Morgan compromised and stayed where he was. “Fuck,” he muttered as he watched the fire rage. Windows had shattered from the heat, and black char marks trailed up and down the building. Shay’s car was still parked outside, covered with soot and still-red embers. The windshield was cracked too, by a chunk of something that looked like it had fallen from the roof. So it looked like Morgan’s outbreak of conscience hadn’t cost him quite as much as he’d thought.
Even in the privacy of his head, that left a sour taste that made him grimace.
The cars inside would be worse off, and Morgan sighed in relief as the guilt let go. Shay loved those cars. He might have done this to himself—Morgan didn’t know—but not to them.
“Hey!” someone yelled. “You. Sammy. Morgan. Whatever your name is.”
Morgan looked around. One of the firefighters, hose braced against his hip as he traced shapes in the air with the spray, caught his eye and jerked his head back toward the cordon.
“Get back, out of our way,” he yelled. “I don’t want to have to explain to Boyd when he gets out that I let you get charbroiled.”
Morgan went cold, and a wet chill itched in his ears and still left his mouth dry. It was obvious—he’d watched Boyd get dressed for his first day back this morning—but somehow Morgan still hadn’t put the pieces together. He’d known Boyd was a firefighter, he’d thought it was hot, but who’d actually send Boyd into a fire?
Some impulse pushed him forward toward the flames, but he didn’t know what the hell he thought he was going to do. The heat hit him as he got closer, dried his eyes and stung his face like an open oven, and he’d have probably given up there. Someone grabbed his arms and dragged him back before he had to make that choice for himself.
He still struggled and swore at them until Mac grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mac demanded. “I told you to stay in the car.”
“Boyd’s in there,” Morgan spluttered. “He could be…. He went intothat.”
“That’s his job,” Mac said.
“That’s a stupid fucking job,” Morgan said as he craned his neck to look over his shoulder. His chest hurt worse than before as he heard something crash inside and two firefighters staggered out. They coughed and pulled their masks off, and neither of them was Boyd. “He could be…. He could get killed, Mac.”
Morgan had thought he couldn’t live with the thought that Boyd didn’t, at least halfway, care about him. But this would be worse. He’d rather Boyd hate him than that he begone.Panic battered at Morgan, and he knew he was being hysterical, but who the hell ran into a fire?
“It’s his job,” Mac repeated, a bit more sympathetically this time. “He’s good at it. Okay?”
“No.”
“Huh,” Mac said. “Okay, but you have to stay back here. If you get in the fire crews’ way, you make it worse for everyone. You’ll put them in danger.”
Morgan made a face—because Boyd was currently in a fire, how much worse could it get?—but nodded reluctantly.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay out of the way, but—”
The scream cut through all the other noise. It was wet and raw, like something had torn, and everyone flinched. Morgan had let one firefighter pull him back from the fire, but it took two to lift Donna Calloway off her feet. She struggled against them, one shoe kicked off to lie shabby and sad in the muddy road.
“No!” she wailed as he manhandled her away. “Shay! Shaayyyyy! It’s my son. My son’s in there.”
The phones in the crowd shifted from the flames to Donna. A few had the decency to turn away again, to film the fire or put their phones away now that they were reminded there were real people inside.
“New plan,” Mac said. He closed his hand like a vise on Morgan’s arm and shoved him across the road. “You get to keep her calm.”
The flicker of anger was almost comfortable. Morgan’s hatred of being dragged or marched, that grip on your arm that pinched the skin underneath, was an old, familiar trigger. He was used to it and knew how to ride it out.
“What do you think Boyd would want?” Mac asked in a harsh whisper. “He’s always done his best by Donna, always tried to be kind even when she’s cruel. You know he’d want you to help her.”
Morgan scowled. It was never a good idea to let someone know what you cared about. Then they knew what to use on you. Too late to worry about that now, though.
“Go fuck yourself,” he told Mac as he pulled his arm free. “And next time you push me around, I’m going to lay you out and fuck the consequences.”
The thing was, Mac was right. Boyd wouldn’t want Donna to be left alone like this. Morgan gave Mac the finger and then stalked resentfully over to where Donna still fought the two firefighters.
“Donna,” he half yelled to grab their attention. “They can’t help Shay when they’re stuck here. Let them go, and—”
She threw herself at him, buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around him. Her body shook with the intensity of her sobs. Morgan froze awkwardly at the sudden embrace, his arms stiff and mind blank as he tried to come up with the appropriate response.
