I couldn't hide the disappointment that swept over my expression when a man dressed in the same type of firefighter gear that Dane was wearing the night of my accident told me that he wasn't there. He tossed the words out in a breathless panic as he boarded the fire truck that was already pulling out into the street. I could only watch as it sped away in its pursuit to stop the destruction that only a fire can cause.

I'd walked back to my place, the fuel beneath each step a stirring mixture of anger and frustration. I didn't bother to look at my smartphone and as I rounded the corner to head up the block towards my building, I'd stopped to buy two apples and a chilled bottle of juice from a vendor who set up his cart in the same spot floors beneath my bedroom window each day.

I hadn't eaten before I'd left for Zoe's and although she offered me an omelet and some toast, I couldn't stomach the taste then. Right now, the fruit and juice is enough to tame the hunger pangs that I can't ignore any longer.

"Bridget," he says my name just as his hands reach out to grab my wrists to steady my balance. "I've been trying to call you for the last hour."

I stare up into his face. His features are exactly as they were the last time I saw him but there's something remarkably different in his stance. His shoulders are tense and pulled forward. His shoe is tapping against the pavement and as his skin touches mine I feel the tremor in his grasp.

"What's wrong, Dane?"

Just as swift as I see relief float over his face, it's gone again. "I know that you tried to call me last night and again early this morning. I couldn't get to my phone. I'm sorry."

"I wanted to talk to you about something," I begin before I look past his shoulder to a delivery truck that has pulled up next to the curb. The jarring string of horns honking a symphony of displeasure at the truck's driver fills the air. "It's really important."

"You want to talk about the fire, don't you?" His eyes dart back to where the truck is now parked. It's blocking a full lane of traffic on the already crowded street.

I want to talk about his son. I want to know if they've chosen a name for him and when Dane thinks his birthday will be. I want to know how he felt when he learned that Maisy was carrying his child and I want to hear him tell me, in his own words, what's going to happen when the baby arrives and what his plan is for every tomorrow after that.

"The fire?" I finally pull my wrists free of his grasp. "What fire?"

His eyes slowly scan my face as if he's searching for some semblance of understanding there. He's a fireman. It only stands to reason that he's talking about a fire he was called out to. I'm guessing it's the fire in Queens that Vanessa mentioned when she'd first arrived at my apartment last night. I assumed when she was hurriedly called back to the hospital, that it was because of that.

"It was bad." His hand darts up to his face to cover his mouth. "There were two kids. Their mom left them alone and..."

The audible gasp that escapes me stops him mid-sentence. I feel a rush of emotions as I remember the woman on the television who had been brought to her knees on the lush green lawn in front of one of the houses that was near the blaze. The wail that came from her had lingered with me and even this morning as I tried to catch a quick glimpse of the day's headlines on the muted television while I watched Zoe feed Vane his breakfast, I'd wondered about that woman and the loss she must have suffered.

"We tried to help them." His shoulders pivot towards me. "They don't know if they'll make it. I stayed at the hospital all night. Ben says it's touch and go."

"I'm sorry...I didn't...I had no idea that happened," I stammer, knowing that throwing a slew of questions at him about Maisy and his son will only add to the overwhelming emotional weight that he's already carrying on his shoulders. I don't want to feel compassion for him right now but I can't help it.

"I wasn't working the fire," he says quickly. "I was at my house and saw the smoke. I ran over there."

I know that the kindhearted thing to do is to ask about the children who were caught in the fire. I feel the tug at my heart as I think about small Vane and what it would do to Zoe, Beck and even myself if he were hurt.  I want to stay in that place emotionally not only because it's the honorable place to be, but also because I despise myself right now for wanting to push his concern for those children aside to ask him why he was at the house he shares with the soon-to-be mother of his child.

"I know those kids, Bridget."

"You know them?" I whisper the question back, suddenly feeling guilty for not recognizing how completely torn up he is.

He scrubs his hand over his face. It does nothing to settle his expression. "They live a block over from me. They set up a lemonade stand every Saturday afternoon during the summer. I always take them a few dollars, when I'm not working, to buy a glass and talk to them. They're great boys."

I close my eyes against the flood of emotions I feel. My hand darts to my mouth. It's not because I feel a sob approaching. I need to physically stop myself from blurting out something about the little boy that him and Maisy are about to have.

"I don't know what I would do if I had a kid of my own and they got hurt." His voice turns gruff and takes on a raspy tone. "I sat with their mother all night at the hospital. She could barely talk. It's got to be hell to watch your sons suffering like that."

"Being a parent can't be easy." Taking a deep breath, I push all reason and compassion aside and say the one thing that has been there, tugging at me since last night. "You'll know that soon since you're going to be a dad."

Chapter 4

We stand on the crowded sidewalk with the weight of my words sitting in the air between us. Dane's lips part briefly and I steady myself waiting for him to say something. I want to hear confirmation about the baby. I need to listen as he tells me about why he's kept that hidden from me since we met. That doesn't happen. As a group of pedestrians weave their way between us, Dane motions towards the door that will take us to the refuge of the lobby of my building.

During the elevator ride up to my floor, the scope of the conversation we are about to have is punctuated by the fact that a woman who lives in the same building as I, had called out to us to hold the lift as she raced through the lobby doors a few steps behind us, pushing a stroller where her bright eyed toddler sat. The little girl is happily pulling on two of Dane's fingers during the ride up, her mother apologizing the entire time for making us wait.

I feel Dane's hand on the small of my back just as I turn the key to unlock my apartment door. My first instinct is to pull away, but the gentle warmth of his skin against mine is giving me something I didn't know I needed. It's a reminder of everything that's transpired between us since that first night at the restaurant when he saved me from Larry's overly zealous grasp.

Dropping the items in my hands on a small table that's near the door of my apartment, I pull in a heavy breath. I hear the quiet click of the lock as Dane fastens it behind him.

I pivot on my heel to catch his eyes skimming carefully over my face. I look down, not wanting to give in to the temptation to accuse him of lying to me. By mere definition, the fact that he's about to become a father is something that he willfully chose to keep from me.

That might have made sense the night after his birthday when he came back to my apartment to fuck me. His past, and his future, didn't matter at all to me then. He was a man who I desperately wanted to share my bed with. I wanted to know the pleasure that he was capable of giving to a woman but once we started to share more of our lives, he made a conscious decision to not tell me about the baby. There's no excuse for that. You can't build a relationship on a foundation of lies, especially lies that will impact your life each and every day until you die.