by Liza Kendall
So she wasn’t thrilled with her job.
“Do you like nursing?” she asked Mia. “Except when you have to deal with my granddad?”
“I heard that!” Kingston snapped.
Mia laughed. “Yes, I love it, actually. And it pays the bills—unlike Rob. We got divorced.”
“Ha,” said King. “Not sure why you work. That palace of yours is almost as big as my place . . . was.”
Mia’s laugh disappeared completely, and creases around her eyes joined the shadows underneath them. She said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie murmured. “Wait, Rob from high school? Rob as in Robert Bayes, class president, right?”
Mia made a face, and then both women giggled like they were sharing a secret joke. “High school was kind of a high point for him,” she said. “I keep telling myself it’s not too late to meet someone really great.”
Jake took a moment to assess Mia’s attributes long enough to glean that she really had nothing to worry about. He caught Charlie’s gaze as she noticed, and watched in fascination for a second as another deep blush suffused his ex-girlfriend’s confused face.
Kingston cleared his throat. “We done?” he grumped.
Jake refocused on his task. “Not yet.”
Man, how was it that there was anything even left between them? Enough to make Charlie flustered when he looked at another woman. Enough to knock Jake off kilter, thinking that she maybe gave a damn.
“How about you? Married? Kids?” Mia was asking.
“Uh, no,” Charlie said. “I was engaged briefly.”
Jake’s hands tightened involuntarily on Kingston’s ankle.
Kingston yelped.
“Sorry,” Jake muttered.
“But,” Charlie continued, “it just didn’t feel right in the end. He wasn’t . . .”
Still working on Kingston’s leg, Jake racked his brain for the possible endings to Charlie’s sentence: “He wasn’t good enough.” “He wasn’t good to me.” Or even, “He wasn’t Jake.” What the hell was wrong with him? Why should he care if Charlie had been engaged? And clearly, she’d walked out on that guy, too.
Mia waited for her to finish.
“We were so different. He ran marathons, he was a health nut. He’d give me guilt trips if I put anything not organic or wholesome into my mouth . . . He wanted a size four Charlie, not a size ten one.”
Clearly, the man was an idiot. Her curves were perfect. Jake fought the urge to throttle the unknown jerk.
“I just had this feeling that he’d try to edit me ’til the day I died . . . I don’t know,” Charlie muttered. “I guess I’ve had a little trouble figuring out what I want out of life. When I was young, I thought I had it figured out, but then, well. Sometimes things don’t turn out the way you expect.”
Mia gave Charlie a sympathetic smile and nodded. “So you came into town early for the wedding?”
“Well, I came in to check on Granddad after the operation and spend some time with him, too. But, yes, Lila and Felicity also asked me to help with the wedding.”
“Isn’t Felicity a trip?” Mia laughed.
“Someone may murder her before she gets to walk down the aisle,” Charlie said with feeling.
“How long are you staying?”
“I-I’m not sure. I’ve banked a ton of vacation time, and things are kind of slow at work right now. So it just depends on how Granddad’s doing.” Charlie lowered her voice. “I’m kind of worried about him. He doesn’t seem to be improving that much . . .”
“Think I can’t hear you?” the old man hollered. “I’m right here in the room, you know.”
But it was true. Jake frowned as he helped Kingston rotate his leg. He should have taken some steps on his own by now. It was a simple operation.
“Sorry, Granddad.”
Engaged. Charlie had been engaged to marry another man. Jake couldn’t seem to bend his mind around it. But of course she’d been with other men. Just as he’d been with other women. But he’d never gotten friggin’ engaged.
“Well, I’d love to catch up more with you, Charlie,” Mia said. “You should think about staying a little longer. We could get some of the girls together. We always had a good time.”
Charlie looked at her grandfather and then back at her friend. “Actually, just today I was thinking maybe I’d stay a little longer after the wedding.”
Jake sucked in a quick breath, and Kingston Nash said, “I’m the one using up all my energy. What’s your excuse?”
“Fantastic!” Mia replied to Charlie. “We’ll get together.”
Charlie smiled that warm smile of hers. “Absolutely.”
“Okay, Mr. Nash, it looks like you’re in good hands,” Mia said. She looked between Jake and Kingston, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “We’re good here? Nobody’s planning to throw any punches?”
Jake looked at Kingston with his eyebrows up, and his patient took the cue to answer. “Fine,” Kingston said curtly.
Well, that was at least a better answer than He’s trying to kill me.
“Then I’ve got to get to my other patients.” Mia and Charlie exchanged a hug.
“And I’ve got some errands to run,” Charlie said, casting an uncomfortable look toward Jake.
Errands, right. The only thing she had to run was away from him. He could still read her like a book, and he could flat-out sense how unsettled he made her. The flush in her cheeks that had appeared when he walked in was still visible. She’d done nothing but fidget while talking to Mia. And she’d been steadily inching toward the door.
As always, the Goodbye Girl was itching to get gone, at least when it came to him.
“Great to see you, Mia,” Charlie said.
“Yeah, it was. We’ll take good care of your grandfather.”
“I know you will. Granddad, I’ll check on you later.” Charlie walked over and kissed him on the cheek. She straightened and looked at Jake. “And thank you,” she said to him, backing away. “See you . . . uh, soon. At the rehearsal dinner.”
“Yep.”
Jake steadfastly kept his focus on Kingston’s scrawny legs, and—though he badly wanted to—refused to check out her rear view as she left.
Chapter 6
Jake looked up from his notes on Kingston’s progress to find that the old man’s shrewd gaze was on him.
“You still got a thing for my Charlie,” he said.
Jake’s pen stilled, his fingers tightening on it. “No, sir. It’s just, after all this time, a little weird seeing her, is all.”
“That’s horsefeathers.”
“It’s not, but you’re entitled to your opinion, King.”
“Damn straight I am. I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck.” Kingston glared at him. “And I’m only gonna tell you once. You stay away from my granddaughter. You’ve caused my family enough grief, you hear?”
The pen snapped in Jake’s hand. “You know what, old man? I’m sick of the hostility and suspicion. I’m sick of the questions. I’m sick of you staring right through me or cussing and spitting anytime we run into each other in town. Even though you wouldn’t talk to me twelve years ago and haven’t since, until today, I know you heard me shouting outside your hotel window that night. The campfire was out. Now, you don’t have to like the sight of me, or the fact that I remind you of a tragedy in your life, but I did live in your house, as a member of your family, for months. And you do have to ask yourself one question: Have you ever known me to be a liar?”
The old man dropped his glare, looked down at his gnarled, age-spotted hands. “I want some water.”
“Have I ever lied to you?” Jake handed him the large covered cup with straw from his bedside table.
Kingston snatched it and took a large draft.
Jake snorted. “You’d love to say yes, wouldn’t
you? But you can’t.”
Slurp.
“By the way, I have no intention of going anywhere near Charlie, except for helping out at Will’s wedding at my sister’s request. But please understand that if I did, I wouldn’t feel the need to ask your permission. Now, you have a nice evening, King. I’ll be back tomorrow for another PT session.”
The old coot locked eyes with Jake, still wielding his cup. For a moment, Jake thought he might throw it right at his head. But he just set it down hard; narrowed his eyes under those wacky, furry gray eyebrows; and gave him a barely there nod.
Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like we understand each other.
* * *
Unburdened, Jake returned to the Silverlake Fire Station feeling a little lighter, despite the distant rumble of thunder and the threatening sky. As unpleasant as this afternoon had been in some ways, he’d finally had some kind of strange breakthrough with Kingston Nash. It proved that the man was actually human, not an escaped character from The Walking Dead. He was just a bitter, lonely old soul who needed a gentle, healing touch. Kindness and companionship. And someone to set him straight.
Before that last discussion, he’d done every rotation and exercise Jake had guided him through, and though it was with a constant grimace and more than a few insults, Jake felt as if he’d actually helped him. Who’d have thought it would be easier to find a way to move on from the past with Kingston than with Charlie?
Jake stepped inside the firehouse, which was technically the office. But it was also home, much more than a bachelor pad and bunkhouse. Its four brick walls and two levels of hardwood floors had been witness to friendship, rivalry, belly laughs, a lot of testosterone, and some occasional drama.
It even smelled like home. Jake sniffed appreciatively at the aroma wafting downstairs from the kitchen. Was that a tinge of possible redemption he scented, or his brother-in-arms Mick’s famous meatballs? Mick made them with fresh parsley and oregano that they mocked him for growing in window boxes out back, and Romano cheese that came from Vittorio’s, a tiny Italian market in town. Vittorio couldn’t stand Mick and wouldn’t let him through the door, but his second daughter had a crush on him and sold to him when her father wasn’t there.
“Hi, honey,” Jake called out to Mick, over the dull roar of ESPN upstairs. “I’m home!”
Not-Spot, their yellow Lab, gave a welcoming woof as Jake started up the old wooden stairs, his hand trailing the worn banister. Not-Spot had come home from the pet shelter one day with Tommy, the newest member of the squad. Tommy claimed that Not-Spot had lobbied to volunteer for them as a mascot until they found a dalmatian, which of course they’d never gotten around to doing. Who could break the big heart of a Lab?
The firehouse dated back to the 1950s and still retained much of the cozy, old-fashioned feel of the original layout. The lower level was essentially one big garage that housed Big Red, the fire truck; a couple of other city vehicles; and all their gear. The upper level consisted of a big eat-in kitchen with an L-shaped bar; a den that held a massive wide-screen TV, a navy sectional couch, and a computer desk; and a bunk room.
As Jake came into the kitchen and bent to scratch Not-Spot behind the ears, Mick wiped tomato sauce off his chin with a paper towel. “How was your day, dear?”
“I got to put my hand on Kingston Nash’s thigh,” Jake told him with a grin. “It doesn’t get much better than that.”
Old George choked audibly from the den and fell into a coughing fit. He’d officially retired as fire chief a few years back, but he still worked gratis—what else would he do? He’d never married, and the firehouse would always be his home.
“Yo, Georgio,” Jake called.
Old George grunted. He hated being called that.
“Tell me you’re kidding,” said Mick. “Please.”
“Nope.” Jake ruffled Not-Spot’s ears and walked over to the stove for a look.
“You should have ripped it out of the socket and fed it to the Lundgrens’ hogs,” Mick said.
There came a hoot from George at that.
“You know he’s still lobbying hard to put us out of our jobs.” Mick retrieved a fork, then banged closed a drawer with his hip. “Not to mention . . . how he’s acted toward you over the years.”
Mick knew all about how the Nash family had treated him. He’d couch surfed at Mick’s house more than a few times after the Nashes kicked him out.
Despite Deck’s best efforts to talk to him—even occasionally putting an actual hand on his shoulder—Jake had avoided him and the ranch. The Braddock homestead only depressed him, and Declan was no replacement for Mama or Pop. The more he tried to be, the worse it made Jake feel and the madder he got. Irrational, maybe. But it was what it was.
After the fire, he’d followed Old George around like a lost puppy, constantly asking questions about what could have caused the fire, how it could have been prevented, what they could have done differently. And George, being gruff but good at heart, had tolerated him.
Mick had tagged along, too. The two of them had trained for their badges together after George had kicked them into shape. And back when Jake’s world was falling apart, the fact that Mick had never tried to be more than Jake’s loyal wingman worked better than Declan’s shell-shocked love.
“Yeah,” Jake said. He tried to snake a meatball out of the pot, but Mick blocked him. “I’m pretty tired of the old man’s BS. But even Kingston, underneath all that crap of his, is a human being—”
“Debatable.”
“And someone’s got to help him walk again.”
Mick adjusted the flame. “Also debatable. If he can’t walk, he can’t heckle the town council. Ever think of that, genius?”
“True.”
Mick took pity on him, finally. “Here, you can taste this. Does it need more oregano?”
Jake took the fork Mick extended to him. A chunk of meatball steamed enticingly. He inhaled it in a single bite, his eyes rolling up into their sockets with sheer pleasure. “Mmm. Man, I can’t tell oregano from catnip, but I can tell you that these are incredible. As usual. I’ll take five right now, on a hoagie roll, with extra cheese and sauce.”
“Four,” countered Mick. “But they’re oversized. And you’ll wait until dinnertime with the rest of us.”
“Yes, Mom,” Jake said with a grimace. “Do I gotta do my homework first?”
The sound of a video call coming in on the television interrupted Mick’s response. “Ace is early,” he said, and looked at Jake in alarm. “Injury?”
“We’ll find out,” Jake said, accepting the call from his brother. Ace appeared on the screen, his baseball uniform dirty and accessorized by a black eye and disheveled hair.
“Hey, bro,” Ace said. His other eye, bright blue, winked. But it wasn’t a merry wink, or a reassuring one.
Jake cursed. “This doesn’t look like a simple superstition call. You okay?”
One of Ace’s pregame rituals was to call Jake. They’d shoot the breeze a little, Jake would tell him that all the family members were alive and well, and then Ace would go off to hit home runs, catch fly balls, and man second base with the Lone Stars, the major league team out of Austin.
Jake and Ace had maintained the same pregame ritual since they were kids in Little League, ever since their parents had died.
Alive and well. Ace said he had to hear Jake say it or he couldn’t play.
Jake sometimes suggested that Ace come home and see for himself. Declan never missed a game and had Ace’s stats pinned to the wall in his office, and Lila baked brownies to take to Schweitz’s on game day. But Ace never came home. Neither did Everett.
It was never a good sign if Ace called too early, and a couple of times when he hadn’t called at all, Jake had been legitimately worried. Those were the times when his brother never even made it onto the field.
Ace to
ok a long swig from a bottle of water, the wreck of a house party showing behind him on the video screen. And was that—oh, man. A baseball bunny was still sprawled, barely covered, in his bed.
“I’m alive, but I can’t say I’m well. Don’t think I’m playing today, bro,” he said.
Mick made a worried sound behind him, and Jake looked around.
“Hey, Mick,” Ace said.
Mick might have a loud mouth in general, but he never shared Ace’s business with the press. “What the hell, Ace?” he asked, still hovering over his meatballs like a nervous mama hen.
Ace ran his fingers through his hair. “Got into a fight last night.”
“Not with her, I hope,” Jake teased, trying to keep his concern under wraps.
“What?” Ace blinked and then looked over his shoulder. “Oh. Right. No, not with her. We got along just . . . great. She’s been a nice distraction from this.” He held up his hand. One of his fingers looked distinctly bent, and the others looked black-and-blue.
Jake winced. “Son of a— What the hell did you do? And why isn’t that splinted yet? You need a doctor.”
The cell phone lying on Ace’s bed rang. “That’ll be the team doctor now.” He grimaced, and said to Mick, “Sorry about the game.” To Jake, he just said, “Sorry.” And then he hung up.
The blare of ESPN came back on automatically once Ace logged off.
Jake slowly shook his head.
“Maybe some guy spilled a beer on him,” Mick said. “Or got too pushy about getting an autograph. Or got pissed that Ace was flirting with his girlfriend. Who knows . . .” He went back to his meatballs. “I do know that they’re gonna retire him a lot faster if he can’t behave. Too bad we couldn’t send Coach Adams on the road with him. Keep him in line.”
Coach Adams—Mia’s dad—had been a mentor for Ace growing up, as Charlie’s dad had unofficially adopted Jake. The high school baseball coach still lived vicariously through his protégé.