TONY: Slow Burn (Raging Fire Book 1), Kallypso Masters [classic novels TXT] 📗

dealt with flashbacks and nightmares on some level over calls gone wrong during our careers.”

“I’m fine,” Tony lied. “Stop worrying.” Tony truly believed that he’d be fine in a week or two. He turned to his lieutenant. “I haven’t missed a shift or been late to work, have I? Do you have any issues with my job performance, Lieutenant?”

He shook his head. “You’re meeting the minimum requirements, but that’s what concerns me. Your fire service family is noticing you aren’t around except when you’re on duty. We loved that you used to come to the station during all three shifts like it was a second home. We miss that. Your biological family and your fire family want to make sure you get the help you need so we can get back the firefighter/EMT you were before that bad call. Our shift also misses having you kidding around. It’s obvious that you’re not enjoying yourself at work anymore.”

Tony sat back in the chair and crossed his arms. True, he hadn’t gone near the station on his days off since that Sunday when he’d made the mistake of stopping by and going out on that fateful run. If he hadn’t been there, maybe someone else would have been on that ladder and been able to save the mother and child.

“The guys on my shift miss your minestrone,” Rafe added with a grin. “So do I.”

“You guys know how to cook. You don’t need me.”

“We miss you, Tony” Rafe said.

This intervention—and there was no other way to label it—was beginning to make him uncomfortable. Admitting he had any problems dealing with what happened left him unsettled. Okay, maybe Rafe, Papa, and Ryder—maybe Dale too—had needed someone to talk to, but Tony wasn’t that bad off.

“Look, I appreciate you guys coming here to share these stories, but I’m fine. Really.”

Mama surreptitiously pinched his side like she used to do when he squirmed too much during Sunday Mass. “I can smell the bourbon on your breath, Tony. I don’t want you to get lost in the bottle. That almost happened to Papa, you know.”

No, he had no clue it had been that bad for Papa.

“Please, A.J., make an appointment to talk with Lisa or someone. For me,” she said, clutching his forearm tightly with her other hand, “if not yourself.” The pleading look in her tear-filled eyes tore at Tony’s gut.

He’d do anything to make his mother happy, but he didn’t need this. What would he say to a shrink? He was supposed to help people, not seek help from others. And no one had said he wasn’t performing his duties, so could Lieutenant make him go?

He turned back to his superior. “Is my position at the firehouse at risk if I don’t see someone, Lieutenant?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not as long as you can perform your duties. But, Tony, you need to know that talking with someone isn’t a sign of weakness. It takes a strong person to admit there’s an issue he needs to deal with head-on. Drinking yourself to sleep every night isn’t a healthy coping mechanism and the long-term effects on your body and mind can be devastating.”

Apparently, he’d already been pegged a drunk by half if not all the people at this table.

“Tony, what do you think happens at one of those sessions?” Rafe asked.

“I have no clue. Haven’t given it any thought.” Tony wanted to keep it that way.

“I can tell you from experience it’s not what you’re imagining,” he said. “Lisa’s worked with a lot of first responders. She gets us. You won’t shock her with your stories. She’s mostly going to listen and help you figure out for yourself how to work through things.”

Tony still didn’t think that he needed to talk to anyone and would be happy when this session was over. “I’m glad she helped you, Rafe. You too, Ryder. I really am.” Lieutenant hadn’t admitted to seeing a therapist, so he didn’t include him. “But how can I make you guys see that I don’t need to talk to anyone? I’m getting through this my own way.”

“Are you?” Mama asked, stroking his cheek. “You’ve been withdrawing from us, little by little. We miss the Tony we know and love.”

Tony hadn’t gone anywhere, but sure planned on leaving now. He stood up. “I’m going to the kitchen to see how that ravioli is coming along.” Assuming there even was any ravioli. Angelina obviously had been in on this intervention too. Why was she hiding in the kitchen?

How could he show all of them that he wasn’t losing his shit?

Chapter Twelve

Come Tuesday morning, Tony wondered how the hell he’d let them talk him into coming to see this woman, the shrink. It had been three days since everyone had ganged up on him at Angelina’s restaurant in what was clearly an orchestrated intervention. They’d played him like a fiddle, no doubt about that. He hadn’t been sold on this idea, though, until Angelina had cornered him in the kitchen while he ate and told him how bad Marc’s PTS had been and that she didn’t want Tony to go through that too. She’d seemed upset as she must have remembered back to a rough time with her guy.

However, once he’d had time to think about it, hearing that Rafe had been to the woman had been the major tipping point. Maybe she’d help Tony develop that tough outer shell Rafe had.

When he’d returned to his apartment after Saturday’s intervention, he’d carried a new bottle of Jim Beam Black. After sitting at the kitchen table that night staring at the unopened bottle for nearly an hour while the conversations earlier that afternoon played over in his mind, he came to the realization that getting drunk on his days off wasn’t wise.

It couldn’t hurt to talk with someone about what was going on and maybe find some different coping skills, as Ryder had suggested.

He’d called Lisa Doyle’s office to make an appointment early Monday