Forged by Fire: A Small Town Second Chance Romance

by Cleveland, Eddie

  “I said no. No, you don’t hate coffee. No, you don’t hate me. And no, you don’t get to just keep running away. Stop hiding from me and hiding your feelings from me and just talk to me!”

  My foot stomps on the brake and a squeal fills the air.

  “Oh, you think you get to tell me what to do?” Karen’s lips flatten and her cheeks blaze pink. She points in my open window. “I never ran away from you, Luke. You sent me off. So, let’s get that straight right now. And another thing.” She flings open my car door and jumps inside. “You don’t get to demand that I share my feelings with you. Not after you were the one who broke those feelings. Not after you were the one who broke my heart, Luke. Not after you were the one who broke me.” Her voice cracks and plump tears fall down her cheeks.

  The pain I caused her that night has all boiled up. It was only ever just below the surface. Even though we’ve been apart for four years, the emotions are still so raw, it feels like it was yesterday.

  “I’m sorry.” I pull her toward me and Karen cries on my chest. Years of anguish spill free. Those tears I caused her but never saw are finally revealing themselves on my T-shirt as she sobs against me. “I’m sorry.”

  How do I explain what I did? How do I tell her that the only way I could stand being left behind here to pick up the pieces left by my father’s death was to know she was living her dream out there? How can I make her understand that I was trying to protect her from the same idiots in her family I was fought today?

  “What went wrong with us?” She sniffs and sits up in her seat, her red-lined eyes studying my face. “What did I do?” Fresh tears well up.

  “Nothing. You did nothing.” My heart aches at the idea that she’s been carrying this open wound with her all this time. When I sent her away, it was to do right by her. How did it all go so wrong?

  “Then why did it end that way?”

  “I was trying to make you angry,” I admit.

  “Why? Did you want me to hate you?” She frowns.

  “I guess I did, yeah.” I rub my hand over my neck.

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought if you hated me, maybe I could stop loving you,” I confess.

  “Did you?” Her voice drops an octave.

  The car is silent. In the distance a loon quivers a lonely song. I pull a huge breath into my lungs and hope I’m sucking in some courage along with it. I’m going to tell her the truth, if only I can find the words.

  Beep-beep-beep!

  “All available personnel, we have a medical call at Fifteen-sixty-five Rosebush Road. It’s a woman in her thirties, possible heart attack,” the woman on the radio calls out and we both snap up to attention.

  “Oh no. That’s Myra, isn’t it?” Karen whispers.

  “I’ve gotta go. I can drive you home after.” I nod and bring the engine to life. “Four-three-six responding,” I respond and spin my tires as I race down the road. Neither of us says a word the entire drive there, yet a lifetime of unspoken conversations hang between us.

  Is there any conversation in the world that can make what I did all right?

  Are there any words to fix us?

  21

  Karen

  Luke screeches his car to a stop outside Myra’s imposing brick barricade. This wall that surrounds her house like a compound has almost been talked about as much as my family’s scrap heap. Everyone in Pine Grove remembers the tragedy that made Myra want to block out the world. She went from being an outgoing, fun artist everyone in the community knew and loved to a shut-in overnight. I know this brick and steel is supposed to make her feel safe, but I can’t help but wonder if the very thing she’s looking to protect her is actually keeping her prisoner.

  “The gate is shut.” Luke frowns and flings open his car door. I watch from the passenger seat as he rattles the steel bars. He scans the wall, but it goes the entire way around her property. There’s no other way inside.

  Luke backs up about twenty feet and then runs straight at the wall, full tilt. He jumps with everything he’s got, and his hands manage to plant on the top. It must take an incredible amount of upper body strength to pull himself up the side like that, but he manages. Then he jumps down into Myra’s yard and disappears from sight.

  He didn’t take his emergency kit. I wonder what he’s going to be able to do to help her. This plan doesn’t make much sense. Just as my stomach starts to tie up in knots and anxiety crawls up my arms like ants ruining a picnic, the gate suddenly swings open wide. Luke quickly makes his way back to the car and drives in.

  I guess his plan did make sense after all. I’m not sure why I doubted him. I guess it’s because when I left, Luke had zero interest in being a firefighter. Now look at him. My gaze flickers over the rigid muscles popping in his forearms as he clings onto the steering wheel. He’s not only a firefighter, he’s the deputy chief of the entire station.

  “I’m not sure how long this is gonna take, but I’ll give you a lift home after,” he interrupts my thoughts as he puts the car in park.

  “Okay.” I nod.

  Luke hops out and this time he reaches in the backseat and plucks his own first responder kit out. There’s no hesitation as he bursts into Myra’s house. Seconds feel like hours as I sit in silence.

  I wonder if she’s okay.

  I wonder what her house looks like.

  Even before I left, Myra was something of an urban legend. The way she cut herself off from society made a lot of people talk. I’ve never actually seen her since the accident. I don’t think many people have. The only way we even know she’s still alive is from the art installations she sends to the local gallery.

  I stare at the faded yellow front door, waiting for something to happen, but nothing does.

  Wee-ooh! Wee-ooh!

  I turn toward the approaching siren and watch as the rescue vehicle slides in through the open gate. Luke’s big uncle Byron comes charging out of it with oxygen, AED, and a first aid kit in his hulking hands. I watch him disappear into the house and surprise myself when I unclick my seatbelt and slide out the door. I know better than to walk inside, but I can’t seem to stop my feet from taking each step closer.

  I feel compelled to go in. All the myths about Myra swirl in my head as I remember when we were teenagers and we used to dare each other to try to break into her property. Everyone acted like she was some kind of witch or boogeyman that was hiding in behind her wall to keep the police from knowing about all the bodies she was secretly chopping up inside. It’s funny how kids always love to make monsters out of the most vulnerable people. The broken ones who need our kindness the most are always the ones they pick apart.

  But I guess we all do that, don’t we?

  All the fears I had about this place were nothing more than stupid figments of my imagination. Of course Myra’s house is big and bright and beautiful. She has tall ceilings and a lot of windows to let in all the natural light. Bold teals and pumpkin oranges are cheerfully painted on her walls. Everywhere you lay your eyes there’s some kind of art decorating the surface. Paintings, sculptures, pottery, and wood carvings welcome me into every square inch of her artist retreat.

  I ease down the hall and follow the quiet disruption coming from the living room. I wouldn’t call it noise. More like uneasy whispers. I walk in and see Luke taking her vitals as Myra takes long, slow breaths of oxygen through the mask.

  Her dark hair is streaked with little slips of silver. It’s puffed out around her head in an unkept storm cloud. Short bangs jut across her pale forehead, drawing your focus to her eyes. I look at the panic crashing around in them. It’s like watching a small boat being tossed around in a rolling, crashing sea of blue.

  “That’s it, long and slow breaths. Keep counting, remember?” Luke gently instructs her. “Breathe in for four seconds and back out for seven seconds. Let’s get that heart to stop racing.”

  I stop at the door to the hall and watch as Luke takes charge of the scene. I’ve known that he’s the new
deputy for days now, but this is the first time I’ve gotten to see him earn that title. The way he stays so strong and calm radiates through the room. I think it’s even wearing off on Myra because she goes from gasping in the air to taking it in slowly.

  Byron looms over both of them on the sofa. He puts his hand on his hip and frowns at the display. “Myra, I need to get you to the hospital. You thought you were having a heart attack. Now, I know that’s not the case, but I don’t want to leave you here without a doctor checking you over.” His voice reminds me of wild thunder rolling overhead in hazy summer storms.

  “Please.” Her voice is muffled behind the mask. “I can’t. I just can’t.” Myra’s eyes grow wide with terror and she starts huffing and puffing the oxygen again.

  “You can, and you will,” Byron booms his orders. “I’m not going to let you stay. What if this wasn’t just a panic attack? You need to get to the doc,” he digs in.

  “The hospital? I can’t go back there. I can’t talk to a doctor.” Her voice gets squeaky and her words come out faster. “No, not after … there’s no way …”

  “Shhh, you’re getting her all worked up again, Byron. Can you just cool it for now?” Luke jumps in.

  “I’m just saying.” Byron crosses his arms.

  “And I’m just saying that this isn’t helping,” Luke interrupts his uncle. “She’s having an anxiety attack and you’re causing her more anxiety. Stop trying to fight fire with fire.” Even though his voice is calm, there’s an edge to it that Byron doesn’t want to butt up against.

  “Fine.” Byron juts out his jaw and I notice the scars from the fire that branded his neck. “Then I’ll stay here tonight. Okay, Myra? I won’t say another word about the hospital or doctors, but I’m gonna park my ass on your sofa tonight and check on you every hour to make sure you’re good.”

  Luke and I look over at the mysterious artist. She holds the oxygen to her nose, seeming to weigh out her options, neither of which she seems happy about. Finally she nods.

  “I can live with that,” she agrees.

  “Great, sounds like a plan then.” Luke stands up. “Your vitals are normal now, so I’m going to head out. You’re in good hands with Byron here and he’s got the oxygen and everything else you need. So, I’ll see you around then.”

  “Thank you.” Myra’s voice barely floats across the room. I’ve never talked to her before, but I get the impression that, even if she didn’t have a mask over her mouth, her voice still wouldn't be very imposing.

  “No need to thank me,” Luke calls back and leads me out of the house. In a few minutes we’re heading back out the gate he unlocked and out onto the main road. The only sound is the tires rolling over asphalt. Inside the car, Luke and I are lost in mute worlds filled with unasked questions.

  “I hope she’s going to be all right.” I finally break the silence.

  “Yeah. I think she will be this time. But living like she does, cut off from everyone like that, it’s only a matter of time before something serious happens and no one can save her.” Luke shakes his head sadly.

  “Well, maybe she learned to keep people at a distance after what happened to her. Pain is a great teacher,” I answer.

  “So, she got hurt and decided to hide away from the entire world?” Luke clenches his jaw. “I have a feeling she thinks she’s protecting herself in there, but all that hurt is locked right up beside her. You can’t run from the past forever.”

  “I have a feeling you’re not just talking about Myra anymore.”

  Here he goes again, trying to make it sound like I was the one who fled to the East Coast. Like I wanted to start over without him.

  “You’re probably right about that.” He looks at me from the corner of his eyes.

  “Okay, fine. You want to have this big talk, well, I’ve got nowhere to be right now, do you?” I frown.

  “Nowhere more important than here.” His eyebrows shoot up and for a second my annoyance almost softens as he gives me that boyish puppy dog look.

  Shit. I’m going to need to stay stronger than this if I’m going to hear him out. He fucked you and chucked you, remember? And that hurt. Badly. But it didn’t even come close to the pain he caused you back then when he said those four little words.

  They echo in my mind, haunting me, reminding me of how shattered he left me. You’re not worth it. I jam my jaw shut and try not to feel their sting across my face. I try not to cry.

  “Do you want to go to my place?” he offers.

  “No, that’s a bad idea.” I stare out the window into the darkness.

  “Do you want to go to your parents’ place?”

  “Definitely not.” I sigh.

  “Then where?” Exasperation twists his face.

  “We could go to the cliff, maybe?”

  “The cliff?” He sounds surprised.

  “Not for that.” I roll my eyes. I can practically see the wheels in his head turning at the idea of taking me up to the town’s famous make-out spot. “Talking only.” My voice is more convincing than I expect.

  “You got it. We’ll go to the cliff.” He pulls a quick U-turn in the middle of the road and starts speeding off in the other direction.

  “To talk.” I emphasize the word.

  “To talk,” he agrees.

  Silence cloaks the car again and my thoughts race a hundred miles per second. I’m so confused right now. Every part of my being wants something different from Luke. My brain wants to yell at him and finally get an explanation for why he was so cruel to me that night. My heart wants to rest against his chest and feel him play with my hair as we soak in the stars. And my body wants to strip him down and give those stars a show they won’t forget.

  To the cliffs we drive.

  To talk.

  22

  Luke

  I park the car a few feet from the ledge and kill the headlights. The stars above look like they’re being mirrored off a serene lake in front of us, but it’s the twinkling porch lights shining up from Pine Grove. It would be the picture of tranquility if there wasn’t so much tension between us right now.

  “It’s beautiful.” Karen sighs, relaxing back against her seat.

  “You’re beautiful.” My eyes slide over her face and she frowns.

  “Don’t do that.” Her voice tightens.

  “What?”

  “You know what. How about we go outside for a bit? I think this might be a bit too, uh, familiar.” She doesn’t wait for me to respond. Her hand quickly unclasps her seatbelt and she disappears into the dark night.

  Familiar.

  That’s one way of putting it. What she means is, this used to be where we came to make out. I remember those frustrating nights of blue balls clearly. It was back before she gave me her virginity. We would drive up to this spot and kiss for hours. If I was lucky, there was some over-the-clothes groping to go along with it. We were at the age when innocence and hormones collide. Sometimes hormones would help slide my hand into first base, but most nights innocence won out.

  But it wasn’t all just about kissing until our lips and, well, other parts swelled up. Between those early teen make-out sessions we would talk about anything and everything. Those were the years we’d get excited about everything from song lyrics to our lofty dreams about future jobs. It was back when we thought we had the answers to all of life’s problems, if the adults would only listen to us.

  In many ways, I think the times we spent in those innocent spaces, this cliff, the fire station roof, and in the playground behind my house, that’s when we fell in love.

  I lean back against the hood of the car with Karen. She crosses her arms like a little barrier over her chest. Her eyes scan the village below purposefully. I feel like she’s avoiding looking at me. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s angry with me or if it’s because of something else.

  “Well?” she snips.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been harassing me to hear you out and I’m listening, but I�
��m not going to stand here all night.” She sighs.

  I don’t want to keep her waiting, but my tongue is twisted in a knot. Where do I begin?

  “Why did you want me to hate you? Why did you want to stop loving me?”

  So, I guess I begin there.

  “Karen, you’re a good person.” I admit my opening is weak. She snorts at me, clearly not buying it. “No, really, I mean, you’re actually the best person I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, that solves that mystery then.” She claps her hands. “Case closed. Thanks, Luke. You really cleared that up for me.” She turns to walk away, but I grab her arm.

  “Will you just listen? Why are you mad at me for trying to make you hate me but then you’re trying twice as hard to do the exact same thing? Just give me a goddamned chance to talk.” My fingers dig into her arm as I pull her back to me. Karen’s eyes widen, and I drop my hand from her arm. I didn’t want to scare her. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “It’s fine.” The edge to her tone has smoothed. “You’re right, I’ve been trying to hate you. Maybe it’s easier than hearing the truth.” Her eyes cast down to her shoes and my gut churns.

  “What do you think the truth is?” I squint, trying to imagine how she thinks this could possibly be her fault.

  All this time, all these years I thought she’d just hate me and move on. That she’d eventually write me off as some dick. I never imagined she would torture herself with the idea that the breakup was because of her.

  “I don’t know.” She shrugs. Her voice is soft. “You said I wasn’t worth it, remember?”

  I cringe as the memory socks me in the gut. I nod wordlessly, unable to speak.

  “I never knew what I did wrong, so I imagined everything. Maybe I wasn’t pretty enough or smart enough. Maybe I was terrible in bed or you thought I was annoying.” Her voice breaks and she sniffles.

  “No, it’s none of those things.” I wrap my arms around her and she doesn’t try to pull away. Instead, Karen collapses against me and heavy sobs rattle her body. Anguish that I caused her pours out. “I just wanted you to go to New York. I knew I couldn’t leave my mother right after Dad died and just go. But you still had to. There was nothing for you here. Your dream school accepted you there. Your family was destroying you here. I couldn’t stand in your way. I knew I’d never forgive myself if you didn’t pursue your dream.”