The Firefighter's Match

“Next year. When the UIAA approved them as ready. We tested for weight with traditional belay devices—not for rain or melting point.... They’re not ready.” Alex raked one hand through his hair, panic rising up his spine until it gripped his throat. “Sam, how could you do this? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? To Max? To us?”

“They were making noises like they’d go with someone else next season if we didn’t sweeten the deal. They didn’t want to wait until next year to showcase the SpiderSilk. They thought the unknown, the ‘test pilot’ element gave a great new twist. Hey, come on, the guy even knew he was using a prototype and signed a special release waiver and everything. And nobody said anything about a climb in the dark during bad weather.”

“And it never occurred to you to ask me if I thought the SpiderSilk was ready?” Alex was shouting into his phone.

“Hey, you’re the one who went AWOL and left me to run the company, remember?”

They’d had a million arguments like this in the past year. AG was second in market share, and Sam was gunning full out for the top spot. He’d always been a little too eager to cut corners in the name of flash and speed, and Alex had always been the one to stop him. In truth, at times Alex had been too cautious, and Sam’s bold strokes had leaped the company forward to new heights. It was only recently Sam had begun to gamble on things that should never be risked. They’d fought so much in the past month that work had become torture. Alex had finally grown so weary of the constant battle that he had indeed taken a break to try to figure out if it was time to leave Adventure Gear altogether. It was the whole reason behind his seclusion in Gordon Falls—which was a joke, he realized. If he’d really wanted to get away, what was he doing secluding himself so close to where the show was?

“You should never have done that. Never.”

“Well, I didn’t think you much cared what I did anymore. They way you talked, you weren’t coming back. Are you still walking away?”

A part of Alex—the squabbling sibling, angry, finger-pointing part—yearned to throw his hands up and do just that. In his two-week absence, Sam had managed to trash the Adventure Gear reputation it had taken Alex years to build. He wanted to say that he was done trying to rein Sam in, trying to hold on to integrity in a profit-hungry world. In this moment, Alex felt more than ready to leave AG in the dust and go get his joy back in some new adventure.

“I don’t know.” It was a truthful answer.

“We don’t have the luxury of ‘I don’t know.’ Fine, Alex, go ahead and disappear like you always do.”

And that was just it. Alex did disappear. Too much. He’d come to realize that his “adventures” this past year were really just running away from the unpleasantness AG had become. Some part of Alex knew it was time to decide to either truly leave or truly stay. Nothing could have forced the issue more completely than the disaster that now lay in front of him. He wanted to have some comeback for the deserved accusation Sam just hurled at him, but he didn’t have one.

Sam nearly growled into the phone, “Just know that this time I can’t guarantee there will be an AG to come back to if you bolt again. At least I can say that I was doing what I thought was right for the company. Risks don’t always pay off, and this one blew up in my face, but...”

“No, this one blew up in Max Jones’s spine. A man’s life, Sam.”

“This is my doing—I get that.”

“Do you? Do you really?” Alex wanted to think that Sam had finally made such a mess that he would wise up. A failed product or a botched marketing ploy was easy to shake off—for Sam, anyway. Had the cost finally been high enough to get through to Sam? Could he walk away and know Sam would pay attention to these kinds of issues in the future?

His brother’s growl dissolved to a sigh. “We’ve been in worse scrapes than this, you know we have, and solving this kind of stuff is what you do best. Come on, Alex, you’re our fix-it guy. You come up with the hot new product and then convince the world that they can’t live without it. You can get the family on board with seeing things our way—I know you can. I’m asking you to help. But I’m not going to beg.”

This wasn’t a business decision anymore. JJ was upstairs wondering if her brother would ever walk again. For whatever reason, God had orchestrated him right into the middle of this storm, and he now knew he couldn’t walk away from it. There would be no bolting—not even back to Denver.

“I’ll stay here at the hospital until we get word on Max Jones. Get the ropes and hardware back from production and get Doc out here on the next flight.” If anyone would be able to ascertain what had happened with the equipment, Mario “Doc” Dovini would. As their chief climbing expert and product development specialist in Denver, Doc would be the man with the answers. After all, they’d taken to calling the flamboyant Italian “Doc” because his diagnostic skills were so extraordinary.

“I got part of the gear back thirty minutes ago and Doc is due in at 10:48.”

Maybe Sam was ready to take Adventure Gear’s helm without him, after all. He had to be absolutely certain, though, and right now he was anything but sure.

* * *

He looked like a dead man.

That was all JJ could think of as she stared at the body on the bed in front of her. Enclosed in braces and packs and tubes and monitors, Max actually looked more like a machine than her brother. He was so banged up and trussed up that the only thing that still looked like Max was the hand lying beside hers on the stark white blanket. She put her hand on top of it, startled by how cold it was. She wanted the fingers to squeeze hers, to show some sign of life, but they were limp and still.

A nurse came up behind her. “They’ve made it so he can’t move. He’s in there, I promise you, but he’ll be heavily sedated for a little while longer.”

JJ looked back at the nurse. Hers was the first calm face JJ had seen in hours. “How bad is it?”

“He was one of the lucky ones. He made it here under the eight-hour window, which means they can give him drugs that improve his chances considerably. He had good care on site and they got him here fast.”

“Max always said he wanted to ride in a helicopter.” She couldn’t believe she was making a joke while her brother lay dying.

No, Max wasn’t dying. At least now they were able to tell her that much. He’d definitely survive, only survival was going to be very different for a while. Maybe forever. JJ felt her throat tighten.

“Our boy has some fight in him, does he?” The nurse had a gentle smile.

“Loads.”

Placing her hand on JJ’s shoulder, the nurse gave her a quick squeeze. “That’s good. He has excellent chances—you need to believe that. And those bruises will get worse before they get better, so he won’t be winning any beauty contests anytime soon, but the tricky part’s over for now.” She nodded toward a vinyl couch against the windows. “That folds out if you want to try to nap—I’d guess you’ve been up for hours. I’m Leslie and I’ll be on duty all today. What’s your name, dear?”

“JJ. Max is my brother.” JJ swiped a tear away with the back of her hand.

“It a comfort to have family here. Max is in expert hands—we’re very good at what we do. We’ll give him every chance there is, JJ, so you hang on to that.” She punched a few buttons on one of Max’s monitors. “What’s JJ stand for?”

“Josephine Jones. It’s always been a bit of a mouthful, so I’ve been JJ since I was about twelve.”

Leslie ran an assessing hand along several of the way-too-many tubes traveling between Max and the assortment of machines that clustered around his bedside. “It’s a good, strong name. Can I give you some advice, JJ?”

“I suppose.”

“See all these machines? They’re taking every burden we can off Max’s body so that it can spend all its energy on healing. They look invasive, but they’re really making things easier for Max. You should do the same. You and your family have a long road ahead of you, so it’s time to pull in your own support. Call in your friends and Max’s friends, and when they offer to help, don’t think of them as invasive. Think of them as taking the burden off you so you can spend your energy on helping Max.”

Sweet thoughts, but they sounded a bit rehearsed to JJ. “Do you say that to all the families?” It came out sharper than JJ would have liked, but she didn’t really have a lot of grace to extend to anyone at the moment.

There was no judgment in Leslie’s expression. “Just the ones who aren’t crying.”

“Not crying?”

“The ones who don’t cry are the ones who are used to staying strong. Strong is a good thing—Max will need your strength—but this is one of those times where you’d better call in the cavalry. That’s harder for some people than others. Just promise me that when people offer to help, you’ll say yes.”

“Call for backup.” She was familiar with the concept. And yes, she’d always had a bit of trouble calling for backup before. Hadn’t she just rebuffed Alex’s multiple offers to help? It made JJ wonder if all ICU nurses had Leslie’s high level of intuition.

Leslie smiled. “Exactly. Promise me you’ll call for backup. And that includes me. I happen to know the coffee from the machine on the fourth floor is the only stuff in the hospital worth drinking.” A nursing assistant knocked gently and then slid the glass ICU door open to reveal a cart full of bandages and such. “Stan and I have some less than dignified tasks to do to your brother. Why don’t you take this chance to go get yourself some breakfast and make some calls? Max is out cold for the time being, and he’ll want you here, on top of your game, later.”

Whereas a few minutes ago the room felt small and claustrophobic like the inside of a combat vehicle, it suddenly felt wrong to leave Max. Her presence had turned into some kind of vigil to her, as if she were keeping Max alive—just one more responsibility she was taking on for his sake. How quickly she had catapulted herself back into big-sister mode, absorbing Max’s self-inflicted catastrophes as some sort of failure on her part to keep him in line.

Leslie caught her hesitation. “Thirty minutes. It will do you good. Believe me, he’s not going anywhere and he’s very stable. Go on.”

“Okay.” JJ had to mentally command her feet to walk toward the door. Her head knew Leslie’s advice was sound; it was her heart that wouldn’t swallow the truth.

The glass doors closed behind her with an antiseptic swish, and JJ blinked in the stark light from the hallway windows. When had the sun come up?

Again, she forced her feet to move. It felt like her shoes echoed too loudly against the tiled floor and calm-colored walls until she pushed open the double doors that led out of the ICU unit. There, on the square navy couches she’d already come to hate, sat Alex. He looked like she felt, but he raised one of the two cups of coffee he held. “It’s awful, but I thought you could use some.”

Intrusive, but offering help. JJ could practically feel Leslie pushing her along toward the sad paper cup and its lukewarm contents. “Sure.”

Chapter Four