Rebecca pinches her lips together but doesn’t say anything.
“I’m not sure. We didn’t get a chance to talk,” I lie. “You’d know a lot better than I do how he’s been.” I rub the towel into my hair, hiding half my face behind it to avoid my sister’s glare.
“You know, I don’t think he’s seeing anyone, Karen.” Mama looks at me hopefully.
“She’s not going to be here long enough for any of that nonsense,” Rebecca cuts her off. “Any day she’s going to hear from that famous designer and then she’s back off to New York.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any rush, is there? I can enjoy having my daughter home after all these years, can’t I?” Mom narrows her focus on my sister.
“Sure, we can enjoy having her here. I’m saying there’s no time for any dumb guys in town, right, Karen?” Rebecca flattens me with her stare.
“Of course.” I shrug. “That’s not why I’m back. I just wanted to spend time with my family before I figure out the career thing, that’s all,” I agree with her. Rebecca sits up taller and nods sharply as Mama deflates a little and looks sadly into her cup.
“All I’m saying is stay open to possibilities,” she whispers, not looking up from her dwindling tea.
“Well, right now the only possibility I want to be open to is possibly getting a good night’s sleep.” I stand up and stretch my hands over my head dramatically before shuffling to my mother’s chair and wrapping my arms around her in a big hug. She pets my arm softly, and even in such a simple touch, I can feel the overwhelming concern she has for me. All her worries, her hopes, her dreams, I feel them in just the tap of her fingers against my forearm.
“Good night, sweet pea,” she answers. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
15
Karen
Placing my mug in the kitchen sink, my gaze lingers at the doorframe. Etched into the worn, white trim are the telltale markers of us Baker kids growing up. Little notches of varying colors create a nostalgic rainbow that tracked our heights from when we were toddlers up until we left the nest one by one.
A wistful smile kisses my lips as I remember trying so hard to be as tall as my older brothers and sister. Being the baby of the family, I always hated being so much smaller and less capable than them. Mama used to be patient with me, waiting until I got tired of teetering around on my tippy-toes before she’d scrape a line over my head into the wood to mark my progress. I remember how proud I was to see those grooves grow up the wall, feeling like I was a giant in the making. Now, it’s impossible to believe I was ever that small.
I make my way through the living room to the stairs and realize this house has become a shrine to our childhoods. I can’t see anything that’s changed since all five of us kids lived here. Our old yearly school photographs still lead the way to the bedrooms upstairs. Against the back wall is the same sofa we spent countless hours watching Saturday morning cartoons on while our parents enjoyed a couple more hours of shut-eye.
Walking up the stairs, my eye is pulled to the broken spindles under the banister that Dad never did fix properly. The memory of us pretending to be our favorite WrestleMania characters comes flooding back. I can still see Kirk wearing our sister’s plaid skirt, so he could look like Roddy Piper. Todd was always Hulk Hogan, which was ironic, because in real life he’s always been the heel.
I chuckle as I can almost see Kirk flying through those rods all over again. The plaid skirt ripped, and he was bleeding from his leg. It was amazing how us kids came together to try to fix the damage so our parents wouldn’t find out. There used to be a time, back before family fractures left deep, dividing lines between us, that splintered spindles actually brought us together.
Giving my head a shake, I snap back to the present. Those days have long since passed, and it’s hard to imagine a way we could ever get that kind of friendship back. I hop up the wood stairs, two at a time, and distance myself from the overwhelming nostalgia.
Of course, if the house is a shrine then my old bedroom is a tomb. I lunge into my old single bed. Across the room is Rebecca’s mirrored bed and nightstand. Nothing has changed in here. My side of the room is still decorated with my early attempt at interior design. I cringe at the eggplant and lime color scheme. How did I even get accepted into NYU? Rebecca’s side is still posters of indie bands I never heard of and charcoal sketches of old artists like Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell.
I wonder if she still draws. She had such a natural talent.
Flopping back on my bed, I rub the heels of my hands over my eyes. I can’t lie here without thinking of the night Luke and I shared ourselves for the first time.
The night I lost my virginity.
The night of the fire.
The night his father died.
It was supposed to be our beginning, but it was the beginning of our end.
Tap-tap.
I perk up and look at the bedroom door where my sister is rapping her knuckles against the frame softly.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs, but I know something’s up. “Just wanted to come talk to you for a bit before I head out.” She saunters into the room and slides down onto her bed.
Both of us lie facing each other, hugging our pillows under our heads like we’ve done countless times before. How many secrets have spilled between us in the darkness of night? How many stories have we shared lying just like this in these very beds?
The guys in my family might be embarrassing and fucked-up, but my sister has always been cool. She’s the one person I’ve missed when I was away. When I left Pine Grove, I didn’t just leave my sister behind, I left my best friend too. My heart twists as I realize, for the first time, that I never thought about how she felt when I was gone. At least when I was in New York, I had school and the city to keep me distracted. Rebecca has just been here the whole time. Somehow navigating our family’s craziness and never once making me feel guilty for running away from it all.
She clears her throat and I jump in, trying to head off the lecture. “Before you say a word, just know that I’m over him.” I manage to keep a straight face despite the lie.
“Uh-huh.” Rebecca rolls her eyes in a long, exaggerated arc.
“No, really.”
“So that’s why you were asking about him then? ’Cause you’re over it?”
I punch at my pillow, trying to fluff it up. Anything to avoid her soul-searching stare. “I was just curious. I’m not gonna stalk him or something.”
“You’re lying.” She sits up, crossing her legs.
“I’m not.” But there’s no use. Rebecca knows me better than I know myself. She knew when Luke broke my heart that I needed to get on the plane and move on. She even came with me, helping me get set up in the city for weeks before coming back here.
“Karen, he almost ruined you. Don’t give him the time of day, please. You’re so much stronger now. You’re all worldly and you’ve got your degree. Don’t come back here and slum it with some guy who punched your V-card and then told you that you weren’t worth it.”
Her talking about my V-card getting punched would make me cringe if her words weren’t already punching my gut now. It’s true. It’s easy to get tangled up in old feelings, especially seeing him looking so chiseled and manly after all these years. But, in the end, he’s still the guy who stomped on my heart and sent me packing.
“You’re right.” I sigh.
“Of course I am.” She winks at me and smiles. I can’t return it, though. The corners of my mouth are being pulled down by the weight of a heartbreak that won’t heal.
“Like you said earlier, I’m not here for guys anyway. I’m here to see you.”
“Don’t you forget it.” Rebecca smirks. “The only dick named Luke you better be chumming around with is a vibrator, got it? I mean, at least then you’d have a chance of getting off, right?” She laughs and tosses her pillow across the room at me.
“God, you’re awful!” I sit up
and finally a smile cracks through.
“Tell me I’m wrong. You’re telling me Mr. Virginity was leaving you frothing at the mouth? Oh! Luke! Your inexperienced hands mashing my tits together like a couple of stress balls is soooo hot.” She fake moans.
“Shut up!” My face flushes and I toss her pillow right at her head. She easily ducks out of the way and scoots off the bed.
“All right, I can see when I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Rebecca holds up her hands in surrender and walks to the door. “I just worry about you, kiddo. You know that, right? I don’t want to see you hurt again.” The trace of her smile evaporates from her lips and for the first time she’s serious.
“I know. I love you too,” I say the words she’s dancing around.
“Good, now get your jet-lagged ass to bed.” She takes off down the hall and I flop back on my bed.
She isn’t wrong, Luke should be the last thing on my mind while I’m back. I just need to focus on how it ended. Not the lifetime of memories we shared before then. Easy enough, right? So why does it feel impossible?
16
Luke
“And, for now, you can cobble together some personal protection gear from the leftovers in here.” I unlock and open the double cabinet of misfit gear we’ve collected over the years. My cousin Hannah and the other new firefighter, Dan, peer inside.
“Sounds good.” Dan jumps right in, scrounging through the bunker gear.
He’s not the one I’m worried about. Most of the jackets and pants in there will fit his medium frame. It’s my cousin with her short stature and slight build who is going to struggle to find her size. It’s funny that Byron is the biggest man in this entire town, easily towering by at least six inches over the next tallest guy in Pine Grove, and then his daughter is probably one of the shortest, clocking in at just over five feet.
“When do we get our own outfits?” Hannah’s perfectly drawn in eyebrows slide up as she crinkles her nose at the locker.
I sigh but bite my tongue and try to pretend I have more patience with her than I do. She’s still a new recruit, even if she’s my cousin, and I can’t treat her any differently than I would anyone else.
“They aren’t outfits, Hannah. It’s protective gear and it can save your life.” I clamp my jaw shut before I have the chance to dive into a lecture about how being a volunteer firefighter isn’t for the Instagram pics or the social media likes.
“Yeah, I know that,” she scoffs with an indignant pout, crossing her arms across her chest. Her eyes flicker over to the locker Dan is rooting through like a raccoon in a dumpster and then back to me. “I just want to know when I get my own. Like you and Dad have. You know? With my name across the butt and everything.” Hannah tilts her head and her long, pink braid falls over her shoulder. It’s the craziest hairstyle I’ve ever seen. Even the girls at prom didn’t wear their hair so fancy. It looks like some kind of designer fishtail or something.
“You get your own personalized gear when you finish your first level of firefighter training, Hannah. Just like everyone else. In the meantime, this is just for training.” I can’t help it; my hands settle on my hips and my switch has been flipped to lecture mode. “You know, it’s not about looking good when you’re out there sweating your face off. It’s not about selfies or your name being embroidered on your pants. That’s not what any of this is about.”
Hannah rolls her eyes so hard that the green disappears behind a flutter of fake eyelashes and eyeliner that looks like Nike swoosh marks. “Okay, cool your jets there, Chicago Fire. I don’t need your cheesy made for TV speech about duty and service or whatever. It was just a question.” Her glossy lips turn down as she distracts herself by staring at her perfectly manicured nails.
“Whatever. I’d rather be ‘Chicago Fire’ than ‘Firefighter Barbie.’” The dig slips off my tongue before I can stop it. So much for professionalism. The problem is, Hannah and I have grown up together. She’s more like an annoying sister than a cousin. I can see training her is going to be a problem.
“You know what, Luke?” Hannah’s voice starts to get shrill and I instantly regret pushing her buttons. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.
“Excuse me.” We both turn around and look at Samantha.
She must have snuck up behind us, because there’s no other way you could miss her. With her thick curves covered in sprawling, detailed tattoos and her platinum-blond hair tied up in a bright red do-rag that matches her signature crimson lips. The way her bangs are curled out in a tight roll makes her look like a pinup girl from the fifties. If that pin-up girl stumbled into a tattoo parlor with a few thousand dollars in her pocket and then stumbled back out with ink spreading from the side of her neck down.
“Yeah?” I focus my attention on Sam, happy for the distraction from the brewing tension with Hannah.
“I don’t want to interrupt your training or whatever this is.” Sam points from me to my cousin. “But I need to talk to you.” Her finger zeros in on Dan like she’s got him locked up in the sights of a pretend gun.
“Me?” He stops his search and stands up.
“Yeah, you’re the romance writer, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.” He gives an easy smile.
“Great, so my Nana writes that stuff too. Her name is Mildred Cantor and she’s probably written about a billion of those books.” Sam smiles, her eyes twinkling.
It’s funny. I imagine if I had grown up with my mother writing mortifyingly graphic erotica. I can’t imagine how embarrassing that would have been. Even though Mildred isn’t Sam’s mother, she did raise her. But there’s no sign of anything but pride on her face as she talks about her grandmother’s books.
“Okay, it’s nice to meet you.” Dan holds out his hand and Sam gives it a firm shake.
“You too. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you,” she continues. “Nana and a bunch of other writers meet up once a week at the diner on King Street. Do you know it?” She watches Dan as he figures out the place.
“I think so …”
“Great. She wants you to go to the next writer workshop or whatever it is.” Sam stuffs her hand in the pocket of her high-waisted jeans and pulls out a slip of paper. “They’re meeting on the sixteenth at two in the afternoon, okay?” She reads the details off the folded over Post-it note.
“Wait, so is everyone there a romance writer?” Dan looks surprised.
“No, just you and nana. The rest of them write bad poetry and books about the history of this place or whatever. You two are the only interesting ones in the group.” Sam laughs. “That’s why you gotta go. My Nana can’t wait to meet you, so don’t stand her up.” She stuffs the note in Dan’s hand and gives it a little pat before walking away.
“Uh, sure.” Dan stares down at the scribbles and runs his hand over his beard. “I guess I’ll do that.”
“Okay, well, I’ll let you two sort out your gear.” I direct my new recruits back to the locker. “If you need me, I’ll be in the office.” I nod toward the steps leading to the main hall.
“Sounds good,” Dan answers, but he’s still clearly thinking about his upcoming date with Mildred.
Hannah shoots me a look I ignore as I walk away. It’s not going to be easy to train her, but I don’t doubt she could be a good addition to the team if I can just ignore her girly bullshit. I slump down in the office chair. Technically, this is the new chief’s space, but when he’s not here I’m free to use it. I know I was an ass to Hannah. I don’t actually care about her makeup or that her hair is the color of pink cotton candy. What’s really eating me up inside is Karen.
Since the other night, she’s all I can think about. I’m just about going crazy knowing she’s back and she wants nothing to do with me. If I could just tell her the truth, if she would only give me a chance to explain, maybe I could fix the pain I caused her.
Maybe I could fix us.
“Hey.”
My head snaps up like I got struck by a lightning bolt. Sta
nding in the office doorway is Karen’s sister, Rebecca. Unlike the rest of the Bakers, she has never cared about me that much one way or the other. Where the Baker boys have spent years mumbling threats and shooting grimacing, tooth-grinding looks my way, Rebecca has always kept a cool, detached distance.
“Hey, what’s up?” I look out over her shoulder to see if there’s something odd going. A lot of family members casually drop in from time to time, but since Rebecca isn’t a firefighter and none of the Bakers’ are here tonight, I didn’t expect to see her.
“Got a minute?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. Instead, she strolls into the room, closing the door behind her.
“I guess so.” I nod to the chair opposite me. “Want a seat?”
“Nope. Not going to be here long enough to get comfy.” She leans back against the office door and crosses her arms. Rebecca’s eyes narrow and she drops her gaze on my face.
“So, what can I do for y—”
“Listen to me, Luke.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve been pretty civil to you, don’t you think?”
“Civil? Yeah, I guess so.” I rub my hand over the back of my neck. What is this about?
“Because, you know, I know, hell, everyone in this town knows that it’s the Baker boys with the temper, right? They’re the scrap heap scrappers. They’d fight ya as quick as they’d look at ya.” Her cheeks flush and I swear she’s actually snarling at me.
Like a wolf.
“Well, I mean, your dad and Todd really have that reputation. I don’t think Josh or Kirk are big fighters, are they?” I try to follow where this is going, but I’m lost. “Are you threatening me, Rebecca?”
“Threatening you?” She laughs, but it sounds like two curling stones clacking together on the cold ice, not a real laugh. “No, I’m informing you.”
“Of what?”
“Let me tell you something, Luke. The deadliest fight is the one you don’t see coming. You think Todd and Dad have a temper?” She snorts. “You haven’t seen nothing. Now I couldn’t care less about you being the new deputy chief or any of that shit. The guys are all twisted up about that crap, but it is what it is if you ask me.”
Forged by Fire: A Small Town Second Chance Romance Page 9