The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

I reach over and put my hand on Sara’s belly. It’s big enough now that I can do that. And there is nothing better than feeling the kick of my son growing inside her.

  Twice, I’ve gotten to watch my gorgeous wife grow beautifully big with my babies. And twice, we’ve had the honor of giving a child a forever home through adoption.

  “What’s on your mind, Captain Andrews?” she asks as I rub her belly.

  I glance back at our three incredible children, and I smile. “Sometimes, I just can’t believe how happy I am.”

  She brings my hand up to her lips, placing a kiss on the back of it.

  “Mommy, where are my crayons?” Sadie squeals, interrupting our moment.

  Sara reaches into her bag of goodies, pulling out a bright-yellow box and a coloring book. She hands them to her. “Here you go, sweetie.”

  “She’s taking after her mother,” I say.

  “She’s four,” Sara says. “All four-year-olds color.”

  I shake my head. “Not like Sadie does. Have you seen the way she stays in all the lines? She’s going to be a genius with paints—just like you are.”

  “You might be a tad biased,” Sara says.

  “You wait and see,” I say. “Care to make a wager?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

  “Babe, you should know by now you don’t have to win a bet to get what you want.”

  I laugh. “I know. And it’s one of the things I love about you.”

  Taryn starts crying. Anything longer than an hour in a car is too long for a two-year-old.

  “I think she’s thirsty, Mom,” Joey says.

  He’s the protective older brother, always looking out for his sisters.

  Sara hands Joey a sippy cup to give to Taryn. She takes a few drinks and then drops it, falling off to sleep.

  “I’m bored,” Joey says.

  Sara looks through her bag but tells Joey she’s already given him everything she brought to keep him busy. “Any suggestions?” she asks me.

  “I might have one or two.” I hand her my phone. “There is a road trip playlist on there.”

  Sara raises her brows. “You made a playlist for us? What’s on it?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She turns on the radio and sets it to my Bluetooth channel. When the first song starts to play, a brilliant smile overtakes Sara’s face. Joey grumbles because he’s tired of hearing these songs. Secretly, though, I know he likes them just as much as Sara and I do. When we first brought him to live with us seven years ago, he cried a lot at night. Sara and I would take turns holding him and dancing around the apartment to Beach Boys songs.

  Sadie perks up when her mother and I start to sing along.

  And before we even get another mile down the road, the four of us are laughing and singing loudly to “Barbara Ann,” not caring at all if we wake little Taryn—because what we’re doing right here, right now, is what our family does best.

  We’re making memories.

  The end

  Engulfing Emma

  Chapter One

  Brett

  “Mommy,” Leo exclaims, carrying a picture of Amanda over to the table where I’m enjoying my morning coffee.

  I pull him up on my lap, briefly looking at the smiling face of the woman who is now technically my ex-wife. I glance at the thick packet of legal papers that was delivered yesterday. I’m torn between wanting to think of the first six blissful years we spent together, and the two miserable ones that came after. The two that started the day our son was born—the day she checked out. Checked out of our marriage. Checked out as Leo’s mom. Just checked out.

  Our marriage might have just legally ended, but it’s been over since the day Leo came into our lives twenty-five months ago.

  Leo puts down the picture of Amanda and picks a crayon up off the table. He begins to color in the book I place in front of him. I watch him as he colors, thinking how much he looks like her, with his blond, slightly wavy hair, green eyes, and pouty lips. Sometimes I wonder if he really understands that Amanda is his mother or if he’s just repeating what I say. Or what Bonnie, his nanny, tells him.

  He hasn’t even seen Amanda since his birthday six weeks ago. She comes around every once in a while for what seems more like an obligatory visit than a wanted one.

  I rest my chin on top of his head, inhaling the fresh scent of his clean hair. “We’re good, aren’t we? I mean, it’s pretty much been us for a long time now. Nothing’s different. Those papers haven’t really changed anything.”

  “Pony,” Leo says, showing me the picture he colored.

  I laugh, looking at the haphazard way he tried to stay inside the lines of the drawing using his purple crayon. “That’s right. Pony. Good job, son.” I ruffle his hair.

  The floorboard behind me creaks as Bonnie comes into the room. “How are my two favorite boys?” She walks over to give us each a kiss.

  Over the past two years, Bonnie has become like a grandmother to Leo and a mother to me. When Leo was only a few months old, Amanda decided that not only did Leo need a nanny, but a live-in one. I thought we were perfectly capable of raising a child without full-time help. I was more than willing to parent him when I wasn’t working my two weekly twenty-four-hour shifts. Amanda basically had a nine-to-five job at the department store. Between the two of us, we only needed help a few days a week.

  It became evident early on, however, even before we brought Leo home from the hospital, that Amanda didn’t want to be a mother. She thought she did. For years before she got pregnant, we fantasized about how we’d be a perfect family. But when it happened, every dream I had about us being the family in the Norman Rockwell paintings went right out the window. We thought it was post-partum depression at first. But it soon became clear that Amanda didn’t want Leo. And since Leo and I are a package deal, she didn’t want me either.

  “Oh, that’s a lovely pony,” Bonnie says in a grandmotherly tone. “What’ve you boys got planned today?”

  “I thought I’d take him to the park,” I say.

  “Swing! Swing! Swing!” Leo says excitedly.

  I laugh. “Yes. You can go on the swing and the slide and the horsey.”

  He wiggles off my lap and runs around the table, pretending to gallop.

  “Should we play with Joey today?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer but nods gleefully.

  Joey is a few months younger than Leo. I work with Joey’s dad, Denver, at the firehouse. Well, Denver is not technically Joey’s dad yet, but he will be soon.

  “Do you have any big plans today, Bonnie?” I ask.

  “You know me. I’ll take my usual walk to the market, stopping to feed the birds along the way. I think I’ll help out at the soup kitchen tonight before I make our dinner.”

  “Why don’t you let me cook for once?” I ask.

  “Brett, sweetie, you know how much I like to cook. Any requests for dinner?”

  “We’ll eat whatever you want to prepare, Bonnie. You really are too good to us.”

  She waves off my comment. “Taking care of the two of you gives my life purpose.”

  Bonnie lost her husband five years ago, having never had children of her own. It was awkward at first, a stranger living in our house. Someone who heard every fight. Every squeak of our bed when we occasionally made love. Every silent dinner when Amanda stayed late at work. But now, I can’t imagine life without her. She truly has become like family.

  I get up and put my coffee cup in the sink. Then I tuck the thick envelope, signifying the end of an era, behind my laptop on the counter. I’ll deal with it later.

  “Come on, buddy.” I scoop Leo into my arms. “Let’s go.”

  On our way to the park, we duck into the corner market for a few bottles of water. While I’m paying, I hear sirens and then a fire truck goes past us. Leo bounces in my arms. “Daddy truck. Daddy truck.”

  “That’s just like Daddy’s truck, isn’t it?”

  I like to think he’s proud of me, or at least that h
e will be someday. It took a lot of training to get where I am, the lieutenant of Squad 13. I’ve taken every single course and gotten every certification, being both a trained paramedic and a hazmat responder. I made the decision years ago, on the fateful day I lost my mother, that I would become someone who would make a difference, just as she did.

  “He’s soooooo cute,” someone says behind us.

  I turn around and see a young girl staring at Leo. “Thanks. I think so too.”

  The girl places a bottle of iced cappuccino and a Pop-Tart on the counter. I raise my eyebrows at her. “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking coffee?”

  “I’m twelve,” she says, like that explains everything.

  I laugh. “Okay then. Have a nice day, uh…” I wait for her to offer her name.

  “Evie.” She extends her hand confidently, like we’re in a business meeting.

  “Evie—that’s an unusual name. But it’s great.”

  “I have an unusual but great mom.”

  “Well, Evie, I’m Brett, and this is Leo, and it’s been nice meeting you.”

  “You too,” she says, swiping a debit card through the machine like she’s done it a thousand times.

  I look at her as we leave the store. This twelve-year-old acts more like she’s twenty-five. I glance around, hoping she’s not alone. Although I’ve always considered our neighborhood safe, we are in Brooklyn, and unfortunately, I’ve seen more than once what can happen to kids who are left unattended.

  When I look back through the window, I see a woman join her, an older sister perhaps, and feel a sense of relief. Evie hands the lady the cappuccino and then she takes a big bite of her Pop-Tart. I chuckle at my thought that the coffee was for her.

  The lady with Evie gazes out the window and looks at the passersby, her eyes stopping on Leo as she smiles at him. Then her attention returns to Evie and she gestures toward the door.

  “Come on, buddy, let’s go find those swings.” I put Leo down and grab his hand as we turn the corner and go to his favorite place.

  Chapter Two

  Emma

  “I’m going to miss you.” Lisa pulls me in for a hug.

  I laugh as she squeezes me hard. “It’s not like we’re never going to see each other. We’re still doing Taco Tuesday’s this summer.”

  “I know. But not seeing you every day will take the wind out of my sails.”

  “You’re crazy,” I tell her. “Go enjoy your ten weeks off. Stay out late. Sleep in. Rejuvenate.”

  She gives me a sideways look. “Oh, like you won’t long to be back here in a matter of weeks. I’ll bet you’ve already cried because you’re missing your students.”

  I shrug. I don’t need her to know I’ve shed tears more than once. I miss every single one of them. Even little Bobby Riggs, who was a thorn in my side all year.

  I love my job more than anything. A lot of teachers can’t wait for the last day of school. In fact, they are worse than the students, counting down those last few weeks before summer. Not me. I wish we had year-round school. I dread the last days of school, and I look forward to the first day like an excited kid on Christmas Eve.

  Lisa picks up the rest of her bags and looks around my classroom. “As usual you’re dragging this out. How come you’re always one of the last to leave?”

  I take a moment to admire the drawings made by my students that are still pinned on the wall. I can’t bear to get rid of them. I swear I’ll soon need to rent a storage unit large enough to hold everything I take home.

  I unpin some of the drawings and start a pile. “I’ll bet Becca and Kelly are still here.”

  “You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll stop by the fifth-grade hallway and say goodbye.”

  “You’d better,” I say sarcastically. “It’s not like you won’t be seeing them every Tuesday this summer.”

  “I know. I’m just going to miss you guys so much. And I’m not going to see you every Tuesday.”

  “That’s right. You’ll be busy traveling the world with that hot husband of yours. Where is he taking you this time? Paris? Rome? Morocco?”

  She looks embarrassed. “Yeah.”

  My jaw drops. “All three?”

  “And Dubai.”

  I push her toward the door. “What are you waiting for, girl? Start packing.”

  She leans in for one more hug. “Have a great summer, Emma.”

  “I plan on it.”

  After watching Lisa walk down the first-grade hallway, I duck back into my classroom and pack up the rest of my stuff. We’re not allowed to leave anything. The school provides us with boxes, and they have people to haul them down to the basement for storage. The school is leased out for other purposes during the summer, and they don’t want our belongings cluttering up the classrooms.

  I think about the coming summer. I don’t travel much, like some of the other teachers. I don’t like to fly. My summers are flexible, as I teach an online English class for high school students, so I could travel if I wanted to. I even got my passport a few years ago, intending to take a vacation to Bermuda. But I chickened out at the last minute, refusing to get on the plane. My daughter, Evelyn, doesn’t seem to mind that we don’t travel, however. She hates leaving her friends for too long, and she loves her summer camps—both the sleep-away and the one here in the city. And then there’s Mom, who probably has a thousand vacation days saved up, but she never takes them except at Thanksgiving and Christmas. So, when we do travel, it’s usually limited to long weekends.

  Last summer we spent a few days at Niagara Falls. The summer before that, we rented a little cottage in Vermont for five days. The one before that, we took Evelyn to a few amusement parks along the East Coast so she could ride roller coasters.

  Not exactly world travelers. But I like my life. I like the way the three of us support each other. Evelyn and my mother have always been my best friends.

  I hold back more tears as I tuck the last of the drawings into my bag. My first-graders colored pictures of what they will miss the most about school. Bobby Riggs drew the jungle gym in the courtyard behind the school. Of course he did. He hates school.

  Karly Hilliard drew a picture of Bobby Riggs. Poor girl has a thing for bad boys, and she’s only six years old.

  Most of the other students drew pictures of a woman with long brown hair and hazel eyes. Me. They drew pictures of me when I asked them to draw what they would miss the most.

  I scan the room once more before I turn off the light and shuffle slowly down the hallway.

  The school is almost deserted, most of the other teachers having already cleared out their things over the past few days. I think about heading around the corner to see if Becca and Kelly are still in their classrooms, but I know that would just be prolonging the inevitable. I have to leave my favorite place on earth eventually. I might as well do it now.

  When I reach the front, I look back at the long empty hallway. “Goodbye,” I say loudly, my voice echoing off the cement floor and walls. Nobody says it back, and that makes me sad.

  I struggle to get my rolling cart through the front door, being careful nothing falls off inside because the doors will lock behind me and there’s nobody left to open them. It gets hung up on the floor mat. I’m leaning down to free it when I hear a commotion in the street.

  Sirens are coming from both directions, and people are yelling and running. I leave the rolling cart where it is and walk down the front steps.

  That turns out to be the worst decision of my life.

  A guy wielding a gun walks around the corner. A few people surround him. People who look terrified.

  “Do what I say, motherfucker, or I’ll shoot you,” the gunman says.

  The thin man on the other end of his words holds up his hands in surrender.

  The sirens get closer and the guy with the gun panics. I turn to run back up the stairs into the safety of the school. But it’s too late.

  “Stop right there, lady!” he shouts.

&
nbsp; I turn around to see him dragging his entourage of hostages closer to me. I say a silent prayer, hoping my daughter will not have to go through what I did when I was a child.

  I hold my hands up, showing him I have no intention of fighting. “W-what do you w-want?”

  He waves his gun at the door that’s still propped open by my cart. “Is there anyone in there?”

  “Uh … uh …” I’m trying to think clearly, but all I see are the faces of Evelyn and Mom.

  “Answer me, lady!” he shouts. “Is there anyone in the fucking building?”

  I don’t know what to say. If I tell him it’s almost empty, will I be endangering the lives of the few people still inside? If I lie and say there are a lot of people in there, will he hurt me?

  “Maybe a few,” I say. “The school year is over.”

  “Hold the door open!” he screams. “Do it now!”

  My legs almost fail me as I climb the last steps to the front door and attempt to nudge my cart aside and hold the door open like he told me. The whole time I’m thanking God that school is out and there are no kids inside.

  I can’t get the cart fully out of the way, and the gunman isn’t happy about it. “Are you completely useless?” he asks, violently pushing it inside.

  Then the loudest noise I’ve ever heard echoes off the walls, hurting my ears. A young man—a hostage—drops to the floor, yelling in agony.

  The gunman looks stunned that his weapon went off. “Shit,” he says, looking nervously out at the street. Then he tries to open the door that leads behind the front counter, but it’s locked. He kicks it in, breaking the doorframe. He points to me and the guy standing next to me. “You two, pull the kid over behind that counter.”

  I look down at the injured man, who is barely more than a boy. He can’t be over eighteen. His hands are covered in blood, and I cringe.

  “My leg,” he cries.

  As we drag him behind the front desk, we leave a trail of bright-red blood. It runs all the way from the front door, around the corner, and over the threshold of the admin door. We settle him against the wall, and blood pools under his leg. The kid’s face is going ashen, and I’m not sure if it’s from blood loss or because he’s terrified.