The Girl in the Wind, page 1
part #2 of Iron on Iron Series
THE GIRL IN THE WIND
IRON ON IRON
BOOK TWO
GREGORY ASHE
H&B
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Girl in the Wind
Copyright © 2023 Gregory Ashe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests and all other inquiries, contact: contact@hodgkinandblount.com
Published by Hodgkin & Blount
https://www.hodgkinandblount.com/
contact@hodgkinandblount.com
Published 2023
Printed in the United States of America
Version 1.05
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63621-067-4
eBook ISBN: 978-1-63621-066-7
1
“I’ll have my phone on,” Theo said. “We both will.”
Auggie bit back a comment.
“In case there’s an emergency.”
“We don’t actually expect an emergency, by the way.” Auggie sent Theo a smile. “If that needed to be said.”
“That’s why I said in case.”
This time, Auggie bit back a sigh. He didn’t think anyone noticed; the Hazard and Somerset home was a maelstrom (SAT word) of chaos.
“We’re going to have a great time,” John-Henry Somerset said. The chief of police—and Auggie and Theo’s friend—cupped the back of Lana’s head.
“We’re going to play Fillies,” Lana said. The words were flat, almost affectless, one of the lingering effects of the terrible car accident she’d been in as a toddler. The leg brace was another. She was ten years old now, which was hard for Auggie to believe, with long dark hair that came to her shoulders. She had none of Theo’s features or coloring—in fact, at a casual glance, she might have looked more like Auggie’s biological daughter.
Emery Hazard looked at Theo. John-Henry’s husband was a former police officer turned private investigator, and it didn’t matter how many barbecues and baseball games Auggie went to, the unsettling weight of those amber eyes never changed.
“Fillies,” Theo clarified.
Evie, Emery and John-Henry’s daughter, looped through the room, being pursued by a scruffy puppy—when Auggie had asked what kind of dog she was, Emery had glowered and said, “Mutt.” Evie was four, almost five, and she had John-Henry’s features, although, like Lana, she was dark where John-Henry was blond. As she ran, she screamed, “Biscuit, Biscuit, Biscuit!” The dog didn’t have any problem keeping up with her—in fact, most of the chase seemed to consist of the puppy jumping up to put her paws on Evie, at which point Evie squealed and pushed the dog down to run some more.
“Come here a minute, you maniac,” John-Henry said, catching her with one arm. “Do you remember Lana?”
Lana smiled and ducked her head.
“Lana came over to play.”
“We’re going to play Fillies,” Lana mumbled.
“She said—” Theo began.
“Biscuit is chasing us,” Evie said. “Come on!”
Then, latching on to Lana’s hand, she pulled her into a stumbling run. The brace made Lana’s gait uneven, but Evie was smaller and younger, and Lana matched her stride for stride. Biscuit charged after them, yapping, and jumped. Both paws connected with Lana’s waist, and she went down with a crash.
Theo started forward.
Before he could reach their daughter, though, Lana was back on her feet, laughing and pushing Biscuit away, while Evie shouted, “Come on, come on, she’s getting us!”
“Her brace—” Theo said and took another step.
Auggie caught his wrist, and when Theo looked at him, he gave him a lot of eye contact.
After a moment, the tension in Theo’s arm eased, and a rueful smile parted his beard.
“Knock it off!” The shout came from Colt, Emery and John-Henry’s son. The teenager was as tall as Emery now, and although he wasn’t their biological child, he had Emery’s startling straw-colored eyes. He also had a thundercloud of hair, which he was—Auggie had been informed—trying to grow out. And about which, on pain of death, Auggie had been told to make zero comments. “Pops,” Colt complained from the living room, “she won’t listen to me.”
“Evie,” Emery said, “listen to your brother.”
The girls stampeded past them again, screaming with laughter.
Theo smiled, but his eyes had that familiar tightness at the corners.
“Come in for a minute,” John-Henry said. “Do you have time?”
“Our reservations—” Auggie began.
“Yes,” Theo said. He followed John-Henry deeper into the house. Auggie watched them; when John-Henry said something about Lana’s bag, Theo passed it over. Slowly. Like he was cutting off his own arm.
Emery stayed with Auggie, and he was watching too.
From farther back in the house came the swell of more voices, and after a moment, Auggie said, “Full house.”
Emery made a face.
“You’re coming with me,” Colt said. He appeared in the opening to the living room for a moment, Evie slung over one shoulder, where she was giggling uncontrollably. “We’ve got to make your lunch. First day of school tomorrow. Lana, you can be in charge of the snacks.”
“First day of school?” Auggie asked.
“Preschool,” Emery clarified. “She’s got one more year before kindergarten; late birthday.”
“I love snacks,” Lana said, and she took Colt’s hand as he carried Evie toward the kitchen.
“He’s really good with kids,” Auggie said.
For a moment, the change in Emery’s expression was like watching sunlight catch glass. Then it was gone, and he scowled at Auggie. “Don’t you have a regular babysitter?”
“I heard that,” John-Henry called from the living room.
“I’m not objecting to watching Lana,” Emery shouted back. “I’m pointing out a logistical reality of parenthood. They should have an on-call babysitter who has been properly vetted.”
“We do,” Auggie said. “She got arrested. Cocaine. She sold all of Theo’s beard balm on eBay.”
For a moment, curiosity peaked in Emery’s expression. Then it flattened out. “I am surrounded by aspiring comedians.”
He turned and headed toward the living room.
“She was very good until she tried to harvest our organs,” Auggie said as he went after him.
As they reached the living room, Biscuit—presumably bored now without the girls to chase—rushed toward Emery and began to bark at him. The scruffy little puppy was barely the size of a football, and Auggie grinned in spite of himself as the little thing locked her legs and began to tell Emery off.
Emery, being Emery, crouched and said, “Keep it up, and I’ll make you into a handbag.”
Biscuit whimpered and shot off into the kitchen, where she circled Colt’s ankles and darted dirty looks at Emery.
“She’s mad because you won’t let her sleep with me,” Colt said. He stood in the kitchen, visible through the opening that connected the two rooms, supervising Lana and Evie as they crammed a lunchbox full of goldfish packs.
“She’s a dog. She sleeps where dogs sleep, in her crate.”
“Dogs can sleep with people. I asked Dr. Leon. Dr. Leon, can’t dogs sleep with people?”
Until that point, Teancum Leon had escaped Auggie’s notice, which Auggie guessed was probably the idea. The wildlife vet, with his bushy hair and wild eyebrows, was hunkered down in an armchair, a book held in front of his face, obviously trying to pretend he hadn’t heard.
“When Dr. Leon is your father, he can decide which animals are allowed to piss and shit in your bed. How does that sound?”
“Actually, most animals wouldn’t—” Tean poked his head up above the book, and for a moment, Auggie was reminded of a wild animal testing the air. Then Tean ducked back out of sight.
“Hi, Tean,” Auggie said.
“Hello.”
“Is Jem around?”
“In the kitchen.”
“He’s smart,” Emery said in an aside to Auggie as he headed toward the kitchen, “but zero social skills.”
“Hmm,” Auggie said in what he hoped was his most noncommittal tone.
The kitchen, it turned out, was the center of the madness in the house. Lana and Evie gabbled over each other as they focused their attention on loading the lunchbox with fruit snacks—only minimally supervised now by Colt. The boy had turned his attention to the other men in the room. To one man, in particular.
North McKinney had a thatch of blond hair, and he was built big and muscular in a way that made Auggie, even as an adult, feel a twinge of envy. In a gray tee that said BARNEY’S FISH AND CHIPS, he slouched against the cabinets, a beer in hand. “—you could paint it yourself, but that’s a lot of work. And you’ve got to decide if you’re going to spend your money on that, or if you want to save it toward the next one.”
“Definitely the next one,” Colt said. Lana tugged on his hand, and Colt made a dismissive
“Not this again,” Emery said.
“You don’t change your own oil?”
A flush rode Colt’s cheekbones. “Uh, I mean, Pops said—”
“Because he doesn’t know how.”
“I know how,” Emery said. “But I’m not interested in spending half a day doing a job I can pay someone else to do for forty dollars, thank you very much.”
“Half a day,” North said. “If it takes you half a day, you don’t know how to do it.”
“Maybe, um, you could teach me?” Colt’s blush intensified. “I mean, I know you’re busy, so, like, not right now—”
“He can’t teach you because he doesn’t know how,” Shaw said. North’s partner was wearing a black leotard and, probably only because North had insisted, baby blue shorts that only minimally covered his junk. He had cornered Ashley, Colt’s boyfriend, and he broke off from whatever he’d been saying to speak over his shoulder. “One time North said he was going to change the oil, and it was hours and hours, and I went out there, and he’d taken off his shirt and he was all hot and sweaty and there wasn’t any oil anywhere. So, I said—”
Colt’s eyes darted to Shaw and then back to North. To North’s chest, actually, if Auggie weren’t mistaken. Only for a heartbeat. Emery must have noticed too, though, because the muscles in his jaw stood out.
“I know how to do it, for fu—” North shot the girls a look. “I know how to do it. I can show you.”
“Seriously? That would be dope. Ash, did you hear that?”
Ashley didn’t appear to have heard, though, because he was currently trying to wriggle free from where Shaw had trapped him. Shaw was talking nonstop—the only part Auggie understood was “Would it help if I summoned my Patronus first?”—but when Ashley slid a few inches farther, Shaw’s arm shot out to block the escape.
“Good fucking Lord,” Emery said under his breath. “Excuse me while I go blow my brains out.”
“Not that one.” The voice belonged to Jem Berger. Tean’s husband worked in real estate, although Theo had said on more than one occasion that he didn’t believe that story. Auggie wasn’t sure what he thought; Jem was a puzzle. Clearly savvy, keenly trendy—although he skewed more toward vintage stuff, not really Auggie’s vibe. But every once in a while, Auggie caught a glimpse of something else, like laughter or amusement that didn’t quite line up with what was going on, and he wondered what he was missing. Right then, Jem was bent over John-Henry’s phone, shaking his head. “No, definitely not. You’re already fighting a losing battle in the ass department. Those are going to make you look like you’re lugging around a couple of sacks of flour.”
“Gee,” John-Henry said, “thanks.”
Jem flashed a grin, a hint of his slightly crooked front teeth making an appearance, and swiped on John-Henry’s phone a couple of times. “What about these?”
“Uh.” John-Henry seemed at a loss for words. “They look…young.”
Jem burst out laughing. “We’ll get them in this khaki color, and we’ll go a little longer because I don’t think you want to wear them above the ankle. I’m telling you, this is the pair.”
“What are you guys doing?” Auggie asked as he worked his way across the kitchen.
“Bankrupting me,” Emery said.
John-Henry flashed his husband a smile before saying to Auggie, “A little wardrobe update. Jem is really good at this stuff.”
“He’s motivated by existential despair, he told us. He wanted Tean to tell us about Sartre.”
“To be fair, I’m motivated by existential despair about everything,” Jem said. “We all are. Right, Tean?”
Tean’s voice floated back from the living room: “I’m not listening.”
“Let me see what you’re getting,” Auggie said, taking his place next to the men. “Ok, hold on, I know you said khaki, but what if you went for this one, a little more neutral?”
John-Henry said, “I like it, but Jem said—”
“No, he’s right.” Jem nodded. “Closer to the natural color. It’s even better.”
“And let me guess,” Emery said from where he was picking an abundance of fruit snacks out of the lunchbox. “They cost sixty dollars.”
The beat lasted a moment too long.
“Yes,” Jem said. “Sixty dollars.”
Emery paused. “How much are they?”
“I’d better check on Tean.”
Jem slipped out of the room before Emery could catch him.
“John?”
“I, uh, better help.”
And then, somehow, Auggie was alone.
“How much?” Emery said with that tone like he was picking each word carefully because the sentence was going to end in a murder.
“You know,” Auggie said, “I actually didn’t see.”
Emery’s silence seemed to grow by the second until he finally said, “I am going to remember this.”
Auggie offered a smile.
“Did I mention that we charge for babysitting?”
“No,” John-Henry called from the other room, “we don’t.”
“Speaking of which,” Auggie said, and he tried to check his watch, only he wasn’t wearing one—because, well, he never did. Emery snorted. “We’d better get going, Theo.”
“Right.” Theo scratched his beard. “Let me just check on Lana—”
“She’s fine,” North said, gesturing with his beer. “She and Evie ran that way.”
Theo looked in that direction.
“They had a bunch of kitchen knives,” North said. “And they were running with scissors. Oh, and I think they were dousing each other with gasoline.”
Theo shot him a dark look, and North smirked.
“It’s ok if you have a third nipple,” Shaw was saying to Ashley, who had now gone wide eyed and looked, frankly, a little desperate. “But it’s not ok to lie about it.”
“Not ok to lie about it,” North said. “Look who’s talking. I find you tits up in the bathtub, so blitzed you keep asking if your legs are balloons—”
“Balloon animals,” Shaw said. To Ashley, who was trying to slide away again, he added, “I thought they were those little sausage dogs.”
“—and you tell me all you did was have tea with Master Hermes.”
“It was tea! It had the little mushrooms in it!”
“Those are ’shrooms, dumbfuck!”
Ashley made a break for it, his bare feet slapping the boards as he escaped.
North squinted at Auggie. “What product do you use in your hair, Short Round?”
“Uh.”
“It’s North’s eyes,” Shaw said. “They’re starting to go.”
“Do you want to try that again?” Theo asked. “Maybe call him Auggie instead of a nickname that’s borderline racist?”
But North’s smirk just got bigger. “Daddy wants to play.”
“Ignore them,” John-Henry called from the next room. “North’s being an asshole because he’s bored.”
“Language,” Emery shouted as he scooped goldfish out of the lunchbox. “Am I the only one in this fucking house who remembers there are fucking children here, for fuck’s sake?”
“Come on,” Auggie said, catching Theo’s arm and leading him into the living room. Theo, of course, kept his gaze on North until they’d left the kitchen.
To judge by the volume, Colt and Ashley and the girls were upstairs. Colt roared, “Because I’m a monster and I’m going to eat you,” and Ashley shouted, “Come on, come on, in here,” and Evie and Lana squealed with delight. Jem perched on the arm of Tean’s chair, combing fingers through his hair while Tean tried to read, and John-Henry was flipping channels on the TV.
“Thank you again,” Auggie said.
“No problem,” John-Henry said. “Pick her up whenever you want.”
“Not whenever you want,” Emery said from the kitchen. “It’s a fucking school night, which I already had to fight with Colt about. Tonight it’s about seeing Ashley. Last night it was about that fucking back-to-school party. Fuck me. One more fucking excuse to get tanked in a fucking cornfield.”
“Ten o’clock curfew, Peewee,” North called to them. “Actually, make that nine.”
Theo’s expression flattened.
