Page 97 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“Hey boys,” Fred called across the yard. “Come here, would you?”

“Oh, so now you want to talk to us?” Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. One of his feet was planted on the back of his brother Tremaine, who sprawled facedown on the grass. Judging by Tremaine’s out-of-breath, profanity-laced mutterings, Jackson had just flipped him. “I don’t think so. You can’t kick a brother out of your house and then pretend like everything’s cool.”

“Stop messing around. I’m serious. I need to know what Rachel said before she took off.”

“Dude, you heard her. She didn’t say nothin’. ‘Bye, kids,’ or some shit like that. Oh yeah, and ‘Fred, I’ll call you later!’” He mimed a sultry female voice that sounded nothing like Rachel’s.

“Before all that. What happened to send her running? Did you say something? Swear at her? Make one of your age-inappropriate jokes?”

“You’re saying it’s all our fault? Tremaine, get your butt up. We got a problem here.” He lifted his foot and hauled his twin upright. “We’re facing some unjust accusations.”

Fred stalked forward and grabbed both brothers by the scruff of their necks. “You don’t need to go all Amistad on me. I just want to know what you were talking about right before she left.”

“Nothing. The bumper sticker.”

“Bumper sticker? She doesn’t have any bumper stickers.”

“No, she thought she didn’t have any bumper stickers.”

But before Fred could sort that out, their mother hollered from across the street. “Dinner, kids. Mac and cheese, while it’s hot. Fred, you hungry?”

“No, thanks, Jasmine. Next time, for sure.”

She gave him a friendly wave, then opened her arms to the little boys hurtling across the street.

“Bumper sticker?” Lizzie frowned, biting at her thumbnail. “Maybe she got upset because someone put a bumper sticker on her car that she didn’t like. Like a Papa John’s or something. Or a political candidate.”

“Yeah.” It still didn’t seem like enough of an explanation. Something strange had just happened; he just didn’t know what, exactly. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. He got no answer, other than her soft, husky voice on her outgoing message. “Leave a number.” No name, no promise to call back.

Irritated, he clicked off without leaving his number; she knew it and if she wanted to call back, she would.

“You should go back to bed,” Lizzie declared. “How’s your head?”

His head felt horrible, as if someone was taking a ball-peen hammer to it, striking the same spot over and over again. As if someone was trying to wake him up from inside his skull. “If I didn’t need it so much, I’d get rid of it.”

“That bad, huh? Aw, Freddie.” Lizzie took his arm and bundled him toward the front door. “You’d better be okay. You’re the only one of my brothers I can stand.”

He let her guide him through his house toward his bed, where he’d spent much of the day. Those rumpled, messy sheets looked like heaven right now. “You know that’s not true. You love us all equally.”

“No, Mom loves you all equally. I love you best. Of course I love them too, but you’re my favorite.”

“If you say it’s because I’m such a nice guy—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know something, Fred? I’m a Breen too, and I know how hard it was to stick up for what you wanted to do, even though Trent and the others teased you. You inspired me. If not for you, I probably wouldn’t be getting my pilot’s license. I kept thinking, ‘If Fred can tough it out, I can.’”

He squinted at her, lowering himself onto his bed. “Tough? You think I’m tough?”

“I think you’re all kinds of tough. The best kind of tough. I know you, Fred. You’re just as fierce as Trent and Jack and Zee. You’re a warrior, like them, but you wanted to help people in your own way. And you did. You still do. I’m proud to be your sister. And I’m tired of you downplaying yourself.”

Maybe it was due to his weakened state, but a sort of warm, fuzzy sensation was spreading through him. He’d never seen Lizzie so fired up—and all on his account. He smiled at her tenderly. “Is that what I do?”

“Yes. You act like everyone else is a hero except you. But you’ve always been my hero. And you don’t treat me like a silly child. Even when I am a silly child, like with Trevor. And Brendan.”

“And Chase.” He winked at her. If she kept up with the mushy talk, he might really embarrass himself.

“Don’t mention Chase. I’m not ready.” She hovered over him, trying to settle him into his bed but managing to poke him in the ribs instead.

“Jesus, Lizzie, I’m not an invalid. It’s a minor head wound. And there’s no need to get all sentimental. I’m not going to die.”

She gave a soft snort, but her usual sparkling smile did nothing more than haunt one corner of her mouth. “Just … just let me, okay? You’re always there for me, now I want to be there for you.”

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