Beyond Heat

by Ashley Logan

  Damon and I look at each other and sigh.

  “Help me clean up and I’ll take first watch,” he says, rinsing the cloth he’d used earlier and wiping down cupboards and counter tops. “There’s some tape in the first aid kit you can strap those towels on your leg with. You might want to get it looked at later.”

  “Great.” Another expense. I wonder if Vi would do it for me if I picked up a suture kit from the pharmacy.

  “I can do nights,” he says, carrying on his stream of thought, “Since that’s your busy time, but you’ll need to help during my school days.”

  “Deal. He can help me with my chores and charity work. Probably do him some good to get out in the world for a while.”

  “Maybe he’ll do you some good too,” Damon says, not looking up as he rinses his cloth again. “Keep you distracted from beating yourself up so much. If she’s the kind of girl worth twisting yourself into knots over like you do, she’s probably the kind of girl who’s strong enough to plow through your bullshit and love you anyway. You’re a smart man, Jackson. I don’t think you’d waste your love on her if you didn’t think there was a chance she might be the right one.”

  Staring at him, I ready myself for an argument, but he carries on with his cleaning, saying nothing more on the matter.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  SCARLETT

  Kat struggles with the weight of her load. Directing her out of the way of passers-by, I tell her to set her bags on the ground. Doing the same with mine, I take as much of her fruit as my bags will take.

  “You’re already carrying twice as much as me!” she says, trying to shoo me away. Ignoring her I take off my backpack and attach one of her bags to it. Swinging it back on, I pick up the strong re-usable bags I use every second day and continue on our usual route.

  “You’re unusually quiet in your bossiness this morning,” she says with a tight smile. “Everything alright?”

  I walk faster. “Nope.”

  Kat trots to catch up. “Given your clipped tone and your one word maximum responses, I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “Correct.”

  “Is it about Bruno?”

  Glaring at her, I say nothing. She takes no notice of my ‘back-off’ stare.

  “I only ask, because everyone knows how close you are and you’ve both been acting weird since GlamSlam, where we all saw the sparks flying between you two.”

  “Sparks,” I repeat, turning down the first alley. “Well, you know how much I like fire. Anyone home?” I call out, eying the cardboard box behind the dumpster and hoping to get a reply today.

  A head pops out the side. “Scarlett?”

  I sigh in relief. “Hey Marv. Brought you some fruit. How’s things?”

  Marv smiles his lopsided, gappy grin. “Couldn’t be better.”

  Sighing, I shake my head as he climbs out to see us. He’s dressed in his best threadbare shirt. “Pretty sure things could be a lot better Marv. It’s getting cold. You got a sweater?”

  “Traded it for a bed in the shelter night before last,” he says, eyes lighting up at the bag of fruit I’m offering.

  “Lucky for you, I have a coat and hat in my pack that should fit. How are you for toothpaste?”

  He pulls a battered toothbrush and a resourcefully rolled tube of paste from his frayed fanny pack. “Good for another week I reckon.”

  Shaking my head again, I take a new toothbrush and tube of paste from my pack and set it on the coat. “If you lose any more teeth Marv, I can only bring you bananas.”

  “I hate bananas!”

  “I know. Take care of your teeth.” Handing him the small pile of supplies, I slip five bucks into the hat. “Take care of yourself and have a think about calling that friend you told me about. He’d probably help you get a regular bed. You can’t keep trading your warm clothes now that winter’s on its way.”

  “Winter’s when the best deals can be made!” he says with a grin. “Bless you girls. You’ve made my day.”

  Putting my bags back on I give him a nod. “More people to see, but I’m glad we caught ya, Marv. We’ve missed you for a few weeks running, and I was starting to worry you were dead. Not cool man.”

  He chuckles at that. “Sorry, love. Glad you cared enough to check.”

  “Later Marv. Stay warm!” I call as we retreat to the street.

  We walk at least a block before Kat breathes a sigh of relief. “I thought for sure he was gone for good.”

  “Nah. Marv’s tough. And smart, even though he doesn’t make the choices we might make. And his box has central heating.”

  “What?”

  I look at her sideways. “You didn’t notice the skinny box on top of his big one?”

  “No. What was it?”

  Smiling, I give her a wink. “His ducting system. He’s borrowing the warm air expelled from the kitchen behind his box. You didn’t notice that he smelled of cabbage rolls?”

  “I was breathing through my mouth,” she admits quietly. “I never know when people last showered until it’s too late. I stopped breathing through my nose after the Manzelli incident.”

  Laughing as I recall Kat’s unwanted hug from a very stinky Manzelli, I nod in sympathy. “As I recall, the stink clung to you for at least six blocks and you threw up three times before that.”

  Kat visibly shudders. “I like hugs, but that was just nasty. He was definitely worth the bag of shower tokens it took to barter my freedom.”

  We carry on, seeing the regular faces and asking about the ones we can’t find. All in all, it becomes a successful morning out in the neighborhood. Returning home with empty bags, Kat and I smile at each other as we hang them on the hook for next time.

  “What are you up to now?” Kat asks, opening the fridge and holding up the juice as a question. I nod and get out two glasses.

  “Probably write a while and then head down to play some loud music and work the pole. You?”

  Pouring the juice, Kat twirls her auburn hair around her finger. “Maybe call my Brother? See how everyone’s doing and if they need anything,” she says, taking out her wallet and flicking through the bills, her face thoughtful as if making calculations. “The twins’ birthday is coming up, so I don’t want any surprise costs interfering with their presents.”

  “You need some extra cash?” I ask, getting out my own wallet.

  “Put that away! I’m not borrowing money, I can do it on my own!”

  Holding up my hands in surrender, I put my wallet away. “I know, but I have it to spare and if you need it, it’s there.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. It’s a bad habit to get into,” she says firmly. Finishing her juice, she puts her glass in the dishwasher. “Who’s on dinner tonight?”

  Leaning back, I check the roster. “Benji.”

  Our eyes meet and we sigh before saying the same word in unison. “Pizza.”

  Laughing, we go our separate ways.

  Sitting on my bed supported by pillows, I stare at the words on my laptop. When Bruno had suggested I write about something else, I didn’t have a clue what would come of it. Now that I have four chapters of a sweet and wholesome romance, I have no idea where it came from. As far as I’m concerned, romance doesn’t even exist. Hot sex, yes. Bad sex, definitely. People who care enough to sacrifice their secrets, or their own lives for the sake of loving another? No way. People are flawed and driven by selfish desires.

  Take me, for example.

  What I experienced this morning with Bruno has turned me into a selfish beast, craving a repeat of every delicious sensation that drove me to three consecutive orgasms. I’ve never known such pleasure and I know I don’t deserve it, but I want it. I want it bad. And more.

  But Bruno can’t do more. Even if he could, I can’t give him anything in return, because what he wants is love, and I’m incapable. I’ve trained myself out of feeling anything of the sort. I don’t make emotional attachments, only fleeting, physical ones. He knows it. That�
�s why he says it’s okay.

  Before I know it, I’m crying again.

  Bruno has turned me into a right blubbering crybaby. This is exactly why I don’t want to feel any of this shit.

  I am strong. I need no-one. He’s strong too, so he will be fine.

  Staring at the words on the screen, I feel as if I’m a liar and a fake. My characters will end up happy and married, probably with a baby on the way. It’s not the life I’ll lead. I don’t even want kids. My skin won’t stretch to accommodate a fetus and I don’t even like holding babies, or hanging out with kids. The fire safety talks I give at scout groups are as far as my patience reaches when it comes to tolerating the youth of today. I’d be a terrible mother. I’ll just adopt adults and call them friends. That is the extent of my parental capacity.

  Slamming my laptop shut, I shove it off my lap and get up. Walking past Bruno’s room, I see that his bed is still unmade, so he hasn’t been home yet. Taking out my phone, I stand in Bruno’s doorway and text Benji.

  Me: Hey Benj. How’s it all going at the shop? You know you’re on dinner tonight?

  Benji: Yeah, pizza ordered for 6pm. Busy here. Could have really used Bruno today.

  Me: I thought he was with you?

  Benji: He got called away. Sounded messy. That was hours ago. You haven’t heard from him?

  Me: No. Should I have? Are we worried?

  Benji: I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a big boy.

  Benji: A very big boy.

  Me: OK. Let me know if you hear anything?

  Benji: Sure thing. Otherwise, see ya @ 6 :)

  Frowning at my phone, I take a swig of my water bottle while my eyes sweep Bruno’s room for clues. They fall on his footlocker.

  “If you’re thinking about stealing my blanket, I know where you sleep,” he says, coming to a stop in his doorway beside me.

  “Just wondering what other secrets you keep locked up,” I reply, turning to him with a smile. My smile fades when I see the welt on his forehead and his fat lip.

  “What happened?” I cry, my eyes dropping to see the rest of him. “What are you wearing? Is that blood?” I ask, eying the bundle of clothes under his arm. My eyes return to his face, seeking answers.

  “Is Vi around?” he asks, ignoring my questions.

  “She’s at the Rec Center. Are you alright?” I ask, reaching up to brush something white from his hair. He pulls away from my touch as if it burns, leaving me to shamefully reel my arm back in. My jaw tightens and I feel a familiar heat behind my eyes. Squashing the need to cry way down deep, I fold my rejected arms over my chest and clear my throat. “Is there something I can help with?”

  “Are you any good at stitches?”

  Again, I scan him, looking for defects. “Why don’t you go to the clinic?”

  “Forget it,” he says, going into his room and tossing his bloody clothes into his hamper. Opening the closet, he gets out fresh clothes and heads for the shower. I hear it turn on and take a risk.

  Going into his room, I pull his clothes from the hamper. His sweatshirt has blood smeared across the chest, but it’s on the outside. Not his. His pants are a different story. On the backside, on the left, just under where his butt would be is a small tear and a large blood stain. That one is his. Tossing his gear back in the hamper, I make for the bathroom.

  Testing the handle, I find it locked. I knock, but get no answer.

  I call through it. “Open the door.”

  “No!” he says, sounding disgusted. “Use the other bathroom!”

  “I don’t need to go! I want to see the back of you left thigh!”

  “What the-” he swears several times. The door cracks open and he glowers at me from above. “You went in my room?”

  “Of course I did, Mr. Mysterious. You come back looking like a punching bag, carrying an armful of blood-soaked clothing, wearing clothes two sizes too small, and don’t answer any of my questions about your general health and well-being. I can only assume you’re mentally unhinged, have joined a fight club, or been stabbed in the ass by a woman scorned, so which is it?”

  Shaking his head, he chokes out a short laugh. “You’re too curious for your own good, Scar. I’m fine. Just leave me alone, okay? I’m feeling too fragile to deal with...” he gestures to me and the space between us, “All this, right now.”

  Closing the door, he locks it again.

  Thumping the door, I pull the finger at it. “You’re brave enough to openly express your fragility! That’s already stronger than the average person - how strong do you have to be? You’re just being difficult, jerk!” Giving the door a kick for good measure, I march to the kitchen and rummage through the first aid kit, taking out what I think he’ll need. I leave a small collection of helpful items on his bed and head downstairs to crank up the music and forget about Bruno Jackson getting under my skin and making me feel things.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BRUNO

  Avoiding Scarlett makes me cold. Not in the ‘I’m missing that unmistakable heat I feel every time I’m close to her’ kind of way, but in the literal sense. I spend my entire shift outside the club in the descending autumn temperatures, bundled in a coat and watching my breath steam. Benji even brings me hot coffee instead of beer.

  During debrief, I hide quietly in the back, praying it’ll be over soon so I can have a hot shower and hide in my room. My wish is granted and I head straight down the hall.

  “Scar said you might need some assistance?” Vi says from right behind me.

  “I’m fine. I thought I might need stitches, but Scar very helpfully left a small mirror in my room so I could tend to myself. Thanks for checking.”

  Vi squints at me, her eyes traveling down and trying to see behind me. “You gave yourself stitches?”

  “I have some training,” I reply defensively. “And it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Like I said, I’m fine.”

  “How did it happen?” she says, folding her arms and leaning against the bathroom door frame, blocking my entrance.

  “You sound like Scarlett.” I run a hand over my hair. “I was called to an impromptu intervention for a friend. It was ugly, but all survived. The end.”

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “Who stabbed you in the ass?”

  “A broken plate. I think when I was kicked across the kitchen.”

  Vi’s eyes widen with shock and she looks ready to ask about the kicking, but decides on another angle. “Does it hurt? Do you need pain relief?”

  “No Dr. Wheeler. I can’t even feel it. I’m going to shower now, if that’s okay? I’m colder than a witch’s tit.”

  Smirking, she removes herself from the bathroom doorway. “How cold is that exactly?”

  “Goodnight Vi.” Closing the door on her, I turn the shower on, rubbing my hands together. I’ll have to remember to dig out my gloves and hat before tomorrow night.

  After warming up under the water, I huddle under my blankets, trapping the heat from my shower. Soon enough I have to throw off the covers because I’m too hot. My guess is the girls have turned up the thermostat now that the season has turned. Comfortable without the blankets, I push all thoughts of Mom and Scarlett and Jenkins from my mind and fall asleep.

  Screaming.

  Even if I hated Scarlett, the sound of her pain is so piercing, that I couldn’t ever leave her to suffer it. Rushing next door, I shake her awake, pulling her covers from her as Violet joins me.

  “Wake up, Scar!”

  “Kenny?”

  “Bruno.” Shaking her again, I make sure her eyes open.

  Struggling against her heavy lids, she focuses on my face. “Bruno?” Frowning, she drags a hand to her face, rubbing her eyes. Out of nowhere, she smacks me in the chest. “You’re driving me crazy,” she says grumpily.

  “I know,” I say quietly as Vi leans out of sight, trying not to laugh.

  “You do?” she asks, tucking her hand back under her arm and looking up at me with tired eyes.

  I smile. “Y
our room is clean.”

  Smiling a little as she snuggles into herself, she whispers, “You know too much.”

  Leaning in, I kiss her forehead. “Get some sleep, Scar. Vi will stay with you.”

  Scarlett doesn’t answer, already pulled back under by her medication. I stand up and see Vi shaking her head at me.

  “Whatever it is that’s keeping you two apart isn’t going to be enough one day,” Vi whispers, climbing over to the far side of the bed.

  Sighing, I look at Scarlett’s mess of blond as she stirs in her sleep with a soft snort. “I can only hope, I guess. Night, Vi.”

  “Night Bruno.”

  SWATTING BRAD’S HAND away from the wall, I take his plastering knife and give him another demonstration.

  “Like this, numb nuts.” Swiping the plaster sparingly over the dent, I fill the hole, smoothing it to the edges. “You want to keep it as smooth as possible, because any chunks you leave behind will need sanding. And you’re doing the sanding, so do yourself a favor and make less work for yourself.”

  Jenkins snatches his tool back and does as I say. “How do you know about this shit anyway? Didn’t you have an absentee father?”

  “How do you not know? Your dad only left a year ago!”

  It earns me a thump on the leg, but I take it.

  “I had a nice uncle that helped out when he was around. He wasn’t around that much, so he taught me how to be the man of the house. Are you going to need me to hold your hand like this the whole time?” I ask, bumping his shoulder and pointing to a hump he’s missed.

  “Fuck off, Jackson. Get your ass back in the kitchen.” He intentionally bangs he wheelchair into me. “Speaking of asses, how’s yours? Shermansky must have taken you hard and rough for you to bleed like that.”

  Laughing, I swipe at his head, but he ducks, so I kick his chair and start back to the kitchen. I don’t get far, because Scarlett is standing by the bar holding her drink bottle and her music.