Salvage, page 17
In the back of my head, Colson’s voice blathered on about his wellness and fitness initiative.
One word, in particular, stood out.
An acronym, really.
Colson mentioned it to me after the incident. No one wants a fellow firefighter to freeze at a scene, but the car accident was too reminiscent. One glimpse at the victim, and my mind went blank. I couldn’t talk, hear, move. Nothing. Colson made his pronouncement. He wasn’t a doctor or any kind of medical professional, not when it came to emotional stuff, anyway. He could hurl diagnostics at me all he wanted.
Those four letters? I didn’t want them strung together to spell out what might be wrong with me.
It couldn’t be true. I wouldn’t let it.
“I’m glad we decided to come out,” I said. I held Violet tighter to push away the thoughts. I could King Kong that shit and swipe at the past until it left me the hell alone. “Eastwood isn’t really a noisy place, but it’s even quieter in here.”
“I can hear the bunnies hibernating.” She giggled before continuing on the path.
“Impossible,” I chuckled.
“Okay, fine. But listen.” She stopped, her hand reaching out for my arm. She looked up at the canopy of trees, the weak sun barely illuminating her lovely face. She glowed. Not because a beam of light bathed her in its embrace.
No.
Violet Ross glowed because I loved her. Because we were here together.
If having sex again proved that our chemistry remained very much combustible, hiking for no reason other than to spend time confirmed that we were on our way back to us. We were already there. I hadn’t slept at my mom’s place. I was basically living home again.
Not that we discussed it.
We took up where we left off.
Part of me knew we’d need to hash everything out for real soon enough. My apologies and amends would only take us so far. That was a Future Rowan Problem. For now, I wanted to bask in Violet’s orbit.
“Do you hear that?” Her excitement was adorable. Sexy. So Violet. Everything I wanted, everything I needed. “I love that sound,” she explained with another murmur. “I swear I can hear the trees breathing.”
“Pretty sure that’s me, Vi.” I stood right behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. She melted against me with a happy sigh. “If we wanna get out of here before nightfall, we need to pick up the pace a tad.”
“Sun won’t set for another hour. We’ve got time.” She turned to face me, never breaking our embrace. Surprising the hell out of me, Violet cupped my scruffy cheeks with her mittens. “Rowan Walker.” My name was a husky whisper. “If we make it back to the car in twenty-eight minutes, you get to pick dinner.”
I arched a brow. “Oh? We still have a good thirty-five minutes before we get to the end of the trail.”
She blinked at me. Her long, inky lashes flamed the blaze of my desire. “Maybe dinner isn’t interesting enough.” She lifted up to her tippy toes and brought her mouth to my ear. “How about winner picks the position later?”
“Position?” The word whooshed out of me. My dick knocked against my zipper.
“Yup. Keep up, Brawnan.”
With a giggle, she bolted away.
She didn’t turn to see if I was behind her. She knew. So long as I was capable, I’d follow her anywhere.
Keeping up? Now, that was another thing.
21
Diamond Shoes Aren’t a Woman’s Best Friend
Violet
Tankard, the bar my dad owned, was pretty much an Eastwood staple. Without a hint of bias, I could admit he served the best pub food for miles around. The only real competition was in Saint-Canton because nothing fixes a hangover or soaks up booze more than a pile of golden fries, topped with fresh and squeaky curds and piping hot gravy.
That stuff is straight-up magical.
What Tankard lacked in poutine, it made up for in history.
The Ross family founded Eastwood with the Clermonts a long time ago. Dad knew all the lore by heart. As a retired firefighter, he had decades of fire calls to regale patrons over a pint. That was always a bonus.
The bar was his pride and joy. That he finally agreed to meet – and picked this place as the location – was telling.
A quiet reminder that he knew how to establish and run a beloved town business.
Tankard’s parking lot was empty given the midmorning hour. The only people around would be Dad and Tavish, but I knew my brother would make himself scarce. Tav was my only sibling who would understand the discussion’s importance. As a social worker, Daphne didn’t rely on Dad for her paycheck. Smart lady. Now, if only John Ross took his damn money back, I’d be able to say the same.
The bar was a cool spot, frequented by the firefighters, farmers, and pretty much anyone in Eastwood who enjoyed the quintessential pub atmosphere. From the thick leather booths lining the walls, high-top tables, shiny hardwood floors, pool tables at the back and in direct line of sight of the small stage, the place screamed good times. Even the dark wood paneling plastered over with all kinds of firefighting paraphernalia from Dad’s days on the crew was a major pull for patrons.
Dad opened Tankard when he was still on a full-time crew in Ottawa. He filled his time away from the station by starting Tankard and then amassing all kinds of businesses and properties all along the Caribou River.
They didn’t call him Ruthless Ross for nothing.
Tavish waved at me from behind the bar, laptop and papers spread out on the shimmering wooden surface. That thing was his baby. I teased him that he polished it every hour, on the hour. He hated the joke, but only because it was true. My little brother was married to Tankard. Or he would be if Dad actually retired and let him run it like he was supposed to do two years ago.
I wasn’t the only Ross kid riding on the business highway with a pedal bike and training wheels.
"The patriarch is in the back office.” Tavish didn’t look up from his work.
"Thanks, Tav. I'll try not to drag this out."
"Good luck," he mumbled, glancing up with a healthy dose of pity.
I passed through the revolving serving door that led to the kitchen. Off to the right was the office door. Its black paint glimmered in the spotlights, shining directly on a sign that read Management doesn't manage your BS. Most likely a Tavish addition to the décor.
With a deep breath, I rolled my shoulders back and knocked loudly three times.
“Come on in, Violet.”
I pushed in and immediately shut the door behind me. Dad stood from behind the desk and came over to give me a hug.
"Let's get down to it, shall we?"
He laughed and sat on the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. The jovial face I knew so well was slowly replaced by another expression I also recognized. This was Business John. Boss John. I-am-in-control John.
"Right to it, huh?" he teased.
"You taught me that."
He grinned. "I sure did. I also taught you to take help when it's offered and not look a gift horse in the mouth."
Because that had turned out so well for the Trojans.
I handed him a folder, already opened to the page I wanted to focus on. I didn't need a copy of it. I knew the numbers off by heart.
"As you can see, Bullseye has been making straight profit for the last three years." Please don't ask me about those dates. We both know what they mean. "The axe throwing has booked us a lot of parties. Penny, my assistant manager, is even looking to start a leisure league, similar to the darts one we've had for a couple of years now. Which, by the way, is doing well too. Darts don't ever go out of style, it seems."
I added that because Dad warned me many times not to rely on my axe-throwing income. That it was nothing but a fad that would pass. So far, he was wrong. Especially in a town where lots of people learned to chop wood as soon as they could hold up an axe.
"I've expanded the classes we offer beyond MMA and self-defense. I've hired a few new instructors to help out with that. The finances have been going well for a long while now."
My smile was genuine, but it was also a bit pinched for no other reason than that we both knew where this conversation was going.
"I want to thank you for helping me with everything. I wouldn't have been able to open Bullseye without you, but now it's time for the business to fly on its own." I slid the check out from my back pocket, commanding my fingers to stop shaking. He was not going to like this. "I’m repaying the original business loan. In full. With a very grateful thanks.”
I extended the check to him, but he didn’t touch it. He tightened his crossed arms over his chest, inhaling so deeply he could only be getting ready to rage out. Without moving an inch, I braced for impact.
“When you learned how to walk, I was still there to pick you up when you fell. When you learned to ride a bike without training wheels, I was there too. That loan is your training wheels, Violet.”
“I’m a grown woman. I don’t need training wheels.” I really disliked his favorite analogy.
Dad shrugged, his toothpick moving from one side of his mouth to the other. “I’m your dad. I’ll never wanna stop helping you. It’s my prerogative. Whether you like it or not. Just the way it is.”
I was shocked, but not really. “Are you seriously refusing this money?”
“Go back to work, Vi. Far as I’m concerned, we’re squared.”
“But we’re… not… though.” Completely destabilized. The ground could’ve eaten me whole and I wouldn’t have been this surprised. “I’m not keeping this money. It’s yours and Mom’s. It belongs to you.”
“I’ll see you later, kiddo.”
And with that, John Ross left the office. I gaped like a fish – if fish could be frozen in anger.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked the empty room.
I stood there for a long while, check in my hands, holding it out to no one in particular. There would be no sense to this conversation until I spoke to Mom. She always did understand the inner workings of Dad’s brain. I could leave the check on the desk, but he would rip it up.
When I walked back to the bar, Tavish waited for me with a shit-eating grin.
“Went about as well as I thought it would, didn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.
“Could he be more infuriating?” I whined. Super independent, capable adult, Vi. “He wants to”—I used my fingers to air quote—“‘help’ me by refusing to take back the loan. It’s not like he and Mom are raking in dough.” I threw my hands up in exasperation.
Tavish’s shrug was a perfect mimic of Dad. “It’s been the same thing for me every week when I ask to take on more responsibility. At least we know it’s done out of love,” he grumbled. “Dad’s way of keeping us close and under his supervision.”
We both stared at a framed picture that had a place of honor behind the bar. Silence was heavy with an unspoken conversation.
A five-letter name that always trailed behind our family in a dark cloud of grief. Dad would always want to be a bigger part of our lives to make sure he could have some kind of control over us.
“It would be nice to have our hard work acknowledged, you know, despite what happened...” I wouldn’t rehash the loss that had a profound impact on Dad’s parenting style. Hell, on his whole personality. Tav knew all about it. “Makes me feel like a little girl who doesn’t know what I’m doing, ya know?”
“Sure do, but we’re definitely assholes for complaining. So there’s that.”
I harrumphed. “That’s not what bugs me. What annoys me is being on the hook. Owing him.”
“Not being in control,” he amended. “Just like him.”
I flipped him off. “Don’t start with that, Tav. You know Flynn and a bunch of other bands wanna play here because of you. You want control of Tankard. You want to bring it to the next level.”
Tavish grabbed a dishrag and scrubbed the already pristine surface of the bar.
“You’ll wear out the polish.”
“Then I’ll varnish it again.”
“I need to give Dad this cash back. Maybe Mom will take it.”
My brother’s arched brow spoke volumes. “Those diamond shoes look just fine on your feet. That tiara, too, champ.” He jutted his forehead toward my EFD hat. “Say hey to Rowan for me. I’m glad you two are back together.”
Wow, but word traveled fast.
“Who told you?”
“Daphne and her merry band of gossips were in here for drinks last night. Élodie was with them, obviously. I overheard them talking. As did half the bar.”
I rolled my eyes. “Awesome.”
Tavish chuckled. “No one actually believed that was the end of Eastwood’s favorite high school sweethearts.”
“We’re hardly the only ones. Look at Chuck and Isabelle Paradis.”
“True. But you’re the ones people like to root for.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the bar. I didn’t know if he was pointing toward the very last picture of our family before Craig died or to the enormous mural of Winston Walker. “You two ending up together and popping out a couple kids is what the town wants. It’ll wrap a nice bowtie around it all. A nice ending to a tragic story.”
I sighed. Tavish had his lion’s share of said tragedy. No little boy should find his older brother dead. It didn’t matter that we were together in that horrible moment. We both saw Craig’s lifeless body. I tried to lead Tavish away, to shield his eyes, to save him from the pain ripping me up.
Didn’t work out so well.
In a single night, Dad lost one son, while the other, a sweet, gregarious little kid, turned quiet and withdrawn. Tavish’s night terrors were the soundtrack to our family’s long – and endless – grieving period. It didn’t matter that Craig was our half-sibling. He was one of us, through and through. Mom raised him as her own and loved him fiercely with her tender, valiant heart. Even when Craig’s biological mother came swooping in like a devastating hurricane.
“Speaking of which,” Tav continued, “d’ya know if Rowan called Vincent yet?”
My face scrunched up at the unfamiliar name – especially with Tavish stumbling through the francophone pronunciation. “Who?”
Tav waved me off. “Nothing. No one.”
I narrowed my eyes and took a step toward him. “I’ve known you since your first post-natal peep. You’re hiding something.”
“Not my circus. Not my monkeys.”
“Tavish,” I warned using my best big sister voice.
“Violet.” His imitation of my tone annoyed me, bringing me straight to our childhood. The only missing ingredients were Daphne, who would try to be the peacemaker, and Craig, who would egg us on.
“You’re stubborn.”
His smile was sad. “Learned from the best.”
“We both did.”
“I meant you, Vi. Now get out of here so I can actually do some work. Inventory doesn’t do itself.”
“See ya, Tav.”
He waved me off, scrubbing away at the bar. I looked back over my shoulder before leaving. My little brother gazed at the family photo, his eyes unseeing.
That vacant stare reminded me of someone else.
I pushed through the door and left the uncomfortable thoughts behind.
22
How To Fix… Social Interactions
Rowan
A heavy sheet of rain thumped against the truck’s windshield like someone had decided to pour the whole of the Caribou River onto Eastwood. I really hoped this wasn’t some kind of bad omen. My instincts shouted at me to run, but my mind and heart very much wanted to push through the discomfort.
I had to do this eventually.
At least I was getting it all out of the way in one fell swoop.
All of the important people in my life — in Violet’s life — would be present.
For the last few days, Violet and I had lived in a bubble of bliss. We went to work but rushed home to take long walks with the dogs before cooking dinner together. We hadn’t been this close in a long time. The more time I spent with her, the better I felt. It gave me the strength to continue investigating the fires on my murder board. It was still up at my mom’s place
My improved mood also worked wonders at the gym. Diego was pleased to have me back in fighting form. It was a hell of a sudden change, but I leaned into it.
I had to. If I stopped to think about it, my chest damn well exploded from the pressure.
Sitting in the truck, watching the November rain submerge the town, I grappled with the progress I made. It was enough because I had Violet back, but it wasn’t sustainable. Not with everything else still in shambles. The heavy weight of guilt would crush me back down into the undertow if I wasn’t careful.
My hands gripped the steering wheel real tight. The soft leather squeaked under my fingers. Violet gently placed her hand on my thigh and gave it a comforting embrace. If it wasn’t Daphne’s birthday – if we hadn’t served as firefighters together – I would’ve begged Vi to stay at home and work on some renovation project.
“Deep breath, babe. It’s gonna be fine.”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t budge, but neither did she. Instead, she turned in her seat, giving me the full force of her keen blue eyes.
“We don’t have to go in.”
“We do, though.” Of that, I was sure.
“Wanna tell me why you’re a nervous wreck?”
I jutted my chin toward the bar. Tankard’s parking lot was packed even though it was closed for a private party. The Ross clan didn’t do anything in half measures. If John closed the bar for Daphne’s birthday, he invited the whole family. That was a lot of Rosses and a whole lot of people from Eastwood. Basically a bunch of folks who’d witnessed my three-year deep dive into the abyss of my mind.
