Salvage, page 14
“Go, Brawnan. And stop staring.” She wiggled her hips, her breasts bouncing from the movement, and I was half ready to pounce. I’d never get enough of her. “It’s not polite to stare,” she added, slipping on an EFD tee of mine she liked to sleep in.
“You don’t play fair,” I groaned as she walked away.
“No clue what you’re talking about,” she shot back over her shoulder.
I jumped over the bed, running clumsily on the pillowtop. I gripped Violet by the hips and spun her toward me. She squeaked in surprise but melted against me.
“Forever and a day, Vivi.”
No star in the sky ever sparkled as bright as her eyes. No flame was as hot as the warmth radiating off of her. We shared a sweet kiss, sealing the promise without another word.
Even though Violet had to drive me to the Reid farm to grab my truck, I got to work on time for the first time since… Well, in a long while. As one of the managing partners of the gym, that wasn’t great. Asshole poltergeist, for sure. It was a damn miracle Diego hadn’t booted my ass to the curb already.
To the twangy rhythm of my favorite country playlist, I tucked the Tropical Push smoothie for Diego into the small fridge in the back office. Going through the motions of opening up the gym was way more pleasant than I remembered. Dusting the weights and sterilizing all of the equipment wasn’t exactly going to change the world, but the task settled like peace in my core.
“’Sup,” I called out when Diego walked in a few minutes before we opened.
He did a doubletake, pulled out his phone to check the time, looked back up at me, blinked a bunch. “Is this real life?”
“Sure is. Even got a treat for you. Vi’s Tropical Push in the fridge.”
Diego’s grin widened. “Whoa. So many questions, dude. What’s happening? Who are you, and what kind of bodysnatcher shit is this?” He clapped a hand on my back. “Nice to see you so cheerful.”
Diego, for his part, didn’t look too good. He retreated into the office to grab the smoothie with none of his natural exuberance. Drink in hand, he sprawled down on one of the mats. His usual healthy glow was dimmed with weariness.
“How rough was it?”
He rubbed a hand through his short-cropped hair. “We lost the farm. No casualties, but a few pieces of equipment didn’t make it.”
“Shit. Did Hollis show?”
Diego nodded while his jaw nearly broke on a yawn. “He was there, yeah. He’s a pro at spotting accelerant now. He didn’t disclose if he suspects the same guy from the other fires. Above my pay grade.”
“Even for a lieutenant?” I teased to ignore the unease ballooning in my chest like a pufferfish.
“Apparently. Nelson’s been keeping lots of the Hollis stuff under that red hat of his. From what I can tell, anyway. Probably to avoid rumors and full-blown panic.”
That spoke volumes. Diego was Nelson’s preferred acting captain when he couldn’t be at the station. If Nelson’s de facto right-hand man didn’t get all of the details, something must be brewing. Or maybe… nothing at all. Now that was concerning.
“I was the water supply officer at the road during the call. Got to talking to a few of the farmhands. They saw this tall guy skulking around the farm earlier in the night. Dude was wearing an Eastwood High School sweatshirt. They didn’t think anything of it until later. I made sure they told Hollis and the cops.”
My heart jumped to my throat as the profile stats rang through my brain. Males aged between 17 to 26.
“Don’t get too excited.” Diego yawned again. “Everyone in town owns one of those sweatshirts. Shit, I’ve got one even though I went to high school in Saint-Canton.”
“That’s true.” Every year, the high school sold merchandise to fund some of its extracurricular activities. It was a point of pride to own some of the gear. “It was Halloween,” I pointed out despite the pufferfish swimming in my gut. “Probably some random kids playing kick-the-can in the fields.”
“That’s exactly what Max and I figure.” Diego rubbed at his eyes. “Remember the year some lunatics tried to make crop circles in the Reids’ field?”
I nodded. “Man, were we that weird as teens?”
“Weirder,” he shot back after a deep pull from his smoothie. There was only so much work the citrusy drink could do to revitalize a sleep-deprived brain.
“When were you released from the scene?” I recognized that bone-deep exhaustion.
“I got back home a couple of hours ago.” He stood, bent into a folded stretch before shuffling to the desk. “No point sleeping. It would’ve fucked me up more than anything.”
“You got any clients today?”
He peeked at the schedule. “Yeah. A couple. For once, training people will be harder on me.” His usual buoyant chuckle was muted by his fatigue.
“Hey, man. Go home. Go to bed.”
“Nah. I couldn’t.”
“You were at a fire scene all night. You’re dead on your feet. Let’s not even mention all of the times you carried this gym for the both of us. I owe you. I’ll call your clients. They can either reschedule or come in and I’ll take care of ‘em.”
Diego’s face was unreadable, but his slow blinks were loud enough. He finally whistled. “Holy shit, you have been bodysnatched.”
“Sure,” I chortled. “Go, dude. For real. I’ve got this. I know I can’t take back all those times I let you down, but let me try to make it up to you. No eggs were harmed with this offer.”
I don’t know if his reluctance was due to my temperamental moods or if he was legitimately concerned his partner couldn’t take a day alone to run their business. Regardless, he left.
I focused all of my energy on being the best damn trainer I could be for Diego’s clients. Technically, Maximilien Cloutier, a fellow firefighter, was one of my only clients. Shitty number in comparison to Diego, who was killing it. He was definitely one of the people I’d consistently disappointed. I’d make amends.
By the time the gym closed at three – thank fuck for small-town living and Sunday hours – I was ready to explode from thinking about not thinking about Violet. We had plans to hang out, but I wanted to pin it down. Make it a real long date. Or whatever it was.
Let it be a date.
I grabbed my phone and tapped out a message to Violet. Her response was nearly instantaneous.
* * *
Rowan: Wanna have dinner together?
* * *
Violet: Sure. I’m in the mood for a delicacy.
* * *
Rowan: Your wish is my command.
* * *
Violet: It’s real rare, though. Only one in existence.
* * *
Rowan: ???
* * *
Violet: Brawnan sausage.
* * *
Rowan: On my way.
* * *
I added a gif of a car driving at breakneck speeds, giggling like a kid.
Before making my way home, there was something I needed to do.
I hunkered down in the back office. My fingers hovered over my phone’s screen. The last few days had been my clearest days in a long time. I was now keenly aware that I had done a lot of damage in the last few years. I shattered into multiple tornadoes, wreaking havoc in every part of my life. I didn’t know how to make it right for Mom and Libby, but I was working on Diego and the fire department.
Violet was a category all her own.
Calling Hollis was simply something I had to do. For Eastwood. For the fire crew. To reset the scales of balance and justice to some kind of right.
I had to remember that I stood on the precipice of a deep abyss of pain and frustration. The phone call was only a visit. Not a permanent stay. Not this time.
I ground my teeth down and made a choice. I could do this. I was strong enough. Tough enough. Just dip a toe in.
“Hollis,” the fire investigator barked in greeting.
“Hollis, hey.” I injected every ounce of confidence into my voice, all the while trying to keep my disdain at bay. “It’s Rowan Walker from Station 5. Just calling to see if you had any other news about the latest fire in Haxby.”
The sound of fast typing filtered through the line. Hollis wasn’t even listening. Why even pick up the call? My mood darkened as my respect for the man dropped significantly lower. What an ass. This guy should get an award for least effective and compassionate investigator ever.
“Station 5? How many times are you guys gonna call? Talk to the captain. I don’t have time for this.”
“No. You need to listen.” I spoke through gritted teeth. “I get that arson is hard to pinpoint. I even get that it’s difficult to prosecute, even if you were to find the guy with the matches in his hand. Someone died out here. That has to mean something. Gimme the info. I can help. What accelerant was used?”
“Can’t say anything. Talk. To. The. Captain.”
“Hollis…” My jaw clenched. “There are a lot of people who are hurting because of this. It needs to stop.”
“Walker, you said?” He scoffed dryly. “Didn’t you get benched? I’ve heard about you. You’re not even part of the crew anymore. You’re a civie. Let the pros do their jobs. You think arson is tough to prove? You’ve got no idea, bud. What do you think I’m doing out here? Picking my nose and flicking boogers at my paperwork? The more calls I gotta dodge from dipshits like you, the less time I have to do my job.”
The line went dead.
I dropped my phone onto the desk and fisted my hands. Throwing the device across the room was hardly productive. Besides, maybe he was right. Hollis could very well be doing his best.
It just wasn’t good enough for Eastwood.
The people of the Caribou River deserved more than this.
18
Ordinary Chats
Violet
Forever and a day.
Four teeny tiny words that meant whatever I wanted.
Rowan made that declaration this morning. It would be romantic as hell if it was his way of saying he wanted to get back together. Not that the big lug actually stated he wanted to pick up where we left off.
To be fair, I hadn’t either. I wanted nothing more than to get my Rowan back. The one who was present. The one who actually participated in his life.
Truth is I was fucking terrified of picking up where we left off. Not because I didn’t love him but rather because I didn’t know how to be a good partner to someone who wasn’t all in. Making sure he got to work on time. Reminding him not to drink so much. I didn’t enjoy turning into a nag. There are only so many times you can gently ask a grown man if he’s sure he’s making the best choice before you annoy even yourself.
Toward the end, I was raising a grown man instead of being in a relationship with someone I knew was responsible and solid.
That was the worst part, I think.
Knowing precisely what Rowan was capable of but seeing him lose himself to the grief.
Forever and a day couldn’t mean that I only took him when things were nice and rosy. That couldn’t translate to being his metaphorical punching bag. His secretary. His voice of reason. I couldn’t police and monitor his behaviors. That wasn’t fair to either of us.
We needed to have an honest and open dialogue about the future. That was pretty fucking obvious. If only conversations were that easy. It’s not just putting one word after the other, hoping to give voice to your feelings.
It’s choosing the right words. It’s checking the ego at the door and grabbing a firm hold on vulnerability. It’s understanding that words have power. They can conjure the past, emotions, fears, all in one breath. It’s accepting you might not like the response.
It’s being okay with the outcome, whatever it might be.
It’s actually listening instead of thinking up your next response.
Just talk about it is my least favorite piece of advice. If it was that easy, there would never be any misunderstandings. Everyone would just get along. Double entendres wouldn’t exist. The world is fraught with communication breakdowns, and that’s the crux: we talk about half as badly as we listen.
Just talk about it very much equals cut yourself open and lay your heart down.
Sure. Let me get right on that.
Needing a distraction, I slid on a pair of black leggings, a purple zip-up, and one of Rowan’s thick plaid jackets for good measure. The sleeves were already rolled to fit me, thanks to my knack for stealing his clothes.
“Come on, you two,” I shouted to the dogs from the door. “We’re doing yard work.” Because why the fuck not? Nothing says I’m super chill and not freaking the fuck out like raking acres of land. I had to do something to rid myself of the nervous energy.
My text was pretty damn raunchy. Overly flirty because how could it not be? Before our night-long tryst, we hadn’t had sex in a while. He was never in the mood, and I stopped trying to initiate. There’s only so much rejection a woman can take.
While I worked, Picasso roamed around me, never too far, sniffing anything he could get his nose on. Dali lounged on a patch of pale sunlight on the dying grass. She leaped to her feet as soon as she spotted Rowan’s truck coming down the long laneway. Picasso turned his head and barked happily. He hopped in place, knowing he wasn’t allowed to tread on the laneway when there was an oncoming car. He might pee in the bed like a champ, but he still remembered some of his training.
Rowan sprang from his truck wearing a grin and a black ballcap spun backward. He flipped it off to smooth down his hair and fitted it back onto his ridiculously handsome head. Blond strands escaped the hat, framing his square jaw. I was mesmerized by the darker shade of his beard. I rubbed my hands along my thighs as I remembered what the scruff felt like on my sensitive skin.
“Hey,” was my epic greeting. My tongue was three seconds from rolling out of my mouth with a catcall of hubba-hubba. Someone needed to hurry up and scientifically study the effects of gray sweatpants on women’s brains… and libidos.
“‘Sup, buddy?” Picasso was doing his level best to climb into Rowan’s arms. “Settle down, would ya? Go get it.”
Picasso obeyed the command, finding a wide piece of wood. He dropped it at Rowan’s feet, who immediately picked it up and threw the so-called toy far and wide. Both dogs chased after it with happy yips.
I licked my lips as I watched Rowan advance toward me.
My stubborn heart beat to the rhythm of forever and a day. It could start a rock band with my ribs and buckling knees.
“Hey, Vi.”
Do we kiss? Our goodbye was hours ago, which basically translated to a million years.
Rowan had the answer.
He didn’t hesitate. His hand went to my hip as he bent over me, brushing his lips against my temple. My hands found his muscular chest of their own volition. I had no control over them, and that was damn inconvenient.
Pure instinct and longing took over.
“Permission to be presumptuous?” His baritone was impossibly deeper, the notes of his question rich and smooth.
“I mean,” I whispered, too breathy to do much of anything else.
His chuckle rumbled against my chest. He leaned further, his destination evident, but I was still captivated by his approach. I soaked in the delicious seconds in his arms until his kiss overtook my senses. His lips moved against mine, his tongue dipping into my mouth in quick flutters. I might’ve moaned; I might’ve melted. Maybe I was nothing but a pile of embers waiting for Rowan to flame me back to a thriving fire.
Rowan’s strong palms held my face to his. He took his time to explore our embrace as if it was the first.
A heavy weight crushed my foot. I jumped with a yelp. Rowan staggered back, his arms steadying me. A lumpy piece of wood lay by my foot. Inches away, Picasso grinned up at us with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
“Oh, dude,” Rowan chortled. “You sure know how to pick your time.” He grabbed the offending chunk of lumber and tossed it away. Picasso groaned, not budging. “You’ll get attention later, bud. I swear.” He took my hand in his, giving it a good squeeze. “Those prize-winning toes of yours good?”
“Yup.” If he kept stroking my hand, I would never feel pain again.
“You ready?” His hand traveled from my shoulder down the length of my arm to tangle our fingers together.
“Where are we going?”
“I thought we could go to the trails by the river before dinner. I have it on good authority that the leaves are all kinds of beautiful.”
I smiled at him despite the nervous energy making my organs vault. “So a public outing?”
Rowan considered this for a moment. “Is the river public? I forget it doesn’t belong to us. You know, ’cause we’ve spent so much of our time there.”
The it’s where we fell in love wasn’t spoken out loud, but I heard it. My mind was adamant that we had to figure out a couple of things right away.
Were we back together?
What did sex, walks by the river, and dinner mean?
Nothing had changed… Except for Rowan, who appeared more clearheaded than he had in a long time. He was so sincere in his kisses and sweet touches. His love was so damn warm when he sent it my way; I wanted to believe that we could just be.
Fear of loss is a powerful motivator. Besides, we could talk over dinner.
“The river it is, then,” I agreed with a smirk.
The late Sunday afternoon was pretty chilly. I regretted not switching my EFD hat for a tuque the second I stepped out of Rowan’s truck. The wind along the Caribou River heralded winter in a very real way. The air smelled like snow. A sweet, fresh cold that promised new beginnings.
Rowan snapped leashes to the dogs’ collars. They were out of their minds with excitement. We hadn’t been to the trails in a very long time.
