“I know,” Gemma says, and glances at her feet. “We can talk about it more later if you want.”
Her reaction isn’t unusual. Most people avoid the subject of my wife. They don’t know whether it will upset me or not. I’m glad they don’t know how to react. It means they’ve not had loss.
“We can talk about it over ice cream,” I say to Gemma.
“Ice cream,” Kaitlyn belts out, and we both laugh.
“Nothing gets by her.” I shake my head. “Unless you have other plans,” I say, hoping she doesn’t.
“I do,” she says. A ridiculous sense of disappointment sits heavy in my gut and I work to ignore it. “But,” she says brightly, holding up an index finger. “Ice cream first.” A smile reaches her dark eyes when they meet mine. “It’s been too long, Callan,” she says in a soft voice. “Let’s get caught up.”
“I’d love that.”
“Yay,” Kaitlyn says, her hand sliding into mine. “Swing me, Daddy.”
I pick her up under the arms, and give her a swing, and she squeals in delight. I set her down and she grabs my hand and Gemma’s. “Now both swing me.”
“Kaitlyn—” I begin, wanting to set boundaries when it comes to other people.
“It’s okay,” Gemma says, and we both take one arm up high, so it doesn’t pop from the socket as we swing her.
“That was fun,” Kaitlyn says as we reach the car. She hops into the back to buckle herself in, and I glance around to see what Gemma is driving.
“I walk to school,” she says. “I bought a townhouse a few blocks away.”
“Oh, nice. I didn’t realize.” I pull her door open for her. “Ride me.” What the fuck. I give a quick shake of my head at my blunder. “I mean ride with me,” I say quickly.
“I know what you meant,” she says, mature enough not to needle me as she slides into the car and sets her papers on the back seat beside Kaitlyn. None of the guys at the station would have let that go, and when I say guys, I mean the female fighters. I love them all dearly, like family, but they love to ride my ass—as in harass me relentlessly, all in good fun of course. I get a whiff of her scent as she settles in my passenger seat, and I tug my hair, closing the door behind her.
Ride me?
Really, Callan?
Shit, it was a simple slip, but now that I’ve said it, I kind of can’t stop thinking about it. Me in bed, sweet Gemma on top of me. My dick twitches as I circle the car and I clench my teeth and work to purify my thoughts. Yeah, the guys are right. I do need to get laid. I never was the kind of guy to sleep around, but maybe it’s time for a one-night stand. Not with Gemma, of course. We’re just friends. Yeah, sure she was cute in high school, but four years of college later, combined with a couple years of teaching, well, let’s just say she turned into a beautiful woman. I can’t understand why she’s still single. Maybe her break-up with Brad was recent, and she’s not ready to get back into the game. I can understand that.
I back out of my spot and head toward Boston Common. Fifteen minutes later we’re walking through the park, eating our dripping ice-cream cones. Joggers run the path around the park, as families picnic, or play with their pets.
“I’m going to teach Gilbert how to fetch,” Kaitlyn states unambiguously, and Gemma stifles a chuckle when I glance at her.
“That’ll be a neat trick,” I say, and zero in on the big stain of ice cream on Gemma’s face. “You have a bit…” I reach for her face, and she jerks backward. Whoa. What the hell? “Sorry, you just have some ice cream on your face.”
“Right, okay,” she says, her eyes big as she swipes her mouth with a napkin.
Fuck, I’ve been the first on the scene in many situations, including domestic abuse. If I didn’t know better… Hell, I don’t know better. A burst of protectiveness goes through me. “Everything okay, Gemma?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, all bright-eyed. “You just startled me.” She turns her attention to Kaitlyn. “Will you be at the Boys and Girls club this summer?” she asks, and I don’t miss the fast switch in conversations.
“Will I be, Daddy?”
“You bet you will be. But next week you’re going to stay with Grammy and Grampy, remember?” I say, my stomach coiled tight. Is someone hurting Gemma? If so, I’d like to meet them, and introduce my fist to their face.
“Grammy has a bird,” she says.
“What kind of bird?” Gemma asks.
Kaitlyn holds her hands a couple inches apart. “It’s a perky.” She rolls her eyes. “I like him but he sings a lot.”
“Parakeet,” I correct. In the distance I spot fellow firefighter Colin and the guys playing frisbee. I waved as we pass, and inside Gemma’s purse her phone starts ringing—a ringtone I don’t recognize, which probably means its personalized and she knows who’s calling. She tenses and ignores the chime. It keeps on ringing, the caller as tenacious as a six-year-old.
“You going to get that?” I ask.
“No,” she says flatly.
I shove my hands into my pockets, and cast her a sidelong glance, aware of the tightness in her shoulders, her rapid intake of breath. “Want me to get it for you?”
“No, it’s…” Her head slowly lifts, her eyes filled with something that looks like despair when they latch on mine.
I come to an abrupt halt. “Jesus, Gemma, what is it?”
2
Gemma
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
I never meant to react when Callan reached for my face, or again just now when my phone started ringing. He’s a smart guy, one of the smartest I know, and he’s a firefighter to boot. Guys like him, first responders, they’re used to dealing with those in a crisis. Not that I’m in a crisis. Not anymore, anyway.
