Braving the Heat

by Regan Black

  “Pick up, Stephen. It’s Mitch.” His brother’s voice wasn’t nearly as soothing as the heavy metal had been. The oldest of Stephen’s younger siblings, Mitch was the one who consistently refused to let him stay off the family radar for too long.

  “I know you’re there,” Mitch pressed.

  Where else would he be?

  “He’ll come through,” Mitch promised in an undertone to someone on his end of the call.

  “Not your job to make promises for me, little brother,” Stephen muttered.

  “Pick up,” Mitch said, bossy now. “I’ve got a friend here at the club with car trouble. Tow it out of the employee parking lot and we’ll come by and look it over when I have time tomorrow.” He gave the make, model and license plate number of the car.

  Huh. Stephen rolled out from under the Camaro, wiping grease from his hands. His brother knew as much about cars as he did. If Mitch couldn’t get his friend’s car rolling, there was a serious problem. Still, he didn’t pick up, waiting to see if his brother would sweeten the deal.

  Mitch swore. “Come on, Stephen. The club has your kind of group onstage tonight. I’ll buy you a beer and help you hook up the car.”

  Stephen picked up the handset. “I’ll head over.” He glanced down at his stained T-shirt and jeans. The customer waiting on the Camaro wasn’t in any rush, preferring this rebuild and restoration be done perfectly rather than by a specific date. If only they could all be that patient, Stephen thought. “Give me an hour or so.”

  Dropping the receiver back into place, he scowled at his stained hands and T-shirt. Promised beer or not, if he wanted inside the Escape Club during business hours he had to clean up. He put his work space to rights and lowered the bay door. The Camaro would be waiting when he returned.

  He walked through the office and around to the refurbished camper he’d parked behind the building. Not that long ago, he would’ve headed to the house he once shared with Mitch, but his brother and Julia, his recent bride, had eventually settled there after their honeymoon.

  Stephen had promised his mom he’d find a decent house somewhere near the shop. It was a good neighborhood. Instead, he kept taking on more work, limiting his time to search. The last time he’d gone house hunting had been with his fiancée, Annabeth. Even after three long years he still couldn’t walk a property without hearing in his head how she’d react.

  Last year, when his parents had suggested he move back home with them, he’d bristled. He hadn’t taken it any more gracefully when Mitch and Julia swore he wouldn’t be in their way. The newlyweds didn’t need a big brother crowding them. His parents didn’t need him returning home when they could all but taste the empty nest. His youngest sister, Jenny, was almost ready to spread her wings.

  Although they meant well, there were days when he was sure he’d drown under all the love and good intentions of his family.

  Losing Annabeth before they’d had a chance to experience the life they’d dreamed of didn’t make him an invalid. He maintained a successful business and supported the PFD and other causes in the community that mattered to him. Stephen continued to give special attention to the after-school program where his fiancée had worked, and where three years ago she’d been shot and killed for having the audacity to help kids avoid gangs and drugs.

  He’d long since given up on shedding the melancholy that hovered like a storm cloud over his life. What his family wanted for him and what he knew he could handle were two different things. He didn’t bother trying to convince them anymore. Work was all the sunlight he needed. Cars and engines he could understand, fix and make new again. People were too fragile, himself included. In his mind, that was all the rationalization necessary for the old Airstream trailer he’d purchased. After months of work, inside and out, he considered it home, though he wasn’t yet brave enough to use the word within his mother’s hearing.

  As the oldest, he really should get more respect for his good judgment, if only by default.

  Having washed off the pungent smells of the shop, he debated briefly about clothing. He’d prefer shorts on a summer night, but since he was going to hook up a car, he opted for jeans and a red polo shirt. When he finally reached the club, he found room for the tow truck near the back of the employee parking lot across the street. With the Escape Club perched at the end of the pier, few cars were granted the prime spaces on busy nights. No one emerged from a parked car or otherwise expressed any interest in his arrival, so he walked down to the club.

  On the rare occasions his brother got him here, Stephen couldn’t help but admire what Sullivan had made out of his forced early retirement and an old warehouse. He’d never heard anyone question Sullivan’s choices, or express worry over what he was or wasn’t doing with his life. Though admittedly, a club naturally was a more social environment than an auto shop. People came from all over for the bands the Escape Club drew to Philly.

  Striding straight to the front of the line, Stephen realized maybe he had more in common with Sullivan than he thought. Galway Automotive was building a solid reputation and people were calling from all over the region to get their cars on his restoration schedule.

  “Unless you hire a female mechanic, you’ll never meet a nice girl under the hood of a car.” His mother’s voice broke into his thoughts. Myra Galway had a way of saying things that slid right past his defenses and lingered, mocking him with her maternal logic. If only his mom would admit there was more to life than filling lonely hours with pointless chatter with women who sneered at his stained fingernails and the rough calluses on his palms.

  At the burly doorman’s arched eyebrow, Stephen gave his name and was quickly waved inside.

  The bold, heavy sounds of the metal band onstage slammed into him and battered away at the discontent that persistently dogged Stephen since his fiancée’s death. He leaned into the music, weaving through the crowd until he reached Mitch’s station at the service end of the bar, closer to the kitchen.

  His brother eyed him and popped the top off a bottle of beer, setting it in front of him between serving other patrons. Good. Stephen wasn’t in much of a talking mood. The delayed conversation was no surprise, considering the sea of humanity supporting the band from all corners of the club.

  “Took you long enough,” Mitch said at the first lull between customers. “You might be here awhile.”

  Stephen checked his watch. He’d said an hour or so and had hit the mark precisely. “How come?” he asked, though he didn’t care about the time, since the band was as good as Mitch had promised.

  “No way I can get out there right now. This set just started.”

  Stephen shrugged and swiveled around on the bar stool to watch the band. They were good, from the sound to the showmanship. He was enjoying the music, the process of being still and people-watching. Waitresses in khaki shorts and bright blue T-shirts emblazoned with the Escape Club logo brushed by him with friendly glances and quick greetings as they exchanged trays of empty bottles and glassware for the fresh orders Mitch filled with startling efficiency. From Stephen’s vantage point everyone in the club seemed to be focused on excellent customer service. Sullivan had definitely created an outstanding atmosphere.

  “Do you always ignore the signals?” Mitch asked when another waitress walked off, tray perfectly balanced.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mitch shook his head. “Signals from interested women,” he said. “If you’d pay attention, you’d see it for yourself.”

  “Please. Not you, too.” Stephen glared at his little brother. “You know I’ve got too much work to spare time for dating.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mitch slid another city-wide special across the bar to a customer and marked the tab. “Then I’m sorry I called you. Another beer?”

  “Water,” Stephen answered, then checked his watch again. The band would probably take a break soon. He drained the glas
s of water Mitch provided and pushed back from the bar. “Tell your friend I’m waiting out in the truck. No rush. Thanks for the beer.”

  “Stephen, wait.”

  Not a chance. What was it with married people? His parents and married siblings were ganging up on him lately, and being relentless about it. Was there some statute of limitations on grief he didn’t know about? He’d tried believing that crappy philosophy of it being better to have loved and lost, and couldn’t pull it off. He’d loved, he’d lost everything and it sucked.

  They kept wanting him to be happy, checking in on him week after week, never letting it rest. Was he happy? He didn’t know. At this point he wasn’t sure he cared about happiness. Business was good. Booming, in fact. If that was enough happiness for him, his family should back off. Not everyone got a happy ending. He’d accepted that hard truth; why couldn’t they?

  “Hey! Stephen Galway?”

  Nearly to the truck, he turned at the sound of his name. Recognizing the waitress uniform, he was tempted to ignore the slender blonde jogging his way with a long, ground-eating stride. His brother earned points for tenacity. Stephen made a note to punch him at the earliest opportunity.

  “You are Stephen, right?”

  “That’s right. And you are?” The lamp overhead cast her features in shadow, illuminating pale hair pulled back from her face. He remembered seeing her in the bar. She was the one with the long braid that fell to the middle of her back, and great legs anchoring that willowy body.

  “Kenzie Hughes.” She stuck out her hand, then let it fall when he didn’t reach out to meet her halfway. “You probably don’t remember me.”

  “Should I?” The name wasn’t ringing any bells.

  “Guess not. I was in the same high school class as Mitch.”

  Stephen was ready to march back into the club and punch his brother right now for orchestrating this elaborate setup. He had work to do without dragging the tow truck out on a wild-goose chase. What bad idea or wrong impression had Mitch planted in her head? He stared at her, struggling for a polite way out of this. It wasn’t her fault his brother was an idiot.

  “Um, anyway,” she continued, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” She pulled keys from her pocket. “The car’s right over here.”

  Now he felt like a complete jerk. Stephen had assumed he’d be helping out one of Mitch’s male buddies. “Great.” He fell in behind her and put his mind back in car mode. “Let’s take a look.”

  He tried not to wince when he saw the vehicle. Not his business what people chose to drive, and people who drove rust buckets like this one made up a core segment of his business. He let her explain Mitch’s opinion of the situation while he listened to a whole lot of nothing going on in her engine. Something didn’t smell right under the normal scents of oil and gas.

  “If Mitch couldn’t get you running here, we’re better off hauling it in.” He dropped the hood, checked the latch. “Do you have a way to get home?”

  She climbed out of the car and he noticed the interior was packed with boxes and suitcases. He couldn’t imagine Sullivan allowing any of his employees to live out of their car, and if she was doing so, she hadn’t left much room for herself.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, her gaze sliding to the crammed interior. “Here.” She handed over the keys. “I’ll get your number from Mitch and call you tomorrow.”

  “One second.” Hughes, PFD, female. It all clicked into place and embarrassment flooded through Stephen. “You’re Mackenzie Hughes.”

  Her entire body went on the defensive in one fluid movement. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “No.” He couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize her in the club. Her name was at the center of a public debate about the ability of female firefighters. In person, her height and poise were evident and she looked far more capable than she did on television, where the images provided focused on her photogenic and fine-boned, feminine face.

  “Of course not,” he reiterated, when she cocked an eyebrow at his long perusal. He’d heard his brother rant more than once in Kenzie’s favor. Like most people of his acquaintance, Stephen thought the gender bias was in the past. “I’ll take good care of the car,” he promised. “What’s with all the boxes?”

  Now her shoulders slumped. “Do I have to unload them for you to tow the car?” She looked around as if a storage shed would appear out of thin air. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “If you don’t have a problem with it, I don’t. Things might get jostled as I load and unload the car.”

  “No. My stuff will be okay.” She backed away. “Thanks so much. I’ll pick up the boxes tomorrow.”

  He trailed after her as if someone had set him on automatic pilot. “How?”

  She skidded to a stop. “Pardon me?”

  “If I have your car, how are you getting around?”

  She gave him a weak smile. “I’ll figure it out.”

  He blamed it on having sisters. Only her car was his business, but he still felt compelled to get a better answer from her. “What time are you off tonight?”

  “Two.”

  “Have Mitch bring you over to the shop.”

  She gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. At two in the morning?”

  Something about her response had him changing his mind. “Good point.” His brother had a wife waiting at home. “I’ll bring over a loaner car for you.”

  “At two in the morning?” she repeated, incredulous.

  He rolled his shoulders and resisted the urge to shift under that intense blue gaze. “That’s when you need it, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Then I’ll be here. Unless you won’t have time to drop me back at my shop on your way home?”

  She snorted. “No, I can do that.”

  “Good. We’re all set.” He turned away before she could argue, and went to load her car onto the flatbed tow truck. Being near her put an odd pressure in his system, as if his heart was a half-beat too slow. He glanced back over his shoulder and caught her staring at him.

  Couldn’t blame her; he barely recognized himself in his actions since she’d caught up with him. For his own peace of mind, he chalked up his uncharacteristic behavior to Mitch’s frustration on Kenzie’s behalf. According to his brother, she’d had a rough time of it since the PFD put her on administrative leave after a victim blamed her incompetence and weakness as a woman for his minor injuries.

  She hadn’t looked the least bit weak to Stephen, and if Mitch vouched for her, she could handle the job. That must be why he was so determined to do more than the bare minimum of towing in her car for an evaluation and repair.

  * * *

  Kenzie worked the rest of the night with a little more spring in her step. Hope flashed bright and hot though her system at odd and unpredictable intervals. It was nice to feel a genuine smile on her lips. Maybe the recent circumstances hadn’t permanently smothered her courage and optimism, after all.

  As she cashed out and split her tips with the rest of the staff, she realized she’d earned enough on this shift to cover an economy motel for the night and give Stephen some money for the tow and repair. Every penny left over would go to the lawyer fund.

  “Grant’s looking for you,” Mitch said, as he walked into the break room. “And I have a text for you.” He held out his phone.

  “For me?” Who would text Mitch to reach her?

  “About your car,” he said.

  Belatedly, she realized she’d been in such a hurry to get back to the club that she’d forgotten to give Stephen her cell phone number. The text message asked Mitch to tell her he was waiting outside. Kenzie replied with her cell phone number and let him know she needed only a few more minutes. She rolled up her apron and shoved it into her backpack, then headed for Grant’s office.

  Rapping a knuckle on the open
door, she stepped inside when Grant turned from his computer monitor. He smiled and waved her in, asking her to close the door. His constant energy belied the gray salting his hair. She suspected the creases bracketing his warm brown eyes were a result of laughter as much as the challenges he’d faced in his career as a cop and a nightclub owner. He reminded her of her dad, she realized with a prickle of nostalgia. Not in appearance—Grant had a barrel-chested, stocky build and her father had been tall and slim. The similarities were in the general demeanor of both men. Grant cared for his club and his employees with the fatherly affection and protectiveness she remembered her dad exhibiting every day of his life.

  The chair squeaked as Grant leaned back. “Was it a good night?”

  “Yes. Thanks again for giving me so many shifts.”

  “I prefer employing people who are willing to work,” he said. “You know, you remind me of your dad in that way.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew him.” She knew she was overtired and overstressed when tears stung behind her eyes. Fifteen years had passed since they’d buried him, and she usually didn’t feel melancholy anymore unless it was the anniversary of the warehouse fire or Christmas. Her mother had been determined her daughters would smile with hearts full of happy memories when they remembered their father. She insisted living well was the best way to affirm all the love and gifts he’d given them.

  Grant nodded. “There are few circles in Philly tighter than those of us who worked the front lines.” His thick eyebrows drew into a frown over his assessing gaze. “I heard about your car trouble.”

  The swift change of topic helped restore her composure. “Mitch called his brother for me. Stephen came out and towed it to his shop. He, ah, offered to loan me a car until mine is fixed.” She still wasn’t sure how she was going to cover the extra expenses.

  “That’s good.” Leaning back in his chair, Grant drummed a quick rhythm on the edge of his desk. “Here’s the thing. I just got off the phone with Stephen.”