Chapter 1
Glancing over at the firefighters who’d come into
Bailey’s Irish Pub for breakfast, Liam O’Neil snagged a
stool at the bar and sat down. “There’s a lot of them
today.”
Patrick smiled. He was the oldest brother and manager
of the business. “Yeah. Word of mouth, I guess. Can’t
believe our luck.”
“Too bad about Sweeney’s, though.”
Dylan, the second oldest, looked up from washing
glasses at a nearby sink. “Their loss is our gain.”
Pat shrugged. “At least old Sweeney’s retiring, not
goin’ out of business.”
Liam yawned.
“You look whipped.” Pat cocked his head at
him. “This too much for you? All of them coming in here
since Sweeney’s closed?”
“Nah. I handled this many at the diner and got up
even earlier.” Liam had had part time job in SoHo which he
was able to quit when their other brother left the pub to
pursue a career in photography. “I’m glad to be here full
time. I miss Aidan, though.”
“Not me.” Paddy’s voice was gruff as he stared down
at the list he was making. “His shit-eatin’ grin since him
and C.J. hooked up drives me nuts.”
Liam knew the origin of that comment. He’d talked to
Pat’s wife Brie last night. She and Paddy had another
row. “Pat, I—“
“Hey, Paddy?” This from a burly firefighter across
the room. His voice was gravelly, probably from inhaling
smoke. “Where’s the chow?”
“Where’s the fire?” Pat shouted back.
They all laughed, punchy from the night shift. Mikey,
Liam’s son, had a thing for firefighters, and from time to
time, the two of them stopped by the firehouse down the
street. Liam had also researched the profession on the
Internet. He didn’t know how they lived with such a whacky
schedule, let alone the risky job they performed. And then,
of course, 9/11 happened, changing all of them.
The door opened and the sounds of a busy MacDougal
Street filtered in. Cabs hustled people to work and
pedestrians were already flocking to their employment.
Another firefighter walked into the pub. Wearing
jeans and an FDNY sweatshirt, she filled hers out better
than the others.
Dylan murmured, “Ah, there she is.”
“Who’s she?” Liam asked. “I’ve never seen her before.”
“Sophie Tyler. She works at Company 14.” Pat was
admiring the view, too. “Dylan thinks she’s hot. I like
her. She’s real friendly.”
From across the room, Sophie smiled at them. “Hey,
Pat. Dylan.” Then she nodded to Liam. “Hi.”
“Come over here, darlin’,” Dylan called out, “and
meet another O’Neil brother.”
Her smile broadened as she walked toward them. “How
many of you are there?”
“Four. This one’s Liam, the middle child.”
Her gray eyes wide and warm, she held out her
hand. “Hi, Liam. I’m Sophie.”
Liam stood. Her grip was firm when they shook, and
her palm callused. He noticed her other hand was bandaged.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Hey, Sophie baby, get your ass over here.”
She rolled her eyes. “They get worse, the more tired
they are. We caught two fires last night.”
“Time for bed, I’d say.” Dylan’s tone was flirty.
Liam envied Dylan’s easy charm. It had never mattered
to him before his wife Kitty died three years ago, but
lately Liam wished he’d inherited some.
Laughing off Dylan’s innuendo, Sophie said to
Liam, “Nice to meet you,” and headed over to the tables
where her friends had gathered.
All three men watched her walk away.
Dylan shook his head. “Man, I’ll bet she’s a fiery
one.”
Pat grunted. “Her hair’s not red enough for you,
boy.”
“Strawberry blond,” Liam murmured.
From the corner of his eye, he saw his two older
brothers exchange looks.
“See something you like, bro?” Dylan asked.
In the O’Neil family, you had to give as good as you
got or you were dead meat. Dropping back down on the stool,
Liam picked up his mug. “What and risk life and limb? Seems
to me you’ve already staked your claim.”
Dylan’s brows raised. “You can have her if you want
her.”
“That’s nice of you.” Liam’s tone was wry. “But I’d
guess she’d have something to say about that.”
Bracing his arms on the bar, Paddy leaned toward
him. “You said you were gonna start datin’ again.”
“I have.” He sipped his coffee, stalling for time. “I
went out twice in two weeks. The women were nice, but they
didn’t do anything for me.”
Dylan crossed his arms over his chest. “Because they
were Kitty clones. You need diversity.”
“I so do not want to have this conversation.” He
pushed away from the bar, stood and headed to the
kitchen. “I gotta get their food.”
“Coward,” Dylan called out.
“Back off,” he heard Pat say.
“He needs a push.”
“Not a kick in the pants.”
“Says who…”
Their voices cut off as the kitchen door closed
behind Liam. He took comfort in the familiar banter
between his brothers and the smell of food he’d put in the
oven an hour earlier. Checking the egg strata, he saw it
was done, pulled out the pans and set them on the butcher
block. As the food cooled a bit, he began to slice the
homemade bread his Ma had made before she and Pa left to
visit her relatives in upstate New York.
When the firefighters in the surrounding houses were
looking for a place to have breakfast after Sweeny’s
closed, they’d told Pat they enjoyed a variety of foods.
That’s how Liam’s List had begun. Every day he’d fix them a
different meal from a list he’d posted. They checked it
when they were in and made suggestions from the menu.
Though different groups from different houses came in all
week, the method was working. It was fun, and he felt a
part of things.
Fun was something missing from his life since Kitty
died and his son Mikey went into an emotional tailspin.
Don’t think about that now, he told himself. He’d
worry about the kid 24/7 if he let his mind go there. The
therapist he’d been seeing told him that was self-
destructive. Instead, he thought about the firefighters.
The girl one was pretty in a tough sort of way. Focusing
on them, he managed to block Mikey from his mind.
#
“What’s the hold up? I’m starved.” John Cooper was
glowering at the kitchen door. Big and brawny, with a
shaved head, he scared probies with that expression alone.
“Gourmet breakfasts take a while.” Company 14’s
captain, Jim Mackenzie, checked his pager then sipped his
coffee. His red hair, moustache and friendly blue eyes
belied a good officer who could kick ass and still maintain
camaraderie.
“We could just have bacon and eggs,” Cooper grumbled,
wrapping his beefy hand around a mug of coffee.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Hannah Harper was Sophie’s
ex-roommate as of last month when she married another smoke
eater from Company 6 where they both worked. “The variety
of food’s great.” Her dark eyes danced. “And the scenery
around here isn’t bad.”
“You checking those Irish dudes out again, Harper?”
Bagatelle, one of her crew, asked. “Wait till Dominic finds
out.”
“Dominic knows I’m crazy about him.” Hannah’s
expression was suggestive. “I take care of him just fine.”
Bagatelle snorted.
“You’re just jealous ‘cuz no broad will even look at
you, Bags.”
“As if! The ladies flock to me, sweetheart.”
Enjoying the back-and-forth, Sophie glanced over at
the O’Neils. “Man, they are real eye candy.”
“You get a glimpse of the other one yet? Aidan?”
Hannah asked.
“No.” She’d heard about him, though, because of the
gentle notoriety of this place. The O’Neil sister, whom
the pub took its name from, was the now the wife of Vice
President Clay Wainwright. Their story had been in the
news three or four years back.
“One’s cuter than the next,” Hannah added.
Sophie thought about the brother she just met. “Liam
seems nice. But sad.” And she liked his looks. Deep blue
eyes, like the rest of them, and dark hair. But his was
cut shorter with a bit of curl.
“He’s stopped by our firehouse a couple of times with
his kid,” Sean Murray put in. The rig’s driver, he was a
wiry little guy, with a wry sense of humor. His demeanor
was more mellow than most, unless you messed with him. “You
musta missed him, Soph. The Cap calls him The Quiet Man.”
At Torres’ questioning expression, Bilotti, the other
officer on their group, snorted. “Don’t you know nothin’
about old movies, probie?”
“John Wayne, 1956.” This from Mackenzie. “The story
was better.” Their captain was a reader not a TV freak and
it wasn’t uncommon to see him around the firehouse with a
book.
“Story?” the probie asked.
“The Quiet Man from the Saturday Evening Post. They
made the film from it.”
“Ah, finally,” Cooper groused. Since he’d quit
smoking six months ago, and quit drinking even before that,
Cooper ate a ton and had gained some weight.
Sophie glanced up to see Liam coming out of the
kitchen carrying a huge tray. As he got closer, the smell
of freshly baked bread and eggs and cheese filled the air.
Her stomach growled.
“Oh, my God.” Hannah’s stomach rumbled too. “I think
I’m going to have an orgasm.”
“Shh,” Sophie told her friend who seemed never able
to censor herself. “You’ll embarrass him.”
Muscles bulging with the weight, Liam set down the
tray, removed the two rectangular pans and put them at
either ends of the table. When he set toast down near
Sophie, his aftershave filled her head. “There you go.
Hope you like it.”
Her coworkers dug in.
“Looks great…”
“Umm…”
“Gimme some…”
Liam smiled. It was a nice smile. Genuine, like he
took pleasure in small things. “Need anything else? More
coffee?”
“We can get it.” She nodded to an urn across the way
that the O’Neils had set up for them, free of charge.
“Let me. After what you all did on 9/11, we can’t do
enough for you.”
When Liam went to fill a pitcher, there was a
strained silence at the table. The anniversary of the Twin
Towers bombing had just passed, and they were still feeling
the effects. Their house had lost five guys—the captain’s
best buddy included; Cooper’s cousin had died which had
sent him on a drinking binge which lasted three years. And
Bilotti himself had been trapped in a stairwell but was
dragged to safety by another smoke eater. All of them,
including Sophie who’d been out of the country at the time
of the attacks, had worked for months at the Pile. Looking
for bodies was the most gut-wrenching experience she’d ever
had.
Liam returned and began to fill mugs. When he picked
up Sophie’s, he nodded to her hand. “What happened?”
“A few embers got inside my gloves.”
“Hurts like hell,” Bilotti said around a
mouthful “but she’s had worse.” His tone was affectionate,
though gruff.
Liam grimaced and finished pouring them coffee. “If
you need anything else, let me know.”
The guys were appreciative. “Thanks, buddy…”
“This is service…”
“Nice of you, man.”
“My kid’s school is coming for a field trip at
Company 14 next week.”
Mackenzie nodded. “The school’s getting out group.
We’ll look out for him.”
“Thanks.”
After Liam left, and they’d satisfied some of their
hunger, Hannah leaned back and patted her belly. “I’m
stuffed. That guy can cook.”
The razzing began…
“Yeah, unlike you, Harper.”
“Poor Dom.”
“Dominic is satisfied all the time, guys, now that
we’ve living together.”
The captain tilted his chin at Sophie. “Speaking of
which, any luck finding a new roommate, Soph?”
“No. I wish I didn’t have to.” On her third helping
of the cheesy strata, she spoke between bites. “I been
thinking about getting a part time job.”
“Why don’t you work here?” Hannah suggested.
“Here?”
“Yeah.” She pointed to the window. A double sided
sign read Waitress/bartender wanted. Flexible hours.
“You got any kitchen experience?” Murray winked at
the Cap. “I mean besides what women are born with.”
All the guys at the table laughed. Cooper frowned at
Torres. “Who said you could laugh, probie?”
Julian rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth shut. He’d
only been with them a few months and was still in the
initiation stage. Yesterday, the guys had rigged a bucket
full of water and flour to fall on him when he went outside
for a smoke.
Sophie drew their attention from the kid. “Up yours,
Murray. I cook for you morons when it’s my turn and clean
up after. That’s plenty of experience.” She stared at the
sign. “Besides, I tended some bar when I got out of high
school.”
“No shit?”
Hannah sighed. “I’d work here just to be around
them.”
“Maybe. If I could earn $250 a week, I could swing
the apartment alone.”
She glanced across the room and saw Liam taken a seat
at the bar again. His back was broad in the green pub T-
shirt he wore, but his shoulders slumped a bit. She
studied him and his brothers, watched them joke around, and
suddenly missed her own brother Nate a lot; he was career
soldier in Iraq. She was going to email him tonight.
“Soph? Something wrong?” the Cap asked.
“Nah, just that seeing the O’Neils make me think
about Nate. I miss him.”
Talk of family began. Then, as always, they got to
the runs they’d had last night and the two different
companies exchanged war stories. Sophie was glad to get the
focus off her. She glanced at the sign again. She’d never
had to take a part time job like a lot of firefighters.
She’d been one for twelve years, made enough money, and
lived frugally.
But maybe she’d pick one up now. It might be fun
working here. Hannah was right. The scenery was great.
#
Dropping to her knees, Sophie crawled down the
hallway behind Bilotti at a snail’s pace. Pitch black
smoke blinded her and her crew, and her heart began to
pound. Though she wore the regulation face mask, her throat
felt gritty. On their way over to Vestry Street, they’d
gotten the information on this call: seventh floor
apartment, four rooms, bedrooms in back. Occupants:
mother, two kids. Her crew’s job was to get the family out;
Engine 33, the pumper in their house, was slapping water on
the fire and her truck, Ladder 44, was conducting search
and rescue.
From the radio on her shoulder Sophie heard the
captain’s voice. “Bilotti and Tyler, first bedroom. Cooper
and Murray second. Probie stays with me.”
Sweating now, and taking in too much air, she tried
to slow her breathing. “Go right,” Bilotti barked as they
came to the doorway, of which she could only see an
outline. Still on her knees, feeling her way, she bumped
into a piece of furniture. A dresser. A few feet down,
she banged her arm on something steel. She swore but kept
going.
Finally reaching the bed, she bounced it with her
hands. Heavy. Occupied. “Got somebody.”
No response.
“Bilotti?”
Nothing.
Suddenly the smoke cleared. And Sophie was on the
bed, dressed in a thin white nightgown. Nate was screaming
from across the room. Help us, she wanted to yell, but no
words came out. A silhouette appeared before her looking
like Darth Vader and she cowered back against the wall.
There were flames behind the thing. On either side of her
now. Licking her bare toes.
“No….”
“Soph, wake up.”
“No, no, no.”
“Sophie baby, wake up.”
Her eyes snapped open. A man sat on her bed and she
whimpered. “It’s me, Mackenzie. You’re in the firehouse.
You’re not little anymore. You’re not trapped.”
She could feel the sweat covering her body. Smell
the faint odor of the spaghetti sauce she’d made for
dinner. “Yeah, yeah.” She swallowed hard. Reaching over,
Mackenzie picked up something from the table and handed it
to her. Bottled water. She drained it. Her eyes adjusted
and in the light from a street lamp outside, she could make
out the lumps of her group sleeping in the bunkroom and the
cap on the side of the bed.
“She okay?” Bilotti mumbled from the next cot.
“Soph?” This from Cooper.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry, guys.” She took in deep
breaths. Shook her head and rolled her shoulders to loosen
them.
Mackenzie stood. “Go back to sleep.”
“What time is it?”
“Four.”
“I’ll just get up.”
“Too early.”
“I’m okay.”
“Suit yourself.” He squeezed her arm. “It’s been a while.”
“I know. Thanks.” She didn’t want his sympathy. Or
his pity.
When he shuffled back to his bed, she slid out of
hers, donned her sweat suit over the shorts and t-shirt she
slept in, and headed out of the second floor bunk room. The
soft sound of snoring followed her downstairs.
In the big kitchen, she crossed to the coffee maker,
flipped the switch and went to the window to watch lower
Manhattan wake up. Damn it, why had she had the dream
tonight? It always made her feel weak, something a female
in the FDNY couldn’t afford and all of them went to lengths
to avoid. And why was the dream so real? She was ten
again, on that bed, suffocating from smoke, while her
brother screamed for help. If she concentrated hard, she
could still hear Tom Carusotti say, “What’s your name,
honey?” Somehow she got it out. “Okay, Sophie baby, we’re
blowin’ this pop stand. Just hold on tight to me.”
The coffee stopped dripping and she Sophie poured
herself some. On edge, she leaned against the counter,
sipping. She should do something. Maybe fix the guys
breakfast. Better not, they’d revolt if they were deprived
of their new favorite cook’s morning meal.
She thought of the sadness on Liam O’Neil’s face and
wondered what monkey was on his back. Everyone had one, it
seemed, and she didn’t feel sorry for herself for hers.
Except when it deprived her of sleep like now. She hoped
the cook slept better than she did tonight.
#
“You didn’t sleep last night?”
Liam shifted uncomfortably in the stuffed chair. God,
he hated coming here. “I fell asleep but woke up at four. I
forget, is that anxiety or depression?”
His therapist, Jay Yost, smiled. “The theory is
anxiety keeps you from falling asleep, and depression wakes
you up prematurely.”
“Based on that, I shouldn’t be getting any rest.”
Waiting a beat, Jay finally asked, “How’s Mike?”
“I’m not sure. Some days are better than others. Last
week’s session went well with Dr. Lang, and he talked in
school some. He’s only been back a few weeks, but the
teacher said he’s doing okay. The kid’s just so damn sad
all the time.”
“As is his father.”
Liam’s heart beat quickened. “You think he’s taking his
cue from me?”
“Hell no. Don’t assume responsibility for that too.”
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Liam clenched and
unclenched his fist. “I’m trying to be objective. But
watching your child slip deeper into himself is hard.”
They discussed Mikey for ten minutes, then Jay
glanced at the clock. “Time’s up for the kid discussion.
Tell me about you. What’s happening?”
He told Jay about the breakfasts with America’s
Bravest that had gone on for two weeks now. Several
different companies were coming in—the same guys weren’t
there everyday, of course-- giving the pub a steady stream
every morning.
“That sounds like fun. And lucrative.”
“Pat’s in seventh heaven and I feel like I’m earning
my full time salary.”
“You’re part owner of the place, Liam.”
“I know. Still, I wanna carry my own weight.”
“Any women in the picture?”
“Not since the excruciating date with Eve Larkin.”
He scowled.
“What?”
“Dylan says I’m dating Kitty clones.”
Jay chuckled. “You guys don’t pull any punches with
each other, do you?”
“Nah, never have. Down deep, I’m glad.”
“Is what he said true?”
“Maybe. I only meet women through events with the
boys. Eve’s the mother of one of the kids in my Cub Scout
Troop.”
“Should you start doing some things outside of that
box?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A hobby. Join a gym.”
He glanced at his biceps. “I wouldn’t mind joining a
gym. I hate the idea of picking up women, though.”
“You work in a bar. Any regulars you could get to
know?”
“I guess I could look around. Truth is I want to. I’m…
lonely.”
“For female companionship.”
He laughed. “That too.” They’d talked about sex in
the few times Liam had seen Jay. He felt comfortable enough
with the guy to share the fact that celibacy really sucked.
“That’s two ideas today—a gym and scoping out the
pub.”
Restless, Liam ran a hand through his hair. “I hate
this.”
“I know you do.”
“I never thought I’d be here, at nearly forty-two,
looking to date. I thought I’d grow old with Kitty.”
“The fact that you met her in junior high and never
dated anyone else also complicates things.”
“I know.” He thumped a fisted hand on the arm of his
chair. “Shit.”
“That’s good.”
“What is?”
“Anger. You don’t show much of it.”
“It builds up inside sometimes until I feel like I’m
gonna bust open.”
“Then let it out. Your brothers would probably go a
few rounds with you.”
Liam laughed. That, of course, was true.
He was feeling better when he left the session.
Outside, across from Jay’s office, Washington Square Park
was busy with late lunchers, nannies with strollers and the
ubiquitous tourists. On a whim, and because it was a
beautiful September day with the sun shining, he took the
subway to 13th Street and arrived at Mikey’s school as they
were letting out. From near a tree, he watched his somber-
faced son walk out of St. Mary’s Elementary. A little
redheaded girl caught up to him. She said something, but
Mike only shook his head and averted his gaze. She shrugged
and walked away. He got to the curb before he saw
Liam. “Dad?” His eyes widened. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing bad. I had some time so I thought I’d pick
you up and we’d go get ice cream.”
“’kay.”
Smiling, Liam nodded in the direction of the little
girl, who was watching them. “Want to bring your friend? We
could call her mother.”
Mikey shook his head vehemently.
“All right, just you and me.”
His son closed the distance between them and took his
hand. Liam’s throat got tight as he watched the other
kids, whose lives hadn’t been torn apart by tragedy and
loss, playfully wait for rides or the bus, toss a ball to
each other, hang out in groups.
Again, anger welled inside him. For his kid. And for
himself. For Christ sakes, all he wanted was a normal life.
Was that too much to ask?