Deacon's Defender Page 2

  “They won’t. I spoke to them before I came down here to talk to you. They miss you. The old you.” Dallas was out of his seat, setting a hand on my beefy shoulder. “We all miss you, brother.”

  I knew Dallas was talking about our parents and our brothers. Kennedy had been up my ass like a proctologist over the last few weeks. Hennessey had been my constant drinking buddy, while Quentin had been texting non-stop from Colorado, whenever he was in cell range. If I were being totally honest with myself, I’d admit I missed my old self too. I supposed the only way I was going to heal from this loss was to put one foot in front of the other. “Thanks, Dallas. I mean it. Not just for this, but for everything.”

  “You’re welcome. There’s one more thing you’re going to want to thank me for.” Dallas’s green eyes glittered with trouble.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” My stomach turned. Dallas may have been the family peacemaker, but he was also a practical joker. I hoped whatever my brother had in store wasn’t going to piss me off all over again.

  “You had a visitor waiting outside your office door to see you when I got here.” His smile deepened.

  “A visitor?” Since the incident, no one came to visit me, with the exception of my brothers. None of them would have stood outside waiting, they would have barged in like Dallas had done.

  “Let me give you a hint.” Dallas knelt on the floor. Looking up at me, he started fluttering his eyelashes.

  “Who the fuck are you talking about?” I knew damn well who Dallas was impersonating. The man in question wasn’t quite as short as Dallas was making him out to be, but he did have a serious case of the eyelash-flutters whenever he was near me.

  “Your one true love! Mild-mannered newspaper reporter, Deacon Fairbanks.” Dallas’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

  “Jesus Christ.” I sighed. I’d met Deacon several months ago, long before the Scorcher started setting fires. Against my wishes, I’d been named Gloucester’s Man of the Year, and Deacon had been sent to interview me. The young man, fresh out of Northeastern with a degree in journalism, was a recent hire of The Gloucester Times. He’d spent the better part of two hours gushing over my “accomplishments.” Champion soccer coach of the Gloucester Lobsters, an all-girl team. Member of Big Brothers Big Sisters. Volunteer at the local food bank, etc. I spent the entire interview downplaying my charitable nature and trying to keep my starving dick from wondering what it would feel like to slip between Deacon’s sweet lips.

  “Told you so!” Dallas stuck his tongue out like we used to do as kids. “He’s all yours, Big Daddy!” With those words he was out the door.

  Big Daddy? Dallas was going to pay for that one. A former lover had given me that nickname. Once Dallas found out about it, he used it at every opportunity. I was trying to figure out just how to get him back, when I heard Dallas telling Deacon to go on into my office. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Sighing, I plastered on a fake smile to face the eager reporter.

  “Hey, Ozzy!” a cheery voice called out. It was followed by Deacon walking into my office as if he owned it. He was dressed in a navy suit, with the jacket folded carefully over his left arm. A leather messenger bag was slung over his left shoulder.

  It took all my self-control to not snarl at the man. What the hell was the fool doing wearing a suit in the middle of an August heatwave? Combined with his over-eager smile, Deacon was as cute as they came. Christ, was that a bowtie? “Hi, Deacon. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I emphasized the word pleasure. I knew damn well it would throw the boy off his game.

  Deacon opened his mouth, and nothing happened. No words. Not even a sigh.

  Oh good, the cat got Deacon’s tongue. What the hell was next?

  2

  Deacon

  I was going to throw up on my new loafers. All it took was one look at Ozzy and I was doomed. His dark eyes narrowed in on me, as if he were assessing me for signs of weakness. My one and only weakness was him. And pepperoni. Yeah, that too.

  I was here to interview the captain about the arsonist. Very few people knew it wasn’t Ozzy’s job to catch him, that was the job of the Massachusetts State Fire Marshal. We’d gotten so many emails about the poor job Ozzy was doing, that I decided an interview was in order, to set the record straight.

  Unfortunately, once Ozzy said the word “pleasure” in that drop-dead sexy voice, my brain short-circuited, making me a zombie. My eyes were glued to the way his blue uniform shirt clung to his broad chest. If I didn’t get myself together, I was going to start drooling. “Hi!” Jesus, kill me now. If my voice were any higher pitched, only dogs would be capable of hearing it.

  “Hi, Deacon.” Ozzy leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes pinning me down, “What can I do for you? This is a busy place. That alarm bell could go off any second now.”

  “The arsonist,” I managed to choke out. “Where are you with finding him?” Sweet baby cheeses, that wasn’t how I wanted to start this conversation.

  Ozzy’s eyes narrowed again. “You know I’m not involved in that, right? It’s the job of the-”

  “Massachusetts State Fire Marshal,” I finished for him. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed for my composure. “I don’t think a lot of people understand that’s how it works with fire investigations of a suspicious nature.” At least I sounded like I had my head back on my shoulders, even if my stomach was tossing like a kayak in a hurricane.

  “And you think I can help you, how?” A smile played over Ozzy’s lips.

  “Give me an exclusive interview. People in this city are scared. They may have even lost faith in the Gloucester Fire Department after what happened here a few months back.” I didn’t want to bring up the hostage situation, but I didn’t have a choice. Ozzy hadn’t seen the piles of emails from concerned citizens landing in my inbox.

  Stiffening at the mention of what happened just outside his office door, Ozzy was out of his seat. He turned his back to me, but I could see his body was coiled tight, like a viper ready to strike.

  Without knowing what possessed me, I was out of my seat and setting a hand on his shoulder. Desire, the likes of which I’d never experienced before, raced through my body like it was jet-propelled. Pushing all thoughts of riding Ozzy like a prized bull at a rodeo out of my head, I took a deep breath. “We all loved Hal. Nothing will ever fill the hole losing him left in my heart, and I’m sure in yours too.”

  Ozzy snapped around. His angry dark eyes bore into mine. “The hole he left in your heart?”

  Every instinct in my body told me to step back. I didn’t. I stood my ground. “Yes, my heart. He may have been your colleague, but he was my friend.” I could feel my emotions rising to the top. I hadn’t gone a single day without crying over the loss of my sweet friend. By the look of it, today wouldn’t be the first either. “We met a few years back at a planning board meeting for Gloucester Pride. After that, we did a lot of volunteer work together. We were each other’s shoulder to cry on when the world got too cold and mean for us to handle alone. We’d rent movies on our nights off and make popcorn. All we ever did was gossip. I don’t think we ever got through one movie.” That did it. I felt a lone tear trickle down my left cheek. I batted angrily at it.

  I wasn’t angry at the memories making me cry, but at crying in front of Ozzy who seemed to think he’d cornered the market on grief.

  “I’m sorry, Deacon. I’d seen the two of you at events, but never gave your relationship another thought. I didn’t know you were hurting like I was.” Ozzy sounded genuinely sorry.

  “Best friends are rare, you know.” I grabbed a tissue from the box on Ozzy’s desk and dabbed at my eyes. I took a seat in front of his desk and willed myself to calm down. I’d come here to talk to him about an in-depth interview, not to blubber all over him.

  “Best friends?” Ozzy sounded surprised.

  “You thought we were…” I bit my tongue on what I’d been about to say. I wouldn’t demean Hal by finishing my thought. We’d been best friends, that
was it. Period.

  “Lovers.” Ozzy sounded disappointed in himself. “No one knows better than me what happens when you assume.” He sat down hard behind his desk.

  I kept my eyes on him, while I tried to find a way to salvage this meeting.

  “Why don’t you come back next Tuesday? It’s my day off. We’ll talk about what you think should go into this interview and maybe work something out. It’s a good idea to explain how arson investigations work.”

  “Sure, I can do that.” The extra week would give me more time to work on my questions. I stood up fast, wanting to get the hell out of there. I’d made enough of a fool of myself already. I was halfway to the door when Ozzy’s voice stopped me.

  “Dallas is taking over for Hal.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

  “What?” I hadn’t heard even a whisper about this development from my sources.

  “We both figured it would be easier bringing him into the firehouse since all the guys know him. It’s temporary. Dallas is upstairs if you want to go talk to him about it. No one knows about this, except for the three of us.”

  “Is this a pity exclusive?” I asked, finding a smile.

  “You want me to take it back?” Ozzy half-roared at me.

  I had a feeling his bark was worse than his bite. Although, I wouldn’t mind if he took a bite out of me. My dick agreed. “Gotta run! See you next week.” I needed to get the hell out of there before Ozzy saw just how much I wanted him.

  “Shut the door behind you!” he shouted after me.

  Doing as he asked, I rested against the wall. I started counting to one hundred in French. It always worked to get my unruly dick back under control. By the time I reached soixante-sept, sixty-seven, my dick was back to behaving.

  Blinking a few times to get my head back in the game, I found my gaze focused on the fire trucks sitting in front of me. I’d never understand in a million years how someone chose running into burning buildings as their profession, but I was damn glad people like Ozzy did. Maybe he was damned glad there were people like me reporting the news in an honest, fact-based way.

  Sweet baby cheeses, I was such a dork. Ozzy said Dallas was upstairs. I hustled up to find the redheaded medic unpacking what looked like a month of groceries. “What are you making?” I took a seat on one of the stools in front of the island stacked with fresh vegetables.

  “I’m not cooking. Ozzy is. He’s going to start his Sunday dinners again. I figured the least I could do was stock the fridge for him.”

  “What’s it like to have so many brothers who are always there for you?”

  Dallas turned to me with a head of lettuce in his hands. He seemed to be studying me to see if I was asking as a reporter, or if I was truly curious.

  “I’m an only child.” I shrugged, hoping I’d seem more casual.

  “Family is everything. Doesn’t matter if it’s the family you were born into or the one who chose you.” His eyes shone with the seriousness of a man who’d been chosen.

  The reporter in me had a million follow-up questions, but I didn’t ask any of them. For once, I kept my mouth shut. I watched Dallas as he organized the fridge, making room for what he’d bought.

  “What was it like growing up as an only child with no one to play Monopoly with?” Dallas grinned at me.

  “I read a lot. Watched a lot of Star Wars. Played a lot of Sonic.” Christ did that sound pitiful. My parents were research scientists who had more on their plate than raising their bookish, gay son.

  Dallas burst out laughing. I hadn’t been expecting that. My life wasn’t that pathetic. Was it?

  “I never got to play video games without having to wait my turn until Oz and Kennedy were out of the house.” Dallas laughed again. “Hen and Q were book nerds too, so it ended up being me playing against myself to see if I could beat my own score.”

  I knew who Hen was, the brother who owned the cop-bar, Bait, but I had no idea who Q was, unless it was the character from Star Trek: The Next Generation. By the sound of it, I would have gotten along well with Dallas’s brothers. “I used to play a lot with Hal…” I felt my face fall. Fudge. I didn’t mean to say his name out loud.

  “Don’t do that.” Dallas leaned across the island toward me.

  “Do what?” I sucked in a ragged breath, hoping to hold myself together for just a little longer.

  “Don’t be afraid to say Hal’s name. He was loved. We all miss him. We’ll never heal unless we can remember him and laugh again. You especially. I know how close the two of you were. He used to talk about you all the time. Same with Ozzy.” Dallas gave his head a shake. “Anyway, from now on, we talk openly about Hal. Got it?”

  I got it all right. “I know he’s the reason you’re here.”

  Dallas wore a thoughtful look. “Ozzy told you?”

  I nodded. “He said it was my exclusive.”

  “Interesting. I didn’t see that coming.” Dallas paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Do not betray his trust, do you understand me? If you do, I swear to God-”

  “Dallas, we’ve got the paramedics’ schedule to work out. Now!” Ozzy roared, saving me from Dallas.

  “Do not make me finish my sentence.” Dallas shoved the milk in the fridge and headed toward the stairs.

  I sat stunned as he and Ozzy pounded down the steps. I’d just learned another lesson about siblings. They’ve always got your back even when you are perfectly safe.

  I’d rather hurt myself than do anything that would upset Ozzy. Dallas had no way of knowing that. Maybe someday, he would. For now, I needed to get back to the paper and write up my exclusive before the news was on everyone’s lips.

  3

  Ozzy

  Deacon Fairbanks could write, I’d give him that. Only an hour after I’d rescued him from Dallas and his mother hen ways, Deacon’s story was the top headline on The Gloucester Times app. Not only had he kept my name out of the article as a source, but he’d woven in a bit of the conversations he’d had with me and Dallas, without mentioning either of us. The piece ended with Deacon sermonizing about the importance of family. All I had to say to that was: a-fucking-men.

  Growing up, there had been times when I wished all of my brothers would get lost so I could have a minute to myself, but the majority of the time, I felt blessed to have them by my side. I never would have grown up to be the man I am today, if it weren’t for those annoying bastards.

  Nights in the firehouse were my favorite. After dinner was finished, and the kitchen cleaned up, the firefighters and paramedics did their own thing. Maxine always headed for the shower. Chasten and Jenks fought over the remote before settling on the next episode of Supernatural, while Carl sat in his usual seat at the kitchen table with his crossword puzzle book.

  A captain’s work was never done. I knew there was about three hours’ worth of paperwork waiting for me downstairs in my office. Would it be worth it to get it all done and start fresh tomorrow? Yes. But if the alarm bell went off, then I would have lost out on precious sleep.

  My usual routine was to settle into my bunk and read a book until I fell asleep. Tonight, all I could think about was Deacon. I’d never been a jealous person in my life, but when Deacon said how close he’d been to Hal, my heart stuttered in my chest. It was none of my business if the two of them had been friends, lovers, or both, but my heart said otherwise, which made no sense, since I had absolutely no interest in Deacon.

  No interest at all.

  My dick, however, had other ideas. If I were being honest with myself, I would have to admit it didn’t have the best taste in men. Not that Deacon could be considered bad taste, but Jesus, he was just a kid. Fresh out of journalism school and trying to make a name for himself.

  Technically, he wasn’t a kid. He had to be twenty-three or so, since he’d graduated with his master’s degree in journalism from Northeastern. I only knew that because he’d mentioned it to me at one time or another. I think. Maybe I looked it up on The Gloucester Times websi
te. Who cared? The point was, he wasn’t the child I was trying to make him out to be, hoping his tight ass and blue eyes wouldn’t seem quite so attractive.

  Deacon wasn’t even my type. He was short, blond, and blue-eyed. I hated blue-eyed blonds. With the exception of Chris Hemsworth. And Chris Evans. And Chris Pine. Shit! Okay, fine, I apparently love blue-eyed blonds named Chris. Go figure.

  In all seriousness, I only hate one blue-eyed blond. Painting Deacon with Stark Givens’ brush wasn’t exactly fair but, it is what it is, as the saying goes. Stark was a brilliant ER doctor. A good-looking humanitarian, like myself, with an insatiable sex drive. Unfortunately, he wasn’t all that particular who he satisfied his many itches with, while I kept it in my pants.

  I didn’t know, and didn’t care, if Deacon was the kind of man who was faithful or not. With things the way they were at the firehouse, I didn’t have time to deal with Deacon’s schoolboy crush. He was so obvious about it, the entire firehouse knew. The guys weren’t shy over giving me shit about him.

  Giving my pillow a punch, I rolled over and shut off the lamp. All I had to do now was get my mind to settle so I could sleep. For whatever reason, counting sheep seemed to help.

  I’d reached one hundred forty-two and was just about to drop off to sleep, when the fire alarm sounded. All thoughts of sleep gone, I was out of bed and getting dressed while the buzzy adrenaline in my system made my fingertips ache.

  Chasten was at the wheel, and the other guys were loaded up, by the time I finished getting into my turn out gear. This latest fire was out by the Peabody line, a part of town known for being heavily wooded and secluded. I didn’t want to say the words out loud, but I had a feeling this blaze was the work of the arsonist. “Keep your eyes open, boys.”

  Today was Gunnar Prince’s day off. Usually I brought the rookie on fire calls so he could keep an eye on the crowd and a lookout for the Scorcher. So far, we hadn’t caught sight of him. The only good to come from his series of ride-alongs was the fact that Gunnar was enrolled in a 911 Dispatcher Certification Program.