Elliott’s grip on her hand tightened, and when he reached for her other one, she gave it to him willingly. The strength she felt in them kept her grounded while she shared the rest of her story. “I called the police, and then I called Adrian. Adrian arrived first, and he was furious. Furious at me for not calling him first to let him handle it. He told Daniel that he’d gone too far this time.”
“Holy fuck. He didn’t believe him?” Elliott’s unwavering support for her son gave her the confidence to go on, despite the tears that were starting to run down her cheeks.
She shook her head. “He did not. Not until the hospital report came back. By then, it was too late. Daniel didn’t want anything to do with his father. His anxiety levels went through the roof whenever his father tried to visit. I think because Simon and Adrian are identical twins, it was compounded. When Daniel sees Adrian he also sees Simon. Adrian is allowed to attend the doctor’s appointments, and I wouldn’t stop him from doing that, but the team here has decided that Adrian’s presence isn’t conducive to Daniel’s recovery, so he isn’t allowed to see him on the ward for now. Of course, Adrian is torn in two by the fact that he didn’t believe Daniel in the first place. And he misses Daniel. He’s saying he’ll challenge the hospital legally if they don’t let him see his son soon.”
“He fucking well should feel cut in two. How do you not believe your own kid? I’ve never understood it.”
At Elliott’s outburst, the tears began to fall freely. He was right. How could a stranger readily believe her son when his own father couldn’t?
“Hey. I’m sorry,” he muttered. She heard his chair scrape along the floor and assumed he was leaving her to her meltdown. But suddenly she was being lifted from the chair and held. And as he tightened those arms around her, the ones she’d admired, she felt safe enough to let go in front of him in a way she hadn’t been able to around anyone else.
CHAPTER TWO
Elliott pulled his Porsche Panamera up the driveway of his isolated Muskoka cottage. There was no way in hell it would deal with the drive in winter, but it was the ideal summer car to blow up the 400 and Highway 11. He might have just nailed his best time—a fraction over two hours, not including the short stop in Gravenhurst to pick up food.
He parked on the unsurfaced driveway surrounded by tall trees. The firewood had been delivered as requested. A stack of old pallets, big old dried logs, and kindling stood piled by the gate of his cottage. Perfect for what he had in mind. He’d never needed the release of starting a fire more. Intellectually, what he was about to do was the equivalent of drinking decaffeinated coffee and hoping for a kick. Building a fire for the sole purpose of igniting it was nowhere near as gratifying as willfully starting a fire with the intent to burn something to the ground. Of feeling, fighting, and giving into the need to create chaos. Like the urge to strike a match to the Dumpster stacked with folded cardboard outside of the tour hotel in Berlin. But this was the closest he could get without walking back over the line he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross again after Adam had killed himself.
He pictured his best friend when they’d first met in the group home. He’d been sullen, scrawny, as broken as Elliott was, yet they’d forged a relationship Elliott had thought was built on trust. It had only been in the days after Adam’s suicide that Elliott realized just how much Adam had kept secret.
He stepped out of the car and took a deep breath of clean, fresh air to clear his thoughts of heavy emotions. Something about being a stone’s throw from all the lakes and Georgian Bay kept the mugginess of the city away. Elliott popped the trunk. He tugged his gray backpack over his shoulder and picked up some grocery bags. The two-four of beer would have to wait a moment.
He stepped up on to the recently swept porch, grateful that his job afforded him the luxury of a gardener and housekeeper, both of whom were paid well enough to not gossip about what he did here. There were no cobwebs or weeds to be seen, and the glass on either side of the door gleamed in the dappled sunlight. The large trees that surrounded the property and provided him privacy were the first things to attract him to the place. As he placed the key in the lock and kicked the door open with his sneakered foot, he saw the second—an entire rear wall of glass that looked out over the deep blue water of the lake. He owned enough acreage in both directions that he couldn’t see his nearest neighbors and, more importantly, they couldn’t see him.
This was his, and his alone. He’d never invited any girls up to stay with him. He hadn’t even ever invited the band.
He kicked the door closed behind him and walked the supplies to the open-plan kitchen. With the exception of three bedrooms and two bathrooms that occupied the upper mezzanine, there wasn’t a wall to be seen. Placing the bags on the counter, he took in the view that never failed to bring him the peace he needed. Today, he needed it more than ever.
Dropping his backpack at the base of the stairs, he wandered back out to the car to grab his beer. Daniel was on his mind. And his father, Adrian. And his bastard of an uncle. And most of all, Kendalee.
It had been impossible to ignore the spark between the two of them, and he’d found himself thinking of her way more than was healthy.
Holding her in his arms had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Except it wasn’t. Nothing about it was natural. It was fifty shades of fucked up. He lifted the beer from the trunk and slammed it shut. Cicadas were sounding in the trees, but even the billion-degree heat wasn’t going to stop him from building what he needed.
Once all the beer and food was loaded into the fridge, he jogged upstairs and changed into his swim shorts, T-shirt, and hiking boots. Yeah, it was an odd combination, but carrying all that wood around to his fire pit by hand was going to be hot sweaty work, made pleasant only by the fact that it put him one step closer to the burn and that he could kick off his shoes and T-shirt and dive straight off his jetty into the lake if all the heat got too much.
Anxious to get started, he hurried downstairs and plugged his phone into the music system he’d installed when he’d first bought the place three years before. It needed an upgrade, but was good enough for now. He put Eric Clapton on shuffle. “My Father’s Eyes” started to play. Ironic that both he and Eric had never met their real fathers. But least Clapton knew who his father was. He slid the large doors open and unlocked the screen doors to a wide patio that would be perfect for entertaining, should he ever decide to bring someone with him. He wondered what Kendalee would make of the view and then shook his head. Goddamn. He couldn’t get the woman out of it. He’d even dreamed about sliding his hand under the narrow gap between her T-shirt and ugly black pants, running his fingers along that soft skin of hers. Along her slim waist, along the flare of her hip . . . the curve of her ass that shouldn’t have looked that good in cheap polyester. The idea of her in silk caused his dick to twitch . . . again.
Damn. She was old enough to be his mother. Okay, not quite. But she was older than many of the women he’d been with. And quite frankly he didn’t give a fuck. He’d found her compassion for her son, even though it had left her without a home, breathtaking. And the way she’d battled with something inside herself before trusting him with her story made him feel . . . safe. It was foolish to think that she’d keep his secrets the way she’d wanted to honor Daniel’s. Which made no sense whatsoever.
Plus, every time their gaze had connected, he’d felt as though he’d been lit up by a live electrical cable. It was indescribable, but his body had come alive from the simplest touches.
He admired her self-sufficiency and the fact she was holding everything together for the sake of her son. He marched around the side of the cottage and unlocked the gate, propping it open with the large rock he’d left there just for that purpose. She had a kid. A fourteen-year-old kid. A troubled kid he might be able to help if he weren’t messed up himself. Perhaps helping the kid work through his demons would help Elliott think through his own. Or perhaps it would push him over the edge.
Once Kendalee had composed herself and slipped off his knee, leaving a space in his arms and a hole in the pit of his stomach, she’d thanked him profusely for getting Daniel to talk. When he’d asked for her address, thinking he could have some Preload swag delivered to her for Daniel, he’d been shocked to learn that she was now homeless. If he ever met Adrian in the hospital hallway, he’d introduce him to his fist. Going back and forth between a hospital and a friend’s basement wasn’t a life. Kendalee deserved better than the shit hand she’d been dealt, and that was something he could fix.
Something he wanted to fix.
He’d do whatever it took to see her smile at him one more time. A year’s rent on a condo near the hospital, new clothes, insurance to provide private medical care.
The instantly recognizable intro to “Sunshine of Your Love” floated around his home as he carried the first couple of pallets around to the back to the large pit he’d cleared next to the water. Far enough away from the brush and trees. Thankfully, two days of thunderous storms had left the ground and trees well watered, and the Muskoka Lakes Township had the fire rating set to low.
When all the wood was finally stacked next to his clearing, Elliott dove into the lake to cool down. Excitement began to trickle through his veins. Once he was cool, he dried off a little and wandered into the house to get one of the now-cold beers and his box of supplies.
The piano intro to “Pretending” started, and he laughed. Shuffle was reading his fucking mind.
He walked back to the fire pit and put the box down carefully on one of the Muskoka chairs nearby. He took a swig of beer, eyed his supplies, and ran his hand over the rough logs. He’d build a stack of pallets and logs similar to an inukshuk. The Inuit had used them as landmarks, and it would be one for him. It would mark home.
Elliott took his time sorting the logs into pairs of similar sizes and began to cautiously stack them. If they fell over too soon as they burned, it would ruin the effect, so he used some of the smaller pieces to build a frame to stop the logs from rolling. Periodically, he would lay a wooden pallet across the logs. When he’d used up his supplies, the structure was nearly as tall as he was. Need coursed through him. The matches were in the box, calling to him as they always did. The compulsion, the urges were so very strong. But giving into the gratification too soon ruined everything. By holding out, he could convince himself that he was the one in control. And, anyway, lighting it before it was truly dark would ruin the effect.
Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, he turned away and walked back into the house to make some supper. He cut up the pre-cooked chicken and served himself some of the ready-made sides he’d picked up at Loblaws, periodically looking out the window to check his structure. It would burn well, the pallets igniting faster than the logs, sending flames high into the air. Elliott took a step toward the door, desperate to strike the first match, but then turned back. He forced himself to grab a fork from the drawer, another beer from the fridge, and the plate from the counter, and wandered outside, taking a seat on the patio.
The sun went down as he ate his fill. Thoughts of Kendalee spending another night in the hospital eating takeout food kept going through his mind, and he wondered what she would think of him if she knew this was the reason he’d had to get out of Toronto for a couple of days.
Why did he think he was capable of helping Daniel when he couldn’t even stop himself? Daniel needed someone stronger than him. Someone who had enough self-control to take the extra few minutes to clean up the dirty dishes from dinner before stepping down toward the pier.
Elliott opened the box reverently, and pulled out his favorite lighter. He loved the sound it made as his thumb ran quickly over its rough surface. At his command, it came to life, a flame snapping high into the dark night. He grabbed four long matches and placed all four tips into the flame at once. They hissed to life, the smell of sulphur filling his nostrils, calming him as much as it excited him.
There was no way he’d ever be good enough for someone like Kendalee. He placed the first long match down in the corner of the fire pit, watching as the kindling took hold. He walked to the next corner and repeated the action, savoring the crackle and snap of the wood in the fire’s path. The heat began to lick at his skin, but he couldn’t step away. He would never be able to tell her why he understood Daniel, and that would always get in the way. He placed a match in the third corner and breathed deeply in a bid to control his heart rate. Moving quickly, he stepped to the fourth corner, but before placed the match in the tinder he ran it along the underside of his arm, pausing near his elbow. He grit his teeth tightly as the heat seared his skin. The bite of it cleared all thoughts from his head. Thoughts of the band, the tour, a small boy in the hospital, and a strawberry blonde he wanted to know better. None of them could compete with this.
Delicately, he placed the fourth match down and stepped back. The whole structure roared to life as flames climbed the wood.
Fire would always be his mistress. He didn’t have room for anyone else.
* * *
“For real? He was actually here?” Heather, a teenager from the ward who was receiving treatment for facial burns she’d suffered in a car accident, stared at Kendalee as if only an adult could verify that the signatures on the posters were “for real.”
She nodded and looked over toward Daniel, who was sitting up in bed with a tight smile on his face. It had been nearly forty-eight hours since Elliott had left the hospital, but Daniel was still telling as many people as would listen about his visit.
“For real,” Daniel stated. “Said he’s going to send me tickets to the show here in Toronto near the end of the year. Right, Mom?”
Kendalee smiled. “He did,” she replied before zoning out of their conversation.
Elliott’s visit had seemed to open Daniel’s pressure valve a little. Shannon had mentioned that while he still wasn’t hugely communicative about what had happened or his treatment, he had been more talkative. And Kendalee could see it for herself in his interactions with some of the other kids on the ward. But the hot topic of conversation was the man who hadn’t been off her mind for a moment. She’d mentioned the long-haired rocker to her friend Rachel, who’d whole-heartedly and enthusiastically suggested she throw herself at Elliott to blow off some much-needed steam. The ensuing debate had resulted in them googling Elliott’s age. Twenty-seven. A decade younger. And confirming the exact definition of “cougar” . . . which she would categorically be if she acted in any way on her impulse to see if that chest of his looked as good in real life as it did in that damn poster Heather was now staring at.
Which also felt wrong. Technically she was still married, and while Adrian hadn’t given a shit about breaking his vows, Kendalee had all kinds of issues with it. She’d been raised in a church that clung to the indissolubility of marriage and now she was getting a divorce whether she wanted one or not. Plus . . . a freaking decade. She’d been married before Elliott had even started high school.
She looked around the hospital room. They’d become adept at utilizing the small space. Old banana boxes from the grocery store were stacked in one corner marked with their contents: BOOKS, GAMES, CLOTHING. The church had been good to her and Daniel. True, some of the clothing was ghastly or didn’t quite fit right, but desperation had led her to keep it all for the time being. She was storing the few items that had survived the fire at Rachel’s. Though technically, she had a bed there, a pull-out sofa in the basement, she’d spent every single night here—and most of the days she wasn’t working. Which meant even the idea of dating was senseless.
Kendalee looked down at her phone at her Pinterest board and read one of her quotes: I’m working on myself, for myself. It was her one guilty pleasure, making each board, curating the photographs, setting the color schemes. She’d made one for every aspect of the life she wished she had. From the urban garden board that had photographs of black raised beds and lush plantings of herbs and vegetables to
the ultimate trip featuring a luxury cottage in the middle of nowhere where she could finally sleep for days.
They’d been on the brink of affording experiences like that as their . . . his business had grown, but Adrian had ignored the signs of the 2008 property crash in Toronto, leaving him out on a limb with too many properties needing too much work for too little return. His business and reputation had never fully recovered from it.
Still, her boards were a great source of pleasure, even if using her phone to make them wasn’t as easy as doing it on a laptop. Her computer had been in the office, which was next to Daniel’s room, the place he’d chosen to start the fire. There had been nothing to save from that part of the house.
Kendalee glanced toward the window as rain pounded the glass. Lightning flashed across sky the color of a painful bruise. The storm was brutal but would bring a thankful respite from the stickiness that had plagued the city for days. Mother Nature provided an incredible show, and she stared out of the eighth-floor window watching the storm. The view strangely soothed her. Bizarrely reminding her of Elliott. She’d sensed something . . . turbulent about him. Maybe when she looked for somewhere to live when Daniel was discharged, she should consider an apartment, something high up with a view so she could appreciate thunderstorms like this one. After all, it had been a couple of years since Daniel had shown interest in playing outside, and with his rehab requirements, as much as she wanted a garden, she wasn’t sure she’d have time to tend it alone.
There’d been a book she’d read that had gone viral, something about making a visual board to manifest what you wanted in life, and so Kendalee typed “waterfront condo” into the search bar to find photographs for a board that represented the kind of place she wanted to live in. New Home . . . New Beginning. Even though she couldn’t afford the real thing, imagining it was a distraction she needed right now.
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