Make Me Burn

by Marie Harte

  “Wait, wait. Makeup?” Mack’s grin grew wide. “Like, eyeliner and blush? How about lipstick?”

  Avery could see the humor in it. “Well, some foundation and blush, sure. Maybe some liner for his lashes.”

  “Oh, hell no.” Brad glared at Mack then at her. “I’m not wearing makeup.”

  “I think you have to,” Tex said before she could. “My momma used to be on TV, and without makeup, you look all washed out. Seriously, even dudes use it.”

  “Yep. Won’t that go over well at the station.” Reggie’s eyes sparkled. “Just think of all the fun we can have with this.”

  Mack rubbed his hands together. “Oh, yes. Thank you so much, Avery.”

  Brad dropped his head to the table and groaned. “My life sucks right now.”

  Avery grinned. “Yes, it does.”

  Reggie winked at her.

  She glanced around at the guys, ideas taking shape. “You know, if this works, we should definitely stream more of you on our site, helping out.”

  “Right, but first we need to see Brad do it, you know, so he can show us how to be all Hollywood and bright and shiny.” Tex laughed. “Our own internet star. So excitin’.”

  Avery liked his friends. They chatted while Brad remained quiet, watching but not saying much. A short time later, the guys rose to leave.

  “Guess that’s my cue to go.” She grabbed her smoothie.

  “No, you should stay.” Reggie glanced at his phone. “You too, Brad. Make sure you’re all set for Friday.” He started to walk away.

  “Hold on, you’re my ride,” Brad said to Reggie and stood.

  Reggie grimaced. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry. I have to head back. My sister needs my help.”

  “With what?” Brad asked with a lot of suspicion, watching the other two wave and leave with a sudden quickness even Avery found suspicious.

  She frowned at Reggie. “Yeah, what?” None of her business, yet she didn’t like them leaving her alone with Brad. Not when she’d been having a great time with the others being friendly.

  “Sorry,” Reggie apologized. “I really do have to go.” He gave Avery a friendly smile. “Say, would you be able to give Brad a ride home?”

  “I’ll get a ride,” Brad said. “No need to put her out.”

  She didn’t appreciate him talking for her. I’m right here, Super Hunk FD. “I don’t mind taking you home.” She added in a sweet voice, “Unless you’re afraid I might find out where you live and start stalking you?”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  Reggie smirked. “Um, Brad. She’s a reporter. If she wanted to know where you lived, she could find out pretty easily, right?”

  She nodded. “I have no intention of doing anything but getting through these Friday mornings until we’re done with them. I swear.”

  “Well, you two figure it out. I gotta go. Great meeting you, Avery. Later, Brad.” Reggie left.

  Brad watched her, looking for what, she had no idea.

  She thought they’d made some headway, but apparently not. “Honestly, I think we covered everything we need to.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “Thanks for meeting with me today. I’ll see you on Friday at six forty-five a.m. You should get an email with the details from Emil, since it’s his pet project. Basically, we’ll talk a little about the animal we’re spotlighting. Then we’ll just spitball it. No script needed.”

  He nodded. “Sounds good.”

  She started to leave, her smoothie in hand, and felt him at her heels. She didn’t make much of it until he stopped by the passenger side of her car.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting a ride. Or did you just say you’d give me one to look good in front of Reggie?”

  She blew out a breath. “You have to be the most annoying man on the planet. Fine. Get in.”

  She clicked her fob to open the doors and slid inside. Unfortunately, her small car felt microscopic with Brad Battle sitting next to her, sucking up all the oxygen.

  “Um, where to?” she asked.

  He took his time answering, and she snapped, “Look, hero, I’m not interested in you. Period. So get the freak over yourself.”

  His smile was slow in coming and so darn enthralling her heart had palpitations. “‘The freak over myself’?” He laughed.

  “I try not to curse too much. It’s an addictive habit.” She scowled. “But you’re pushing it.”

  “Sorry. I do appreciate the ride.” He buckled up and gave her directions to an apartment complex in Greenwood.

  “That’s a nice area.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, amusement in his voice.

  “I am. I figured you’d live in my neck of the woods.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m in Fremont, and I thought you’d hang out with your own kind.”

  “My kind?”

  “You know, under a bridge…with the other Fremont troll.”

  He laughed. “Okay, that’s a good one.”

  “So glad you approve.”

  She could feel him looking at her as she drove, her gaze on traffic. “What?”

  “Were you serious about wanting to work together, and that’s it?”

  She sighed. “Brad, I don’t know how many ways I can say that I’m not interested in you in any way, shape, or form.” She paused. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  She spared a glance to see him looking her over. “Now what?”

  “Nothing.”

  Yet he kept looking at her.

  “Just tell me,” she said.

  “I hadn’t thought about you in a long time.”

  “Join the club.”

  He nodded. “But then at the festival, there you were, and the past came rushing back.”

  “Yeah, that can happen.” Although her past failures never seemed so far from her mind.

  “Back then, you ran the interview. And I never thought about what happened after.”

  “You want another apology, is that it?”

  “No.” He frowned. “Maybe.”

  He deserved one, but she didn’t like recalling what she’d done, who she’d tried to be back then. “I thought we were keeping the past in the past.”

  “We are, it’s just… Did you lose your job because of me?”

  She flashed him a surprised glance before turning back to the road. “Seriously?”

  “I want to know.”

  “No. I did not lose my job. Hell, my editor loved it so much I got to interview all kinds of important people.” Did he hear the sarcasm she couldn’t hide? Brad’s interview had made her a star, and she’d been miserable until she’d finally quit. And hadn’t that made her father happy… “I worked at the paper for another year and a half before I left. Happy now?”

  He didn’t say anything more, and she turned on the radio to fill the awkward silence.

  “Turn here,” he said after a short while, and she turned off 85th onto a residential road featuring several apartment buildings. “Emerald Estates. That’s me.”

  “This is nice.” Not a super high-end place, but a quaint-looking brown-brick building that housed several units. “How many people live here?”

  He shrugged. “About twenty units in the building, maybe. I’m not sure.” He opened the door, got out, then turned to close it.

  “Huh. I still think you belong under that bridge in Fremont.”

  He smiled. “Probably.” He paused. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time back then.”

  She hadn’t expected that, though his delivery seemed a little short of sincere. The fierce expression on his face alarmed her. “Oh, um, thanks.” Then she gave him the apology he deserved, not the one she’d been forced to deliver all those years ago, mired in shame.

  Though her ed
itor had been pressured from some political bigwigs to leave the city hero alone, he’d been secretly pleased at her tenacity, insisting a printed apology would be enough to satisfy Brad’s influential friends. “I’m truly sorry I pestered you. My editor at the time forced me to apologize, but I was sincerely sorry for going around you through your brother.” She could still remember his brother’s tears, his pleas to leave the sad, heroic Brad alone. She also felt the remorse that had followed, mixed with an unwelcome pleasure and guilt, since her father had never been prouder of her.

  She continued, “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. Just the opposite. I…never mind.” She sighed. “I’m in a better place now. Life is good.”

  He lifted a brow but didn’t comment.

  Many people might not understand that her shift from a critically acclaimed newspaper to writing for a weekly free news rag had been a great move for her peace of mind.

  He nodded. “Thanks again for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They stared at each other, and Avery felt her lingering animosity for Brad shift. Not like she was burying the hatchet entirely, more like shoving it down deeper, away from her muddled emotions.

  “See you Friday.” That said, he shut the door and left.

  She didn’t wait to see him leave, not needing the imprint of his spectacular backside to ingrain into her brain any further. Instead, she drove away, praying she could get through the next few weeks alongside a man she didn’t dislike the way she should.

  Chapter Four

  Following his second twenty-four-hour shift, Brad spent the first of his ninety-six hours off defending himself from his idiot friends. Mack kept offering himself like a sacrificial lamb, to take that nasty Avery off Brad’s hands, as if Brad had any say in the matter. Reggie teased him unmercifully about having to ride home with the sexy reporter, and Tex just smirked and said annoying things in that slow, Southern drawl of his.

  By Thursday, Brad had needed a break, so he went to visit his mom and brother in Tacoma. His family should have cured him of any desire to enter into a relationship, yet confusing thoughts about Avery Dearborn continued to plague him.

  He knocked on the door to his mom’s house.

  “Come in,” his brother called.

  Brad shook his head, wondering just when his mom would cut the freaking cord.

  Freaking.

  He grinned, remembering how prim Avery had sounding trying not to cuss him out.

  Gah. Stop thinking about her.

  Brad instead focused on the state of the house, pleased to see it looking worlds better than it had the last time he’d been by, with smaller piles of stuff stacked and pushed to the side. The house smelled clean, not stale and thick with the odor of decay.

  A new couch had replaced the old one, and on a blanket sat his mom’s ancient Maltese. “Hey, Tinker.” Brad went over to scratch the dog behind the ears, pleased when the little guy’s tail wagged. Each time he visited, he wondered if he’d find Tinker, praying he would. Not only did he love the furry beast, but his mother didn’t do well with change.

  Death was not a word she could handle at all.

  Oscar had his back to Brad, the twenty-four-year-old dressed and working on the fireplace. Even better, he appeared to be clean, with a decent haircut.

  “Hey, Oscar. What’s up?”

  Oscar turned with the vacuum in hand, the glass plate of the fireplace set aside, the inner workings of the blower in pieces by his feet. “Brad. Nice you finally showed up.”

  Like looking into a mirror, Brad and Oscar were the spitting image of their father. Sadly, yet more reminders of a life lost to constantly nag at their mother.

  Brad had been just seven when his father had died during a tour overseas in service to his country, Oscar a baby. Vivienne Battle had been forced to raise her boys with little help. At the time, she hadn’t been talking to her family. His dad’s parents had passed long ago, and his mother’s only sibling, a younger sister, had been dealing with demons of her own.

  Fortunately, Rochelle had arrived eight years later, moving in next door. She’d become his mother’s best friend and a part of the family, bringing joy and clarity with her deep laughter and thoughtfulness. Without her, Brad thought the family might have continued down a dark path—one his brother and mother continued to trip down when not careful.

  “I thought you had a place across town from me.” Brad kept his voice even, nonjudgmental.

  “I did.” Oscar shrugged and turned to vacuum up dust from the blower and fireplace.

  So, that conversation had finished. Brad counted to ten in his head, deliberately not pointing out his brother’s many issues, not when he had little room to talk. It appeared Oscar still had a job. Maybe. He waited for his brother to finish, wondering what next to say.

  Oscar spoke. “Darcy and I broke up.” He sighed. “Before you blame me for this, she was cheating on me.”

  “What?” Brad frowned. “That’s not right.”

  “No, it’s not.” Oscar shook his head. “We were finally good. I mean, I have a steady job. She was working. We made enough to go out and hang with friends.” Oscar shrugged. “But she was acting weird, and I kept getting overtime and working it because she told me to. Come to find out she was boning the neighbor when I was out.”

  Brad cringed. “I’m sorry. How did you find out?”

  Oscar forced a smile. “The hard way. Found them naked in our bed when I got home early from a job. So, I fucked him up, shoved him out of the apartment just in time for his girlfriend to come home and wig out on him. Then I grabbed my shit and left.” He gave Brad a sincere smile. “Darcy’s name is on the lease, not mine. Let her find someone else to cover the rent.”

  “That’s good at least.”

  “Yeah.” Oscar sighed. “I still miss her.”

  “When did all this happen?”

  “Two months ago.”

  “You never told me. I know I haven’t been by in a while, but I have a phone.” Brad scowled.

  “Why? What would you have done? Nothing.”

  Nothing. Brad hated that word. Especially because it had a tendency to fit when it came to his actions concerning those he cared about. “You’re better off without her.”

  “I know that, big brother.” Oscar made a face. “But she was cool. We had fun.” He frowned. “Never would have thought she’d cheat on me. I was better, you know? On track.”

  Brad didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to know. He asked anyway. “You doing okay? Still working?” Still sober?

  Oscar nodded. “Just got promoted, actually. All that overtime showed them I was serious about work. I’m also going back for some new certifications that will mean more pay.”

  “That’s great.” Brad smiled, feeling happy for his brother. But the sober part? Oscar didn’t smell or look drunk, but Brad had been fooled before.

  “Before you ask,” Oscar said drily, “I’m still eighteen months and four days clean.”

  Brad tried not to let his relief show.

  “You have the worst poker face.” Oscar shook his head. “Loser.”

  “Please. You’re”—living at home with Mom was not what hisbrother needed to hear right now—“still only the second-best-looking Battle in the house.” Brad flexed. “See this muscle? I could break you if I squeezed that scrawny neck with just my biceps.”

  Oscar huffed. “And here we go. That ego has made your fat head so swollen it’s cut off oxygen to your miniscule brain.”

  Brad grinned. “Yeah, I’ve missed you, little guy.”

  Oscar topped him by an inch but didn’t have the muscle Brad did, so Brad figured the description fit.

  “Little guy? Dream on.” Oscar dropped the vacuum, toed his tools away, then crouched into a familiar stance. In seconds, Oscar caught Brad in a sumo hold, each of them gripping
the other by the waistband as they tried to trip the other to the floor.

  Oscar had almost managed to send Brad tumbling when Brad turned and body-slammed his brother over some couch pillows Tinker had shoved to the floor. Tinker leaned over the couch to watch them with approval. The dog was never so happy as he was when climbing all over pillows.

  “Shit.” Oscar did his best to get free, but Brad held him down then leaned closer, which had his brother in a panic. “No, don’t. I swear, I’ll start drinking again!”

  Brad chuckled and breathed right into his brother’s face. “You loooose.”

  Oscar pretended to retch. “Brush your teeth, dickface.”

  “Oscar. Brad.” Rochelle had entered the living room and stood, her arms akimbo, glaring. “Clean this shit up. Your mom is five minutes behind me.”

  “I win,” Brad said as he stood, offering a hand to his brother.

  Who promptly yanked him down and turned to shove Brad’s face into a pillow that smelled like dog.

  “Whatever, civil servant.” Oscar sneered and pushed off Brad to stand. “I’m the good son. I help Mom and Rochelle all the time. You’re just driving an ambulance and fighting fires to get attention. Pathetic.”

  Rochelle laughed. “Both of you are morons. Now hurry up. You know we don’t need more drama in this family.” The levelheaded one of the bunch, she’d eventually started spending more and more time with them, having no family of her own to speak of. She was more of an aunt to them than their mother’s sister, whom they saw every few years at their mother’s insistence.

  With mahogany-brown hair and brown eyes, her skin tone a shade darker than their mother’s, Rochelle dwarfed his mother in size, a woman with thick proportions, wise eyes, and a beautiful smile. Personally, he found her amazing and credited her with his ability to move on from disaster.

  She’d been the one he’d gone to with his problems, the one who had talked him off the ledge of his own spiral into depression. A counselor by trade, Rochelle had done much for the Battle family, and they gave her the affection she clearly deserved but had never had.

  His mother… He loved her, but half the time he didn’t much like her. Weakness seemed to be her middle name. And just thinking that left a sour taste in his mouth, that he should be so lacking in character as to not love his mother without reservation.