Haustin waited for Abel outside Midtown General Hospital, travel mug in hand. Coming here was the one positive thing he had going in his life, the single aspect he controlled. Despite being an unremarkable father, Haustin loved kids, and whenever he lost a child in a fire, it haunted him for weeks, thus the visits to the pediatric burn ward. The senselessness of death dogged his heels, and he learned early on, he needed a place to funnel the anger, other than drinking and beating the crap out of random guys at the bar.

All you have to do is call Yael and grab another bright spot, a voice inside his head reprimanded, but he had messed that up already.

The scrap of paper she wrote her number on went with him everywhere, folded in his pocket, and ripped right across the last two digits from when he'd crumpled it up. He sensed it now warm against his hip, a reminder of his quick trigger anger. It'd be easy to swallow his pride and see if Alex could get the number from his girlfriend, but he didn't see a relationship between him and Yael working. They came from two different worlds, and spending time with her might be amazing for a while, but sooner or later, he'd fuck it up. He was an expert at that. Besides, if he did decide to give it a shot, he hadn't exactly been charming the other night. He doubted she'd even take the call.

"I never understand why we have to do this so early on our day off," Abel complained as he ambled over, a large sack slung over his shoulder and reminding Haustin of an Italian Kris Kringle—minus the beard.

"The burn ward is pretty strict on visiting hours," Haustin reminded his buddy. "Did you get new bears, Santa?"

"Yep." Abel's face lit up, proving his grumbling was just for show. "And they're much better than the last ones."

He set the bag down and reached in, pulling out a seven-inch tall FDNY teddy bear, complete with bunker pants, boots, and helmet. Haustin took the toy, pleased to find it plusher than the previous batch.

"Kids will love these." He handed it back. "Let's go."

They entered the hospital, riding the elevator to the fourth floor, and began the long process of washing up, donning surgical masks, hospital gowns, and sterilized booties over their shoes. They left the bag at the nurse's station, taking along a handful of bears. Haustin stepped through the doors and instinctively began breathing shallower. For newcomers, the scent of burnt flesh mixed with sanitizer could be overwhelming. In his line of work, he had, unfortunately, become immune.

The first patient they came across was Sierra, a six-year-old girl who'd been the victim of her teenage babysitter's neglect. Third-degree burns covered seventy-five percent of her body, and over the last two weeks, Haustin hadn't noticed much improvement.

Sharon, her mother, met them at the door with a small, wavering smile. "You don't have to keep visiting."

They didn't. Sierra wasn't even their save, but she could have been.

"We ain't got nothing better to do than visit pretty ladies," Abel said with his infectious grin.

"She already thinks you're both heroes."

"I told you last week, this is our way of giving back, remembering the ones we couldn't save. Believe me, spending time with these kids is no hardship," Haustin explained.

Sharon stepped aside to let them in and bit her lip, enhancing her face's hard angles. The woman was too skinny, greasy blond hair hung limp around her thin cheeks, and her skin looked as if it hadn't seen sunlight in months. Haustin doubted the single mom had time for anything besides working and being here. The helplessness in her eyes reminded him of Lindsey, his wife. Before he had moved during the worst patches of his behavior, she often looked as if she'd fought a war—and lost. Why did he have such an easy time helping strangers yet balk when it came to his own family?

Sharon skirted the end of her daughter's bed, pulling Haustin from his haunting thoughts and adding some cheer to her tone.

"Sierra, sweetie, look who's here."

Sierra's pain-filled gaze landed on Haustin and Abel, and she brightened, managing a weak smile. Blood and other liquid had seeped through the thick bandages obscuring the girl's face, except for her lips and eyes, and no matter how used to the sight he'd become, it never failed to turn Haustin's stomach.

"You have new bears today." Her faint voice was no more than a wheeze.

Haustin approached the side of the bed, setting the stuffed animal in her bandage-free hand. She lifted it carefully, and a tiny giggle escaped her mouth. "It looks like him."

Her stare landed on Abel, and Haustin couldn't help his barking laugh. Abel may have been short and stout and just as hairy, but the comparison ended there. Underneath lived the softest heart and sickest sense of humor ever.

Turning back to Sierra, Haustin teased, "Don't be fooled. He's a baby. He cries at movies. It's sad."

Her grin stretched too wide, causing her to flinch in pain, but she recovered quickly. "I cried during the last Tinkerbell movie. The blue fairy is my favorite."

Surprising the holy hell out of Haustin, Abel launched into an epic discussion about fairies and pixie dust. He couldn't help but admire Sierra's spirit as he listened. Her courage both warmed him and made him feel small. Adults didn't possess the same resiliency. They gave into darker emotions, such as depression and hopelessness. Hell, he did it himself. It shamed him that a girl this tiny and riddled with pain had a better handle on life than he did. Twice, she'd coded as infections set in and took advantage of her weakened body. She had a rough road ahead of her—a lifetime of agony.

When finished with the burn unit, they moved up to the pediatric cancer ward and distributed the rest of the bears. Haustin could never decide which was worse; the burned kids facing a life of stares and pain or the thin, bald ones with no hope or future. It was a puzzle for stronger and smarter men than him.

Afterwards, he and Abel walked down the block to a bistro and sat on the restaurant's patio. It was just past noon, yet they both ordered beers.

"That shit kills me," Abel muttered, his usual jovial expression tightened in sadness, but he wiped a hand over his face, smoothing it away. Humor was his way of hiding the pain, a healthy method Haustin admired and envied. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time."

"In those rooms, I never doubt why we're there. The kids have such great attitudes, it's hard not to get caught up in it. Once we leave, it hits me."

"I thought you were crazy the first time you told me what you were doing. Then, I had to come see for myself. Thanks, pal," he drawled sarcastically.

"Don't mention it. Had to do something to get you off your ass." Haustin took a long swig from his beer. "I've seen those kids more than my own these last few months."

Saying it aloud cemented his guilt. He'd gone so far past bad dad behavior it seemed easier to let it go, to choose pills and booze over Luna and Miles. He'd dug himself a hole and was content on the bottom, allowing the self-hatred eat away at his insides. There had to be a way out if he looked hard enough, which seemed like a lot of work. Redemption. The word fluttered into his mind, but he kicked it aside. Ridiculous, unreachable illusion. He didn't know where to even begin.

"Lindsey still giving you grief about seeing them?" Abel asked after they ordered sandwiches and onion rings.

"Do you blame her?"

"Hell, I don't understand why she married you in the first place."

"You and me both." He shook his head. He'd never forget the way she looked on their wedding day, long hair piled on her head and love in her eyes. "At this point, I'm not sure what I can do to repair the damage I've done. She has good reason not to trust me. I've hurt her more than anyone deserves, her and the kids."

"Basically, you're the Titanic, only you have the knowledge and the tools on hand to patch that damn hole. Yet, you're content with smacking the giant ice cube and letting your amazing ship sink."

Haustin smirked. "Been watching romance movies again?"

"No, that movie pisses me off, and I'll tell you why." He jabbed his finger into the table to make his point. "Rose could have scooted over on the damn door and let Jack up, or they could have taken turns."

"You'd let the woman you love spend a few agonizing minutes in freezing water, trading off with her on the single piece of floating wood, the one thing keeping her from dying, just so you didn't freeze your balls off?"

"Hundred percent, yes, because the dumb girl had a lifeboat. She was safe and she chose to get off. All chivalry went out the window after that."

Haustin let loose a booming laugh, more from the serious expression on his friend's round face than his words. The guy wasn't joking.

"That's the reason you're still single."

"Hey, screw you, it's not like you're a burning beacon of marriage and relationships." Abel paused as their meals were delivered, then took a huge bite of his Rueben. Around a mouthful of food, he said, "Speaking of which. Call Yael yet?"

"Nope." Haustin's BLT soured on his tongue.

Abel watched him expectantly. As the silence dragged on, he sighed. "And why not?"

"You've met me, right?" He neglected to tell him the number was ripped and unreadable. Abel wouldn't believe such a stupid story anyway, truth or not.

"Yeah, but I doubt the smell of your filthy man pits are what's stoppin' ya."

"She's a Malkah."

"So? It's not like she's Richard Madoff's daughter. Her family is one of the good ones."

"But she comes from prep schools and trust funds and black ties, the Hamptons. I barely graduated high school, don't have five dollars to my name and most of my clothes are t-shirts. Different worlds."

"You're thinking too much. Which are words I never thought I'd say to you."

"Screw you. Honestly? Her family intimidates the hell out of me and if you repeat that I will make you hurt in ways you can't imagine." He dropped the fry he'd been about to eat. "Like you said, I'm far from a burning whatever when it comes to relationships. I'm saving her the headache."

"That's the biggest crock of bullshit I've ever heard you say and I've known you for a long time." Abel shrugged and popped an onion ring in his mouth. "Face it. You're chicken."

Irritation slithered along Haustin's neck. "So I should ask her out? Complicate both our lives?"

"Abso-freaking-lutely. In your case, it'd be a welcome complication. You don't know what will happen. You're not psychic like Madame Cleopatra. Maybe she'll complicate your life in a good way."

"It's Cleo, you idiot." He grinned.

"Whatever. Do yourself a favor and don't be a pussy. Take a chance."

He nodded absently. Maybe he would. Only, Yael made it seem as if she had so much going on in her life right now. A couple of days ago, he'd read about her grandmother's illness in the Sunday Times. Now wasn't the best time to be hitting on a woman about to lose a family member. And what if she gave in and went to work at Malkah Enterprises Enterprises? He saw plenty of snooty corporate bitches walking around New York and knew it wasn't what he wanted. Women like that dated CEOs or surgeons or politicians, not firemen with addiction issues. Besides, each day he didn't call, he turned into a bigger douche. His excuse, the destroyed numbers, sounded so lame. There was a fair chance she'd laugh at him.

Hell. Tomorrow. He'd cop to it and ask Alex. At least it'd get the guys off his back.

Resolution made, his mind wandered back to Yael.