Walk Through Fire

by Kristen Ashley

  There was no getting around it.

  And his baby girl was about to face a curveball, so it was his job to guide her to learn how to adjust, take the strike but keep her head up, or better, face it and hit it out of the park.

  After lunch, life intruded and High experienced more contradictory emotions, hating the fuck out of it at the same time feeling it was good they were facing it.

  This being him leaving to hit a store so they had more food (or, Millie actually was stocked up since her cupboards were seriously lacking) and Millie telling him she had to hit her desk to get some shit sorted. She also had to unpack.

  She had a business and she’d been away. He’d had to let that slide.

  So he went to the store, bought everything they could need or want, came back, lugged the shit in, and put it away. She did some time at her desk. Then he did some time hanging in the bathroom with her while she unpacked and started laundry.

  After that, they settled in for TV, took a break to make dinner, ate it in front of the TV, and then catastrophe struck her program that he was watching because that’s what she wanted but the thing did nothing for him. It was a bunch of uppity folks (even the servants were uppity) wearing old clothes and talking in British accents.

  Even when the pretty brunette bought it, it still did nothing for him.

  So he went to his voicemail and listened to Tack.

  “I get that you’re needin’ to focus, brother,” Tack said in his ear, “but as you know, we got shit to discuss. You’re out of it for now, but that don’t mean we don’t need to go over it with you. So we got a meet at the Compound tomorrow mornin’ at nine. Need your ass there, High. Hate to drag you away from what’s goin’ down, ’specially if you’re sortin’ things with Millie, but you know it’s gotta be done. Especially for Millie. See you there.”

  High hit the button to turn off his phone, not knowing what the fuck Tack was talking about.

  Especially for Millie.

  What did that shit mean?

  He looked to Millie.

  “Babe,” he called.

  She waved a hand at him, not tearing her eyes from the screen.

  “Shh!” she hissed, sniffled, then wailed, “Oh, Tom!”

  Fuck, she was cute.

  And with that cute right there, sitting next to him, weeping for some fictional people who never fucking existed, High decided he’d find out what Tack was talking about at the meeting tomorrow morning.

  Right then, he was going to be with his girl.

  So he reached out a hand, caught her at her neck, and pulled her to him as he slouched deeper into the corner of her couch.

  She adjusted immediately, curling into him as she curled her legs up beside her on the seat.

  “You do know we’re watchin’ somethin’ else after this,” he told her, to which he felt her body go solid.

  She then barked, “Xbox, pause.” The show paused and she lifted up and twisted to him.

  “We are not.”

  “Millie, you’re bawlin’ your eyes out. This program sucks.”

  “It’s brilliant,” she declared.

  “You’re bawlin’ your eyes out,” he repeated.

  “The hallmark of good writing,” she returned.

  He stared at her, mouth twitching.

  He didn’t forget. Not any of it. Not any of her.

  Including the fact that if she had a choice between a comedy or a drama or something that would send her over the edge and have her sobbing uncontrollably, she’d always pick the last.

  Shit, he’d sat through Steel Magnolias three times and Terms of Endearment four. The bitches in those movies died seven times collectively and Millie blubbered each time like it was the first time she saw it and she didn’t see it coming.

  And he’d sat through that because she snuggled deep when he did.

  “Whatever,” he muttered as his cue he was giving in.

  “Can I go back to Downton Abbey now?” she asked.

  “Have at it,” he invited.

  She grinned at him and he studied her, thinking he had not been wrong with what he threw in her face weeks ago.

  His girl was the prettiest crier ever.

  However, he liked this best of all, her grinning at him with wet cheeks because she got her way and that was because he gave it to her.

  So she turned to the TV and called, “Xbox, play.” The action started again and he pulled her deeper into him.

  She snuggled even closer.

  Then High watched a show he gave not that first shit about.

  And he decided he liked it.

  Because Millie did.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Folded in the Arms of Chaos

  Millie

  MY ALARM CLOCK went off, and I untangled myself from Logan just enough to reach out a hand to hit snooze as Logan muttered, “Jesus, what the fuck is that?”

  I was too sleepy to laugh out loud but I still found that hilarious.

  When my man was a recruit for the Club, he had duties that he was assigned, so he was up and at them even before I had to get up to go to school.

  After he’d been initiated, when any duties he was assigned happened at night, he hated the alarm clock that I still had to use to get up for school. Told me he hoped there was a time in our lives we could toss it.

  I suspected since then and now, he’d tossed it.

  I rolled back into him. “Alarm clock, Snooks. I gotta get up and face the day.”

  I didn’t want to. Like yesterday, I wanted to stay tangled up in Logan in as many ways as I could.

  But we’d gotten partly back to life yesterday.

  At first, it had freaked me out, Logan leaving to get groceries, me facing my desk.

  In the end, it was good because it was normal.

  But mostly because we did what we had to do separately, then he came back.

  Furthermore, this was it. We had to face the new us.

  I had to work. Logan had to look after his girls and do… Logan things. We had to sort out life so we could go forward with it, together.

  Unfortunately, starting now.

  He lifted up, then collapsed back, wrapping me closer and muttering, “It’s fuckin’ five forty-five.”

  “I have a lot to catch up on and I work at home, essentially. But I always hit my desk like I’m going to work because it puts you in the right mind-set and you never know what’s going to happen. So I have a lot of prep work to do before I go to the office.”

  He rolled into me, stating, “You can start later.”

  I slid my hands to his shoulders and held firm there as I replied, “By prep work, I mean breakfast. Shower. Full makeup. The hair shebang. That kinda thing. And that kinda thing takes time.”

  His lips hit the hinge of my jaw, slid down, where he murmured, “You can start later.”

  I had felt warm. I had felt snuggly.

  Now I felt tingles.

  So I decided that I’d take breakfast to my desk. I’d also just blow out the top of my hair and let the rest air dry, then put it up in a ponytail.

  That would give me time.

  And if it wasn’t enough, I’d find other things to cut out.

  So I slid my arms around his shoulders and dipped my chin to communicate what I wanted.

  Logan gave it to me, lifting his head and taking my mouth with his own.

  And it was on.

  Eight minutes into it, the alarm sounded.

  Logan reached out, grabbed hold of the clock, gave it a vicious yank, ignored my surprised, irritated gasp, and tossed the clock to the floor.

  “Logan!” I snapped.

  He didn’t reply.

  He kissed me.

  Okay.

  Well.

  Whatever.

  I could plug it in again later (if it still worked).

  Right then, I planted a foot in the bed, rolled my man, and went at him.

  In the end, it was worth air-dried hair.

  Absolutely.

/>   * * *

  I sat at my desk in a russet tweed pencil skirt, a wheat-colored cashmere turtleneck, and spike-heeled, glossy, dark brown boots, and I turned from my computer to reach out for my mug of coffee.

  I did this grinning uncontrollably.

  I was grinning not because I had less email to cope with than expected since I’d mostly stayed on top of that in Paris. I was also not doing it because Claire had dealt with any mail that needed immediate attention, so all the rest took little time to finish sorting through. Nor was I doing it because I had very few phone calls to return.

  I did it because getting back to life with Logan had perks I wasn’t expecting.

  These included me putting on makeup and doing my hair, then discovering while I did that that he’d shoveled what was left of the melting snow in the courtyard so I could walk to my office in my fancy boots without ruining them, slipping and falling, or having to delay putting them on so I could tug on my Wellies and shovel it myself.

  He also went to my studio, turned up the heat, and started a pot of coffee so it was toasty warm and I had caffeine at the ready when I finally made it to my desk, unlike my old normal when I’d freeze for the first half hour and be delayed in getting to work in order to make coffee.

  Sure, the coffee bit only saved me five minutes.

  But it saved me five minutes.

  More, I got to stand at my back door making out with Logan before I hit my desk and he went to his truck to go off and face his day.

  We did this not only kissing but also making plans.

  He was going to ask a brother to help him get my car back to me. He was also going to be picking up his girls from school, hanging with them after, taking them to dinner, but he was coming back to me when he was done.

  So he’d see me when he brought back my car.

  And I’d see him when he came back after dinner.

  Then I’d have him. I’d sleep with him again. I’d wake up with him. I’d more than likely make love with him.

  Rinse with sleep.

  Then repeat.

  Hopefully forever.

  That did not suck.

  So I was grinning.

  Oh yes, I was grinning.

  I took a sip of coffee, put the mug back, and grabbed the phone on my desk to do what was next up on my to-do list.

  I had a meeting with Claire that afternoon to debrief on what transpired while I was gone and plan what was happening in the future. I also needed to share with her I wasn’t selling out and leaving.

  I’d been able to chat a bit with Dottie the day before about the things she’d helped out with while I was away.

  Now I needed to phone Justine.

  So I did that, put the receiver to my ear, then took it away when she answered with, “Oh my God! I cannot believe it! Logan’s back!”

  My cell might be sitting in my purse in my SUV, hopefully still working after the Denver deep freeze since I’d left it there after my mad dash to Chaos that changed the course of my life.

  But Dottie’s obviously still was with her and she’d been using it.

  I put the receiver back to my ear and replied, “Yeah, babe.”

  “I cannot believe it!” she shrieked again.

  I grinned again, this time for different reasons.

  Kellie and Justine, like Dottie and my parents, had loved Logan.

  Kellie and Justine, unlike Dottie, did not know why I’d done what I’d done. That was for me and the only one I trusted it with, the only one I could handle sharing it with… my sister.

  So they’d never gotten it.

  What they’d done, like any true friend should do, was buried their concern and disagreement with my actions and stood beside me.

  “Are you totally, insanely, madly happy?” she asked.

  I was terrified.

  But I was also totally, insanely, and madly happy.

  “Yes,” I told her.

  “I wanna hear it all, every second, but I’m at the Hubbles, so we’re so totally getting together for lunch, soon. I have Veronica checking her calendar. Dot’s in. Kellie’s so in. I just gotta call Claire.”

  I wanted to have lunch with them, share the goodness.

  No, actually, I wanted to have cocktails with them, have a chance to wear my LBD and share the goodness.

  But something she said caught my attention.

  Justine had a part-time job so they didn’t have to leave their son at a day care for too long and instead he was home with one of his moms. Therefore, with Rafferty in tow, she’d taken care of things for me that Claire or Dot couldn’t handle, and things she liked most doing, these being recon on holiday houses and offices for design. I had thirteen emails from her with a variety of pictures for that purpose.

  But she knew I was coming back. She knew she was off-duty.

  And the Hubbles were my Christmas clients.

  “Uh, Jus, what are you doing at the Hubbles?” I asked.

  “They had a crisis. The wreaths you want to put on their windows, they likey. Like, a lot. But they don’t have an outlet outside to plug them in. No way are they doing battery lights. And they’re worried about the cords having to come in through the windows. So there’s an electrician here today and they wanted one of us here to help decide where the outside outlets were going to go for the extravaganza you planned for them. Dot told me you were probably going to be out of touch so, since I’ve been working with them, Claire decided I should be here.”

  There was a lot to go over with that, so I started with the least surprising considering the Hubbles were Christmas fiends, they’d been my clients for six years, and they’d demanded their décor, inside and out, get more elaborate with each passing year.

  “The Hubbles are actually having outlets installed for their decorations?” I asked.

  “Totally,” she answered. “And I told them the outlet should go between the door and the first window. We can string together the three window wreaths and come the other way from the door wreath and use that outlet. The balcony swags and lights are good, there’s an outlet up there. But I think another one under the eaves at the back side of the house—”

  I interrupted her. “Justine.”

  “Right here.”

  “Babe,” I started softly. “It means a lot you kicked in. Like I explained, I’m going to pay you and I have this magnificent present for you from Paris. But, girl, I’m back. Things got extreme with Logan but in the end in a good way. That’s… I’ll explain later… but it’s good. Take care of Raff. Get back to your life. You don’t have to take my back anymore.”

  “But I dig this.”

  I stared at my desk.

  “And the Hubbles are a hoot. The Mays are plum loco and totally hilarious. It’s not even Thanksgiving and it feels like Christmas, which is awesome. And that Barbie woman who we’re doing the sweet sixteen party for her daughter is super nice. She loves all my ideas. I don’t get to be creative working as a part-time PA for an accountant. Hell, I don’t even get to be creative with Raff since he can barely talk; he certainly can’t use a crayon.”

  I heard her words.

  But I kept staring at my desk.

  I worked a lot because I didn’t have a life.

  I also worked a lot because I liked my work.

  Further, I worked a lot because I wanted to succeed. I’d been a driven person since I was a little kid. I won the spelling bee (three times). I’d been the freshman class secretary, the sophomore class vice president, and class president my junior and senior years.

  There was more.

  I did it quiet but I did it because it was something I did. It was just who I was.

  Last, I worked because I liked to make money. It was only me (before a few days ago) who would enjoy my beautiful home, my beautiful clothes, but they were both things that gave me some of the little happiness I had.

  And I had this happiness because I’d worked for it. I’d earned it. Me. Only me. All me.

  Not to mention, i
n the times that were low, which were a fair few, I had visions (and thus started making plans years ago) of having a retirement where I did all the things I didn’t do along the way. Have fabulous parties. Travel. Take art classes or whatever struck my fancy to spend my time relaxing, looking after me, having fun.

  But the last few days had happened.

  My life had changed.

  I had money in the bank. Money in savings. A healthy retirement account. A healthier investment portfolio. And I’d taken a fifteen-year mortgage on my house, which meant it’d be paid off in only four years. This last didn’t even take into consideration how much equity I had in the house, not only because of property values increasing but also because of all the work I’d done to it.

  And I had a thriving business. At least once a month, but usually more often, I had to refer clients to other planners because Claire and I couldn’t take on more work. That year I’d also had to refuse two new Christmas clients because I just didn’t have the time. Not with only me and Claire doing the work.

  However, if I expanded my human resources, I might be able to take on a few more clients to increase revenue and shift some of my work to Claire, who so could do it and would so love the raise she’d get with it. She then could shift some of her work to a new employee.

  Justine worked twenty-five hours a week. She was smart. Loyal. Creative. Full of personality. Over the years she’d kicked in a variety of times just to help or for extra cash when I’d needed her for events. And I would absolutely not mind if Rafferty was with her when she worked, so she could save on day care.

  She’d be perfect.

  “Hellooooo,” she called in my ear. “Did I lose you?”

  “I need to change my life,” I announced.

  “No duh,” she replied. “You were on the road to recovery but now that Logan’s back, you gotta step that up, sistah. He’s low maintenance, as dudes go, but I don’t see him wiling away the hours in your awesome but very girlie pad, watching Easy Rider and waiting for you to come home after you make sure the DJ plays all the right songs at some chick’s sweet sixteen.”

  My pad was very girlie.

  And it was so not Logan.

  Oh man.

  I couldn’t think of that.

  I had to stay on target.

  “Babe, this is personal, but how much do you make at your job?”