Burn It Up

by Cara McKenna

  He frowned as a truck pulled into the front lot. A black truck. He slid off the stool, waiting with his hands on his hips, watching Ware park in the middle of the near empty lot, climb out, regard Casey’s bike for a moment, then aim himself at the door. Casey met him there, already wearing his sternest face. He flipped the bolt and opened the inside door as Ware tugged the screened one open. The both of them stood there for a breath, taking up roughly the same real estate on either side of the threshold.

  “Grossier,” Ware said, with a little nod.

  “You need something?” He wouldn’t be rude—this was still his lover’s ex, after all, and the father of a child whose history he felt bound to respect. But he wasn’t feeling all that friendly yet.

  “Saw your bike out front. Can I have a word?” Ware asked. “Ten minutes, maybe?”

  Casey stepped aside, holding the door. Letting this guy know whose territory he was entering. He nodded to the table with the computer on it, shutting the thing as they sat down.

  “This about Abilene?” Casey asked.

  “Not exactly. This is about me. And about business.”

  Wary, Casey kept his expression stony.

  “Sign out front says this place is going to be a barbecue joint in a few weeks’ time.”

  “That’s the plan.” And the wailing tools and the radio drone coming from beyond the plywood partition ought to confirm it.

  “You hire all your cooks yet?”

  Casey blinked, surprised. “Why? You looking to be one of them?”

  The man shrugged. “I’ve been all over this fucking county, looking for honest work—Abilene’s told me, I don’t earn clean money, I don’t get to pass any along to her and the kid. There’s not a ton of options for guys who’re straight out of the pen.”

  “There’s Petroch.”

  Ware laughed silently, not looking especially amused. “I’m pushing forty. I’ve got a working back for now, and I’d prefer to keep it working for a couple more decades. And if somebody wants to start me off at fifteen bucks an hour, they sure as shit better not cripple me for it.”

  Fair enough, Casey thought.

  “Don’t get me wrong—I’ll take it if that’s all there is to take. But I want to know all my options.”

  “You cooked before?”

  Ware nodded. “Downstate I did. Both stints.”

  “I did six months there myself, but I don’t remember being treated to any blue-ribbon barbecue.”

  He shook his head. “No, but I’m a red-blooded American man. I know how to fucking grill. Prison taught me how to cook everything else.”

  Casey considered it. Prison wasn’t known for its cuisine, but what Benji’s would be serving—steamed corn, baked beans, potatoes, coleslaw, and the rest of it—wasn’t exactly gourmet. It just had to taste good and turn a profit.

  “So you need cooks or what?”

  They did. They’d been planning on hiring two full-timers and a couple of preps, in addition to two or three waitstaff, but hadn’t had a chance to start the search, what with all the drama that had been afoot, partly courtesy of the man currently holding Casey’s eye contact from across the table.

  “We will. And maybe you’re the man for the job. But I got other things to consider here. Like, why Benji’s? Why not the diner?”

  “They’re staffed. So’s the truck stop by the off-ramp.”

  “And it really has nothing to do with the fact that your ex also happens to work here?”

  Ware crossed his arms on the tabletop, leaned in, spoke plainly. “I’m not looking to make anybody uncomfortable. I’m not looking to keep an eye on her, or get into her life any deeper than I have to for her to let me see my kid. I just need work, so I can help her take care of that baby, and you’re just about the only place in town that’s hiring. Trust me—you’re not my favorite man in this county. I got no beef with you—you’ve been good to her, and to the baby, far as I can tell. But I still don’t like you.”

  “I’ll live.”

  “I was hoping it’d be your fancy-pants partner who’d be here when I came knocking, trust me. But I need money, and I need a job. An honest one. If you paid me a fair wage, I’d work hard until I could find something else. All I want is an application. If Abilene’s okay with it, and your partner’s okay with it, and you’re okay with it, great. If not, no big deal.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs.” But the guy was being undeniably rational, and calm and civil, and motherfucking humble to boot, and Casey couldn’t say the idea was terrible. Abilene could use the child support, no doubt, and a fair-minded biological father in Mercy’s life. Treat him decent, he might be more inclined to do the same for the girls.

  Plus that keeping-an-eye-on-people shit—that went both ways, didn’t it? The enemy you know, and all that.

  “I’ll talk to Abilene,” Casey said, “and if she’s okay with it, I’ll talk to my partner. And if he’s okay with it, you and me will talk again. Why don’t you give me your number?” Casey took out his phone and saved the digits Ware gave him.

  “Thanks,” the guy said, a touch gruff. Not rude, but a little annoyed. And understandably. Who wanted to come asking after a job from a man he’d only just last week nearly gotten into a fistfight with? Plus, depending on how much Abilene had shared about her current situation, he might already know, or could guess, that she and Casey were sleeping together. That lowered his own hackles some, and he felt a little bad for the guy. After all, Casey knew exactly what Ware was missing out on. A great woman and a great child. At the moment, he was closer to both of them than Ware had been allowed.

  “Whatever happens with this place, and a possible job,” Casey said, “good luck.”

  Ware shrugged. “Can’t say short-order cook is topping my list of career aspirations, but I’ll take whatever comes. Especially around here.”

  Casey nodded. Had to sting. In Ware’s apparently now former field, it sounded like he was a respected and feared commodity, and probably had done well for himself, financially. Before the feds seized whatever they may have. Now, to be looking for a gig slinging barbecue just to make child support happen . . . ? Yeah, he didn’t envy that.

  Ware stood and slid the chair back under the high top. “Thanks for your time.”

  “Sure.” He walked him to the door.

  “Give her my best,” Ware added gruffly, his back to Casey, expression surely stony as always.

  “I will. Later.”

  He locked up behind Ware, feeling confused but calm. Hell, he’d been feeling confused about him ever since Miah had said that the old pickup now swinging out onto the street wasn’t the one from the night of the first creeper incident.

  Ware seemed okay. Cold, maybe, but not sneaky. He might be a criminal, or a recovering one, but at least he was an open book about it. More than Casey could claim to be. Plus, the guy was broke, had found out he had a child out there in the world and an ex who’d been more than happy to avoid him, yet he was determined to see the both of them, determined to pitch in. He could easily have disappeared from Abilene’s rearview for good, saved himself the stress and the money, but he hadn’t. That was something. That was a lot. He might not be Father of the Year, but that baby could do way worse, all things considered.

  He could have just taken off. Taken off, as Casey had last night, the moment things got serious. Could have taken off like Tom Grossier did, only he hadn’t. Hell, he was fighting to make himself a place in his child’s life, humbling himself for the chance, changing. Going straight, because he knew the payoff was worth it.

  Last night was my chance to do the same. Casey’s chance to finally prove to himself he could set his precious freedom aside for once and embrace something worth committing to. It wasn’t as though freedom had ever made him happy, after all. It had lined his wallet, perhaps, but what was that worth, when you had nobody you loved to share the money with? Nobody to support or help out or treat? And he wanted to do all those things for Abilene, yet the moment she’d
opened that door, he’d slinked off in the other direction.

  Ware humbled himself, he thought. And he admired the man for it.

  I could do the same. It wasn’t too late. He could admit he’d messed up, try to make this right. He had a chance to be the man he’d been wanting to become these last few months, quit running away from chances to grow up, and finally go running toward one.

  He could, and he would.

  He wasn’t going to fuck it up twice.

  Chapter 21

  Abilene passed a listless morning, nearly grateful that Mercy was fussing up a storm at every turn. It took her mind off her own discontent, whenever she had a spare second to remember how she and Casey had parted last night.

  I told him how I felt, and he bolted. The old Abilene would have beat herself up over that, blamed herself for scaring a man away. The new Abilene would count it as a blessing, she imagined, because she had no room in her life for a guy who wasn’t ready to be what she needed. She couldn’t say that was much consolation, given how disappointed she felt, but she made it a goal to try to get there, mentally, in time.

  It was nearly one before Casey got back to the farmhouse—and nearly the end of Abilene’s patience, which had been fraying steadily under the weight of her hurt feelings.

  “There you are,” she said when he found her in the den, bouncing a red-faced and deeply annoyed infant.

  “Here I am. And yikes. Somebody woke up on the wrong side, huh?”

  She’s not the only one.

  “Want me to try anything?” he asked.

  “Knock yourself out. She’s clean and fed and burped, and she slept almost nine hours straight through.”

  “Well, that’s probably the issue, now, isn’t it?” Casey asked the sputtering, seething baby as he lifted her from Abilene’s arms. “You’re much too well balanced, aren’t you? No outlet for your tiny well of rage.”

  “Something like that.” Abilene watched with mingled frustration and awe as Mercy quieted in seconds, face going placid, blue eyes glued to Casey’s.

  “Show off,” she grumbled, though she was grateful for the quiet.

  “That’s better, huh? How about I put you in your rocker?” He laid the baby in her seat, and Abilene held her breath, waiting to see if she started up again. Wonder of wonders, she looked as calm as could be.

  “Hallelujah.” She dropped her head against the couch’s back.

  “Your ex came by the bar while I was taking stock,” Casey said, sitting on the next cushion.

  Her head snapped right back up. “He did?”

  “Don’t worry—it was fine. He was after a job, actually.”

  She blinked. “Really? What, bartending?”

  “No, cooking, once the restaurant opens.”

  “Oh. He did a lot of that in prison.”

  “Said he valued his spinal health over a paycheck from the quarry, and I can’t say I blame him.”

  “So you said yes?”

  “No, no. I told him I’d talk to Duncan and to you. If all three of us are comfortable with the idea, we’ll consider him.”

  “I don’t think I’d mind,” she said, mulling. “It might be awkward, is all.” But probably not terribly. James wasn’t possessive or jealous. Not once an affair was over. You were either all in with him, or else you got the typical frosty reception he reserved for strangers and acquaintances. Only if you were his lover—or his enemy, or indeed his child, she imagined—did he bother getting wound up about you.

  “It wouldn’t be for a few weeks still,” Casey said, “if it did even happen. Plenty of time to see how the two of you are getting along.”

  She nodded. “It’s good to hear he’s looking for legal work, at any rate.” He seemed to be respecting her rule.

  “I’ll talk to Duncan then, see what he thinks.” He rubbed his thighs, then met her eyes with caution in his own. “So, what are you doing this afternoon?”

  “Just this,” she said, nodding to the baby.

  His lips thinned to a pensive line. “Hang on a sec.” He stood and strode off in the direction of the office, and Abilene heard knocking, then faint talking. He was back inside a minute and lifting the rocker.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Christine’s going to watch Mercy for an hour or two. You and I have something we need to do.”

  If not for last night’s talk, she’d have assumed he meant sex—men rarely moved with such purpose if they weren’t about to get lucky. “What?”

  “We need to talk,” he said simply, disappearing down the hall with the baby.

  “About?”

  Casey either didn’t hear or didn’t care to reply. When he returned he was patting his pockets, pulling out his keys. He eyed her clothes. “Grab a sweater and jacket and your mittens. We’re going for a little ride.”

  She was tempted to resist, but in the end, the baby was fed and in good hands, and she was more curious about what he needed to say than she was stubborn about last night.

  Once she’d changed, she met him by the front door and they got their shoes on.

  “Safety first,” Casey said, and handed her Raina’s helmet. She strapped it on as they headed for his bike.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the place I always went to when I needed to get my head on straight about shit.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’ll see.” He mounted the Harley and she got on behind him.

  He rode them west, toward town, and then straight through it—all the way down Station Street, across the train tracks. He took a left on Railroad Avenue, passing the motel, then onto the quiet route that ran beside the foothills. Maybe a mile out of town, he eased them to a stop on the shoulder and climbed off.

  Abilene did the same, unsure why this spot was significant to him. All she saw was a load of scrub brush and sage, a whole lot of desolate badlands to the east, and rising red rock to the west.

  “Follow me.” Casey headed toward the hills.

  “This is where you come to think?” she asked, following his path between the boulders and brush.

  “Just trust me.”

  She did, even as this mystery excursion had her scratching her head. They hiked for five or ten minutes up into the hills, until she was short of breath and warm enough to unzip her jacket and fist her mittens.

  “Just about there,” he said, kicking his way through a tangle of brush.

  At long last, they stopped, and she followed his lead when he turned and sat on a flat outcropping, facing east.

  “Okay. I see it now.” She took it in—the whole of Fortuity was laid out before them, all the way out to Three C and the open range beyond. She oriented herself by the church in the center of town, finding Benji’s and the diner, even the house she’d rented a room at, a little ways south.

  “I haven’t been up here in over ten years,” Casey said, squinting against the sun, studying the landscape. “This is where I’d go in high school to smoke weed and think deep, philosophical thoughts. It’s where I was sitting when I decided to leave town.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s funny . . . When I made that decision, a decade ago, now, this view seemed like everything I needed to know. Like I was looking at the future—at my hometown, the place I’d get stuck in forever if I didn’t escape. It looks different now.”

  “How?”

  “Lots of ways. I think before, I looked at this place and I thought about what kind of a life I could have, and all I saw was my dad’s legacy. Or lack thereof. I think I thought, if I don’t get out of here, I’m gonna be nothing. I’m gonna wind up working at the quarry, like every other nobody.” He waved his arm south. “I’m gonna live in some little house, a few blocks from where I grew up, and in fifty years I’m gonna die and wind up in that graveyard.” He flicked a hand to the northeast.

  “And what do you see now?”

  “I see memories now. I see the garage, and all the streets I drove down, the creek where we used to sw
im. I see Big Rock, where I kissed a girl for the first time when I was fourteen. And the train tracks that I followed when I tried to run away and find my dad when I was six. And I see the future, too. I see the bar I was barely old enough to drink at when I left town, and now it’s mine.”

  She nodded. “That’s all very nice, but what did you bring me here to talk about?”

  He took a deep breath, let it out slow, and laced his fingers between his knees. When he turned, she did the same.

  What precisely was charging those blue eyes, she wondered? Something beyond nerves. Waiting as he assembled his thoughts was torture, the longest half a minute in her life. “Casey?”

  He huffed a heavy breath.

  “I messed up last night. You told me you were starting to feel something, starting to wonder if we might be something serious, maybe, someday. And I let you think I didn’t want that.”

  “Oh.” Her chest felt funny and she resisted an urge to rub at her heart.

  “I got scared, and that was lame.”

  “Scared of what?”

  “Of coming clean, partly. About my past. And scared of what it all meant—commitment, stepping up. Like, all the fucking way up, when a part of me is terrified if I tried, I’d only find out I was just like my dad. Like I’d let you guys down in the end. Like I’d realize I couldn’t cut it, and run out on you and the baby, and on my family and on Duncan.”

  “I can’t imagine you doing that.”

  “Well, you haven’t known me all that long. I’m a better man now, since I’ve come home, a better man than I have been for a long, long time. Maybe ever.”

  She could say the same about herself, she realized. It had taken Mercy for her to get her act together. Now a year clean, she could look back and realize that the reason she’d gotten addicted to heroin was that she’d woken up each morning and felt nothing. She’d had no reason to get up, nothing in her life worth being awake for. The chemical blank had felt better than all those waking hours of pointlessness. But Mercy had changed all that. There was a focus to her life, a reason to do better, to be better.