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He nodded. “I’m happy you’re healing,” he said, discomfort evident in his tone.
Who was she? The timid and soft-spoken Chelsea had long faded after high school, and she had no intention of letting that girl come back. Chelsea cleared her throat.
“You know, I was also wondering if you’d be interested in having dinner sometime. It would be on me, of course. I feel like a verbal thank you isn’t enough for what you did, so what do you say?” she asked, forcing herself to meet his eyes with a cool and confident act that she knew would come across as sincere.
His eyes weren’t dark as she’d previously thought, she noticed with fascination. They were a rich, dark blue with a more pronounced turquoise center. Without light, they could have been construed as black, but they weren’t. They were beautiful.
“I appreciate the offer, but a verbal thank you is enough.” He could have softened the blow with his tone or facial expression, but he remained as stoic and stone-faced as before.
“If not dinner, we could do coffee at that café across the street. They’re usually quick about preparing orders, and I can free myself up anytime you’re available.” She pointed across the street with her thumb, though a wall blocked their view of the café.
“No.” She felt her jaw drop at the word. She had clearly read the situation correctly when she first saw him. He may have driven her insides wild and caused a burning attraction, but she didn’t have the same effect on him. There was a first for everything, she supposed.
“Well, in that case,” she mumbled, taking a step back. She did her best to even out her tone and allow it to sound both genuine and kind, though she wanted to scowl and stomp her feet after his rejection. “Thanks again.”
“I hope you heal quickly, Chelsea.”
He turned and left her alone in the lobby. She wanted to curse her body for the arousal it experienced in his presence, but it wasn’t something she could control, so she turned and left the fire station, feeling a sense of shame for ever going in the first place.
2
Chelsea Rourke. He’d saved a lot of people, and it was no surprise when women showed up, asking for him personally. He knew how it worked. Women would show up and offer favors to make it up to him. Sometimes they’d “fall in love” with him without ever meeting him.
If the situation were different, Chelsea Rourke would have been an ideal match for him. Her tall, lean body would have matched his, and God knew he preferred black-haired beauties with pale blue eyes and white-toothed smiles. Redmond hadn’t ever been afraid of admitting that he had a type, and Chelsea seemed like she’d fit right into it. And her slight English accent was something he hadn’t been aware he’d like, but it aroused him, nevertheless.
But the feelings she had—the white knight syndrome that plagued many women who fell victim to violent crimes—would fade. He couldn’t bring another tragic story into his daughter’s life.
Not after Claire.
He got off work and went straight home, forcing all thoughts of Chelsea from his mind as he lay down and set an alarm for his lunch with his ex-wife. He wished things were different—that his scars didn’t remind him of that unimaginable pain he’d endured, that Chelsea wouldn’t be a constant reminder of what had happened, that everything was back to the way it had been before he chose to go into the military.
Redmond wished a lot of things.
He sat down across from Courtney as she sipped her glass of water and gave him an alarmingly familiar concerned smile. Courtney was an amazing wife and an even better mother. It was Redmond who ruined things between them. She’d been with him when he got stationed overseas, carried his baby, and comforted him every step of the way. She stood beside him when he got out of the service and went to firefighting school. Even when he graduated.
Even when she decided that she couldn’t stay with him—couldn’t sacrifice herself for his PTSD—she’d remained close and had been a spectacular co-parent and a needed friend. Even when he found love again after her, she’d been there.
And when a bullet took that love, Courtney remained.
She placed her face in her hand as she looked across the table at him in the same way as she used to when they were married.
“I ran into Kellen at the grocery store,” she started, her black hair falling over her hand and down past the tabletop. “He’s concerned about you, too.”
“Can we at least get the appetizer before you start this conversation?” he grumbled.
Courtney nodded, and they waited in silence as the dreaded appetizers—an order of cheese sticks that Redmond now regretted—were placed on the table before them.
“You’ve been afraid to go into fires?”
Redmond scoffed. He wasn’tafraidper se. He was weary, and rightfully so.
“Redmond, you’re a firefighter. That’s a fear that could get you killed.”
He took a large bite of a cheese stick before shaking his head. “My burns are still sensitive to light and heat. That’s the reason I haven’t been as active as usual.”
It wasn’t a lie by any means. His burns had certain sensitivities that held him back from doing things like sitting out in the sunlight during the day and going into burning buildings. He knew, though, that the excuse wouldn’t go far if Kellen confronted him about his performance. Redmond was a proud part of the Engine 10 Company. He would either fight fires with bravery and fearlessness, or he’d be assigned to another unit—one that didn’t have the impeccable reputation of the Engine 10.
Courtney remained quiet for a moment as she nibbled on a cheese stick, but he saw her thoughts brewing. He feared that he knew what she’d bring up next. Redmond understood why they had difficult conversations during their lunches. She needed to ensure that Kaitlyn would be safe in his home, and Redmond couldn’t be an objective judge when it came to his mental health.
