren’t any details about your injuries.”
Antoine, yet again, felt something in his gut he couldn’t quite name. Oscar’s eyes were large, and kind, and honest. “I’m fine. Just a little smoke inhalation. A couple of the cooks were taken to the hospital though.”
Oscar winced. “Yeah, I heard. Do you need anything? I mean, after the car incident and…”
Antoine waved his hand to stop him. He really didn’t need to relive his abject public humiliation over and over, even if it was out of concern for his well-being. “I’m good, I promise. Nellie’s on her way to pick me up. She wanted some advice on something.”
Oscar’s smile was surprised, but he looked genuinely happy. “Oh. That’s great. Is she looking at property?”
“She didn’t give me any details, but maybe she—” He stopped abruptly, reminding himself he was doing this as a friend, not as part of his job. “I don’t know,” he amended. “I think she just wants someone to talk to.”
Just then, he saw her car roll up toward the driveway and he offered Oscar an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I gotta run.”
