“Go away, Liam. I don’t need your help.”
“What about want? Do you want it? I mean, who actually wants to scrub a toilet, Quinn? I’m willing to take the dirty job right off your hands and do it myself.”
I’m met with silence. It’s so quiet I don’t even know if she’s breathing. There’s no way a sane person doesn’t jump at the offer of someone else doing the toilets. Not that I’d call Quinn sane by most definitions of the word.
There’s a loud pound that comes from within the bathroom. My guess is she just hit the side of one of the stalls. “Damn it, Liam. I don’t want your help, either. Can you please fuck off, and let me deal with this alone?”
“Fine,” I tell her, rubbing my chin between my thumb and index finger. “But don’t expect this offer to ever come around again.”
When she doesn’t respond, I leave her to herself and head towards the kitchen. The same antagonistic attitude awaits me with Hailey. She claims she can handle the kitchen, and the fridge, all by herself. And she’s right. I know she can. Just like Quinn can handle the bathrooms. They’re both more than capable of handling things, but they shouldn’t have to. Not when I can help.
Which makes me wonder what the fuck instructions Nate gave them.
Brody has been damn near as cold to me as Nate has, so I avoid going to see if he needs help. I’m pretty sure even without Nate’s directions he would tell me to get lost. He’s been a miserable son-of-a-bitch since Vegas, and the only reason I can figure out is because of everything happening with Jordan. First with us beingtogether, and now the fall out with Nate.
I search for Luke next and find him in the apparatus bay working on polishing the wheels of the engine. He looks up when he sees me—a quick glance and nothing more—then goes back to the tire he’s working on.
“What should come first? Shining up the truck and putting it outside to then sweep out the bay? Or sweeping the bay and then shining up the truck?” he asks while rubbing a rag over the rim.
The everlasting ongoing argument. Dust falls to the floor and gets it dirty, so you do the truck first. But there’s the risk the truck gets dirty outside and drags dust back in when you repark it. Which one comes first?
“It’s the tale of the chicken and the egg. Which one came first?”
He shakes with a silent laugh as he tosses his rag over his shoulder and swivels on his stool to look up at me. “If you’re going to ask if you can help, you can’t.”
He says it with a smile on his face. There’s no attitude like I got with the girls, which makes me feel safe enough to take a seat on the step below the pump panel in the middle of the truck.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” The question isn’t rhetorical, but Luke doesn’t answer me. He simply stares as if waiting for me to figure it out myself. “Seriously, man. Quinn, Hailey, now you.”
Luke shrugs his shoulders, but the gleam in his eye tells me he knows more than he’s letting on. Then again, of course he does, he was actually paying attention to Nate during the morning meeting.
I throw my hands up in frustration. “Seriously! Why am I being left in the dark?”
“I’m sure Nate asked himself the same question,” Lukemutters.
It’s up in the air whether I was supposed to hear him say that or not, but I did, and it has me slapping both my legs before I jump to my feet. “So this has nothing to do with him wanting me to get my head on straight? This is him punishing me for not telling him about Jordan?”
Lifting his hands in surrender, Luke shrugs. “Bro, you’ll have to ask him. But if you do, could you also ask him why the hell the rest of us need to be punished? I swear we never have to do this much in one shift. At least not separately.”
I stare at my friend while his words sink in. I was so concerned with figuring out why Nate gave me no assignment, and then trying to find someone to let me help, that it didn’t occur to me that everyone is doing something different. How the fuck didn’t I see this before? We always tackle things together. Maybe in pairs or in threes, but never all alone. We work together as a team. We help each other.
“What the fuck is going on?” My question doesn’t need an answer, nor do I wait around to get one from Luke.
I’ve come to another realization in the last few moments. No one is going to give me any answers except for my best friend. If he wants to punish me, that’s one thing, but to take it out on everyone else is another. They don’t owe him anything for my failings.
For the second time in two minutes, I’m asking the same question as I storm into Nate’s office, my blood churning in a slow boil through my veins. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Sure Liam, come on in,” he responds in a dull tone as he waves at me with his free hand. The other is preoccupied with writing a report of some sort. A huge reason I’ll never become a lieutenant. Too much fucking paperwork.
“Your door was open, dude,” I bristle, trying to hold mytongue. It doesn’t work when I correct myself with a bite of attitude, “Or should I say Lieutenant.”
While the pen doesn’t get put down, his eyes do lift to finally look at me. “What would you like to know?”
“What do I want to know? Are you fucking kidding me?” I gesture towards the door, indicating the rest of the firehouse. “Why does everyone tell me I’m not allowed to help them?”
I can’t read his blank expression as Nate sets his pen down on his desk, and leans back in his chair, clasping his hands over his midsection. “Because I told them you weren’t to help.”
Exasperated, I toss my hands in the air. “Why? Why is me helping so fucking bad?”
