Page 12 of Hollis (The Moore Men #2)
Larry nods as he removes the oxygen from his face.
“I’m what my Dolly called a creature of habit.
Been that way since my time in Vietnam.” He chuckles.
“Every mornin’, I wake up at six, shower, eat breakfast, then spend a couple hours outside, readin’ the newspaper and workin’ in my vegetable garden.
My Dolly loved gardening.” A far-off look clouds his gaze as he glances out the sliding glass door to the balcony.
Following his gaze, I spot the garden he describes, taking up about a third of the space out there.
“When I moved in here after she died, I wanted somethin’ that reminded me of her.
Workin’ in the garden has become my favorite part of each day. ”
“That’s sweet.” A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m glad you found something that brings you joy. What did you do after working in the garden?”
“Well, then it was time to check the mail. After walkin’ down to the mailboxes, I was feelin’ hungry and had planned to eat once I got back up here and opened the mail.
The chest pain came on before I had a chance to fix myself somethin’ to eat, though.
” Then Larry reaches for a piece of paper stuck under the medic bag and hands it to me.
Reading through the letter, it’s a notice to enter and do an annual inspection from a property management company who appears to own the building.
“I don’t want no fuckin’ strangers comin’ in my house,” he grumbles.
Folding the paper, I hand it back to Larry. “I understand that. I’m not fond of people comin’ in my personal space either, but it looks like they do this every year for all units. They’d probably be in and out in no time.”
“No!” he booms, the grip on the armrest tightening as his breathing kicks up again.
My gaze flits over to James, and he nods, putting the oxygen mask up to Larry’s mouth.
A minute later, he relaxes some, and as he takes the mask off, his shoulders sag and he looks down to his lap.
“I don’t know how it got this bad,” he murmurs quietly.
Confusion wrinkles my forehead until he continues.
“I know how my house looks. The boxes, the trash, the dishes. I know, okay? I’m not proud of it.
I just… I can’t bring myself to get rid of any of it.
I tell myself I’ll tackle a room tomorrow, then tomorrow comes, and I can’t.
They can’t come in here and see all this. My Dolly would be so embarrassed.”
His voice cracks as a tear spills over, streaming down his flushed cheek.
I’m hit with the strongest urge to wrap him in a hug when he turns his head away from us, as if trying to hide his emotion—a reaction I’m all too familiar with.
Not wanting to overstep or make the patient uncomfortable, I don’t do that.
After we administer more oxygen and finish our work up, we’re able to conclude it’s not a heart attack Larry’s experiencing, but instead, most likely anxiety.
Meaning, my hunch would be correct. Given when his symptoms started, I’d say Larry’s been struggling with it since losing his wife, and what happened this morning was likely a panic attack caused by the inspection notice.
Once my team explains everything to Larry, we strap him to the gurney and prepare him for transport to the hospital.
Firefighters aren’t medical professionals, so we aren’t able to diagnose anyone.
Given how intense his symptoms were and how they mimic more serious medical conditions, like a heart attack, we prefer to err on the side of caution and have the patient checked over by a doctor.
Outside, James and Chandler get him loaded in the back of the ambulance before they head to the hospital while me and the rest of the crew hop in the engine and start the short drive back to the station .
With a deep breath, I grab my phone and pull up Hive , reading the notification waiting for me.
KnockinBoots: What part freaks you out?
“Is that what I think it is?”
At the sound of Remi’s voice, my head snaps up and meets his gaze as I fumble with locking my phone. “Sorry, what?”
Nodding toward the phone in my lap, he smirks and asks, “That was Hive , right? You took my advice?”
“Whoa, hold up.” Kian cuts in from the driver’s seat, lifting his gaze to the rearview mirror. “You tellin’ me Captain’s on the hunt for a pretty fella to warm his bed? Since when?”
“That’s what I’m tryin’ to find out,” Remi drawls. “Since when, Cap?”
Sam chuckles to himself from the front seat beside Kian while Millie, who’s sitting directly across from me, turns her gaze out the window as she tries—and fails—to bite back a grin.
Jesus Christ.
“It’s none of your damn business,” I grumble, cheeks heating. “And never say ‘pretty fella’ ever again.”
Kian clicks his tongue. “Come on, Cap. Where’s the fun in that?”
“My personal life isn’t meant to be fun for you .”
“Ya know, out of everyone on the crew, Remi and I could probably help you the most,” he drawls, a smirk curling his lip as he waggles his brows. “We are experienced with this type of thing.”
“He’s not wrong.” Remi smacks a hand to my chest. “We’re the boys for the job.”
My jaw tics. “If you don’t knock it the hell off, the only job you’re gettin’ for the next week is bathroom duty, Buchanan.
” Slicing my gaze toward the rearview mirror, where Kian is watching me with amusement dancing in his gaze, I add, “More drivin’, less yappin’, Watkins, unless you want bathroom duty too. ”
Nausea churns in my gut at the mere thought of talking to either of them—or anybody, for that matter—about this.
Even the acknowledgement that I’m on the app is enough to make me break out in a cold sweat.
Then thinking about them finding out who I’m talking to makes my heart palpitate.
Am I enjoying talking to Hollis? Yeah, I am, but that’s none of their damn business.
It would be different if I thought this was actually going anywhere, but it’s not.
All I’m really doing is fooling myself and wasting his time.
Thinking about Larry, I relate to him in so many ways. Being a creature of habit, liking my privacy… But also, the anxiety.
I’m intimately familiar with the soul-sucking leech that is anxiety.
I’ve struggled with it my whole life, or at least for as long as I can remember.
Growing up with an angry drunk of a father makes it impossible not to.
The screaming. The fear of pissing Gregory Wesley off when he had too much to drink.
The constant need to make myself as small as possible to avoid his wrath.
His fists hurt, but the scars from his malicious words cut way deeper.
Trent reminds me a lot of my father.
It wasn’t always that way. For many years, he was the kindest, most gentle man I’d ever known. He knew what I went through growing up, knew my anxiety and what made it flare up. He knew how to calm my mind and my soul in a way even I couldn’t. Trent was a safe space for me… Until he wasn’t.
The anger didn’t come all at once. It was gradual…
Subtle. Something I didn’t notice at first. As time went on, like with most abusive people, it escalated, but by that time, I was in too de ep to notice.
I cared more about chasing his love than my own self-worth.
I did whatever I could to keep him happy.
Every smile, every laugh, every kiss, and every single time he fucked me, it felt like a prize.
Like I was worthy of his love and attention again.
Trent became a trigger for me.
My husband brought up old wounds caused by my father while carving new ones right beside them. I had married my father, a man I swore I’d never be like. A man I hate. That realization was a wake-up call. It broke the glass, the illusion I forced myself to see through.
Back at the station, I sit down at the desk in my office and open our message thread again.
KnockinBoots: What part freaks you out?
Staring at the screen, I chew on the inside of my cheek as my palms slick and my heart thunders.
FireInMyVeins: That’s a loaded question, and I’d imagine someone like you has better options on this app than a man who gets easily spooked. I wouldn’t at all blame you if you unmatched and went on to someone more fun and with less baggage. Sorry for wasting your time.
My thumb hovers over the screen for a long moment before finally sending the message.
There, it’s done. It’s for the best.
I’m too damn old, and far too damaged, for this dating shit anyway.
It’s for the best.