Chapter 2

Brad chased him to the door and threw himself in front of Justin, blocking his exit. “Look, I know how this looks, but I’m telling you it was nothing. It meant nothing. I just had a little to drink. We were celebrating the win. Justin, you and I…we’re together.”

Justin swallowed heavily, shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“You don’t mean that,” Brad said, his expression vaguely panicked.

“Get out of the way, Brad.”

Brad searched his face, his blue eyes drifting over and over again, looking for something, Justin wasn’t sure what.

“You-you weren’t supposed to…”

“Weren’t supposed to come in? Find out? Ever know? Which is it, Brad?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking.

“You always do this, don’t you?” Justin whispered, unable to stop the words from coming out.

“Do what?” Brad asked, his voice pained.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Brad, but you have to sabotage everything good in your life. You’ve done that your whole life. You sabotaged that movie deal they wanted to give you because you were such a cute kid. Sabotaged art school. Your football scholarship to Stanford. Sabotaged friendships. Even relationships with your family. The only person who’s been around for a long time isRick and that’s because he takes your shit.”

“Justin…”

Tears stung Justin’s eyes. “I shouldn’t be surprised, really. But I guess I thought maybe I might be different. I thought you might care about me. But you found a way to sabotage us.”

Brad shook his head. “No.”

“Get out of my way.” Though Brad was larger by quite a bit, Justin must have caught him unprepared, for when Justin shoved Brad, he moved out of the way from the door easily. Justin wrenched it open.

“What about second chances, Justin? Aren’t you the one who told me you believe in second chances?” Brad’s voice was low.

Blinking away tears, Justin nodded. “I thought I did. Goodbye, Brad.”

1

Thirteen Years Later

Brad Callahan had just forked a bite of chili when the alarm sounded. He shoved the bite in his mouth andscrambled up from the dining table in the fire station. He followed the other men out to the trucks.

“Car accident,” his captain announced. “Off the side of the freeway near the Balboa exit.”

Brad hurried to the paramedic truck and seated himself in the passenger side. His partner Jeff Reeves started the truck and pulled out of the station. The fire engine followed with the rest of the crew.

It had been an unexpectedly wet week with today being the fourth rainy day in a row. January and February were the rainy months in Southern California if there was any rain at all. And no one seemed to know quite how to drive in the rain. Brad had been out at accidents every day since the storms started.

Sirens blaring, Jeff drove onto the freeway and headed in the direction of the accident. Some cars got out of the way, others didn’t really have any place to go. It was jammed.

“This is going to take forever,” Jeff muttered.

This being January, it was dark at six thirty, and with the rain pouring down, it made it difficult for Brad to see far ahead. He estimated they were still about two miles from the accident.

“Goddamn Californians don’t know how to drive,” Jeff said.

Brad smiled a little. Jeff was originally from New York and still had his Bronx accent though he’d beenin California for twenty of his thirty-five years. He was a big guy much like Brad himself. They’d bothplayed football in high school and college. Jeff was a little thicker around the middle, which he assured everyone was because of his Mexican wife’s excellent cooking.

Jeff pressed the horn and another car moved, allowing the paramedic truck to just squeeze through. He drove up on the shoulder and managed to find a clear path to the overturned sedan.

Brad grabbed their equipment and headed for the car. He crouched next to the driver’s side to see a young blond man of perhaps twenty-five wearing a seat belt. The airbag had deployed and there was a large gash across the man’s forehead. Brad checked his vital signs.

The engine had pulled up behind their truck and the captain rushed over and bent down next to Brad. “How is he?”

“DOA.” Brad shook his head and stood to go to the other side of the car where Jeff had gone.

“Passengers?” the captain called.

“Just one,” Jeff said. “He’s alive, Cap, but he’s pretty jammed in. May need the jaws.”

“Got it.”

Brad crouched down next to him. The passenger had likewise been wearing his seat belt and the airbag hadbeen deployed. A large bruise was already forming on his cheek and a cut above his eye was gushing blood. The man’s sun-streaked light brown hair was matted with blood.