Point of Origin (Legacy #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

  The second hand on the wall clock behind Bash ticked eighteen times before I could draw a real breath.

  Eighteen seconds. Eighteen elite hotshot firefighters. Eighteen deaths.

  Twelve widows. Sixteen fatherless children.

  Including me…and Bash.

  He didn’t answer their outcry, didn’t fight back. He simply said, “Thank you for your time,” to Mayor Davis, turned and walked out of the room without so much as a look back. Even for me.

  At least this time I’d seen him leave.

  And unlike six years ago, now I knew exactly where to find him.

  Chapter Two

  Sebastian

  Fuck. Me.

  I slammed the door to my Range Rover unnecessarily hard and wrenched my tie loose as I walked into my building. It was nothing like the original, where my father’s hotshot team had operated. That building had been smaller, a little dirtier, ill-equipped, and a hell of a lot better—not because of the facilities, but who ran them.

  I passed the large living room, the glass-walled gym, and finally came to my office, where my pain-in-the-ass best friend lounged.

  “Bad day at work, dear?” Ryker asked, cocking an eyebrow at me from my chair.

  “Get your damned feet off my desk.”

  My tie hit the newly vacated space. “Who’s got your panties in a wad?”

  “No one,” I barked. “Did you get ahold of Knox?” I asked, walking into the state-of-the-art kitchen I’d paid way too much money for. It was capable of accommodating the needs of two dozen people without straining, just like the rest of the building I’d spent a year designing with architects and another year having built. I grabbed a bottle of water from one of the refrigerators, cracked the top and drained the whole thing, wishing it was something a little stronger. Like tequila. Or a horse tranquilizer. Oh, who the fuck was I kidding? Nothing was strong enough to wipe out what just happened.

  God, the look on her face… Those huge brown eyes had flown wide, her lips had parted, and it had taken every single ounce of self-control I had to look away.

  “Yeah, he’s finishing up a job in California, and then he’ll fly in,” Ryker answered from the doorway.

  “Good. We need him. Is he bringing anyone else?” It was going to take a hell of a lot more than just Ryker and me to convince the council that it was time for another team.

  “The Maldonado brothers.”

  “No shit?” That was almost a reason to celebrate. Almost.

  “No shit. What did the council say?”

  “It’s going to be a battle for the team. I have no idea how we’ll get them to agree to that part, but they agreed to the annexation,” I said, throwing the bottle into the trashcan with a satisfying thunk.

  “Well, then you should be happy, right?”

  “She was there.”

  His forehead puckered. “Who? Mrs. Anderson? She’s been on the council for years. I think it will take her dying or an act of congress to get her out of there.”

  “No, asshole. I don’t give a shit about Mrs. Anderson.” I raked my hands through my hair and left the kitchen, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the wide-open training area. Legacy lay in the valley below, and if not for the clearly marked scars on the mountainsides, there would be no hint at the tragedy that had annihilated the town ten years ago.

  “Okay,” Ryker said in his I’m-sick-of-your-shit voice, “well I can run through every woman’s name in town—God knows we’ve both fucked our fair share of them—or you can just tell me.”

  “Emerson.” Just saying her name ripped a scab off my soul that was all-too-eager to bleed.

  He whistled low. “Oh, shit. Look, Harper told me she was leaving on the first.”

  “Yeah, well your sister was wrong.” I should have double-checked, but the minute I’d started asking about Emmy, Harper would have told her.

  “No, she wasn’t.”

  The sultry, feminine voice behind me raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. I hardened every defense I could against her and turned to see Emmy standing just in front of the pool table, her arms folded under her incredible breasts, inadvertently lifting them to the neckline of her button-up blouse. Tucked into that pencil skirt, she looked like a schoolteacher. Well, the kind that boys fantasized about during sex ed. And the way those soft globes crested at that last button…

  Don’t look. Do. Not. Look.

  Too late.

  She raised a single eyebrow at me. Caught. “I’m leaving on the first of September, not August, and yes, Harper told me you were asking,” she addressed the last comment to Ryker, who rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I think I’ll give you guys a…uh…I’m going to leave.” Ryker didn’t wish me luck, or so much as give me his condolences—not that I even looked his way—just pulled a baseball hat over his blond hair and ran.

  Leaving me alone with Emmy.

  Emerson. I reminded myself. Emmy was the girl I’d grown up with, the one who tagged along at every crew barbecue, begged me to take her hiking with us. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t even the teenager that drove me crazy, the one I jerked off to for years when her curves showed up, the one I couldn’t forget about at college, the one I fell in love with.

  The one I destroyed.

  She was a woman now, and from the look in those deep brown eyes, a pretty pissed off one at that. “Are you going to say anything?” she asked.

  “You’re the one that came here.”

  She scoffed. “You’re the one who built a huge…” she gestured to the great room, her eyes catching on the open second story and the exposed beams. “Clubhouse for boys,” she finished.

  “Clubhouse?” A smile tilted my lips. “What are we? Ten?”

  “Oh no, you don’t get to be charming, Bash. Not to me. Never again.”

  The space between us charged with an electricity that could either power this whole house or burn us both to the ground. Years had passed, and that hadn’t changed. No matter how much I wish it had. “What would you like me to be?”

  “Nothing. Just like you have been for the last six years.”

  “Ouch. You’re bringing out the claws pretty early in the argument, don’t you think?” I tucked my thumbs in my pants pockets to keep my hands busy, to keep them from reaching for her. That ever-present need I had for her hadn’t changed either. Fuck.

  “We’re not arguing.”

  I took a step towards her. “Oh, we’re not? What are we?”

  She retreated, keeping our distance equal. “We, are nothing. You made that pretty damn clear.”

  “Emerson. What happened between us—”

  “No.” She threw out her hands and shook her head. “We’re not discussing that. Ever. Like it never happened. Any of it. That’s not why I’m here.”

  Never happened? The hell with that. I could reenact every single second if I needed to jog her memory. Every time I took her mouth, from when she’d been sixteen, and I’d been too possessive to let anyone else have her first kiss, to the night I spent tangled in her arms, worshipping her until the sun came up and I had to go. Every moment was branded on my soul like a tattoo, and she wanted to act like it never happened?

  Fuck. That.

  I closed the distance between us, and she scurried back on her heels until her ass met the pool table. One arm on each side of her delectable little body, I leaned in, catching her perfume as she closed her eyes. Bergamot, lemon, vanilla…Emerson. “We happened.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, focused on the buttons of my shirt.

  “Emerson.”

  Slowly, she drew her gaze to meet mine, and I fucking fell in. Those brown depths had always been fathomless, capable of stealing every one of my thoughts. My blood ran hot, surging through my veins, pulsing with the rhythm of my heartbeat and lodging in my dick. Of course, I got a raging hard-on. I was within inches of Emerson Kendrick.

  Some things never changed.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, the sweetn
ess of her spearmint-tinged breath triggering another dozen memories of her Tic Tac addiction.

  “Say it,” I ordered, needing to hear the words more than anything. More than reestablishing the crew, more than making our fathers’ memories mean anything.

  “Don’t,” she pled, her voice slightly breaking.

  “Don’t what?” I leaned in enough that she bent back over the pool table slightly. Another few inches and I’d have her pressed against me.

  Where she belongs, a neglected part of my soul called out.

  “Don’t come back here reopening wounds.” She shook her head and her bangs fell into her eyes.

  Before I thought better of it, I had her hair between my fingers, the heavy brown mass streaked with strands of fire and autumn throughout. Before I did something even more stupid, I tucked it back behind her ear.

  She took the opening and slid away, damn near running to put the pool table between us. “I’m serious. It’s taken this town a lot to heal—”

  “This town?” My mouth dropped. “What the hell are you talking about, Emmy?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You and the hotshot crew, you moron.”

  “We’re talking about us,” I reminded her.

  “No, we’re not. Because there isn’t an us. We will never discuss what was us, and if you want any possibility of making this insane idea of yours happen, you’d better never bring it up again.”

  “There’s no ignoring the fact that I know you better than almost anyone on this planet, Emerson. That I know exactly how it feels to have you under me, so deep inside your body that I’m pretty sure I left a piece of my soul there. There’s no ignoring what we had, or how badly I fucked it up.”

  She swallowed, blinking back the sheen of tears I saw sparkle there before she turned and started walking out of my building. Fuck. That was why I wanted her gone before I came here. I’d never wanted this confrontation, or to see even a hint of the mess I’d left behind. And just like I knew I couldn’t stay when I was twenty-one, I knew it in my bones—if I let her walk out now without opening a line of dialogue, I’d never get her back here.

  You don’t want her here, remember? You don’t do complicated, the devil on my shoulder argued.

  No, but you do Emerson, the angel reminded me. Or maybe they were switched, what-the-fuck ever.

  “Emerson,” I called out, but she didn’t pause. “Emerson!” I raised my voice as I raced to catch up with her, barely skimming the soft skin of her wrist before she spun on me.

  “What?” she damn-near screamed, the anguish in her eyes unbearable before she threw up that mask she loved so well.

  “Why is it insane?” I asked.

  “The hotshot crew?”

  “Yes,” I lied. I’d done everything in my power to avoid Emerson. To avoid thinking about her, calling her, visiting, begging her to forgive me for needing the life she wouldn’t understand. I wanted to know why she refused to even acknowledge that we happened, but I’d fucking settle for her opinion on the team.

  “It’s impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible. Not to me.” Her eyes widened, and I almost pounced just to prove my point. Jesus Christ. You’ve been in town less than twelve hours, and she’s already got your self-control down to that of a fucking eighteen-year-old.

  “Look, the town can’t handle it. We’re barely back in the black after the payouts from the policies. Legacy just can’t afford to support another hotshot crew.”

  “If the town doesn’t have to pay for it?”

  Now it was her mouth dropping. “What?”

  “If Legacy isn’t responsible for salaries or the insurance policies, will the town agree?”

  She blinked a few times, and I could almost see the gears turning in her too-efficient mind. “The town has always covered the cost of the team. It’s been a matter of pride. Are you thinking of going Federal? To the Forestry Service?”

  “No. We’ll still fall under their guidelines, but we’d be privately funded.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “By whom?”

  Now it was my turn to pause. “Me.”

  A single, perfect eyebrow arched. “Really.”

  “Really.”

  “Bash, the average hotshot earns at least sixty thousand a year, and that’s not talking about team leaders, supervisors, any of it. You have to maintain an eighteen-to-twenty-person team, which means you’d be out at least a million a year, and that’s before your overhead.”

  My grin was instantaneous. “Nice to see you using that MBA. You’ve been out of school what? Two months?”

  “Keeping tabs on me, Bash?” she fired back.

  “Always. And I’m well aware of the cost. I’m good for it.” I looked her straight in the eye so she’d know I wasn’t bluffing.

  She absorbed the knowledge of my wealth like she did everything else, with a simple nod, moving on to the next issue. Emmy had never cared about money, not when they had it, and especially when they didn’t. “The money isn’t the only problem.”

  “The council,” I agreed.

  “The whole town. Bash, you built this compound on Parson’s old land—”

  “It’s my land now. Has been for about three years.” Since I’d sold the first app. Half the money had gone to the land purchase and the other half had gone to my broker for investments. Four apps later, I wasn’t doing too badly.

  “Not the point. We’re what—maybe half a mile away from the ridgeline?” Her voice dropped, and her shoulders sagged. “Why here?”

  “Because if I didn’t buy it, developers were going to. Did you want condos up here? Tourists trying to get closer to the slopes? Better us, men just like them, than a bunch of college kids on spring break fucking around on the land our fathers died on.” She wavered, her eyes doing the side-to-side shuffle they did when she was making a decision. God, it needed to be the right one the first time. Getting Emerson to change her mind on anything was impossible. “Help me, Emerson. You know the town, you can help this through.”

  Her eyes met mine. “You’re asking this town to bleed again when there’s almost nothing left to give.”

  “I’m asking this town to breathe, to live again.”

  She turned slowly, taking in every detail of the facility. The huge great room used for everything from meetings to training, to watching football, the offices, the kitchen, the long dining tables, even the stairs that led downstairs to the living quarters for anyone who didn’t want to bunk in town. “I’ll think about it.”

  I let out the breath I’d held. That was a maybe. Maybe was good. I could muscle the council, the business owners, anything money could grease, I could handle it. But where emotions were involved, to the town, I was an outsider. I’d left, abandoned Legacy just as she was getting on her feet.

  I’d abandoned Emerson.

  She wandered to the door, pausing where the pictures of the crew ten years ago hung. Eighteen heroes. Eighteen deployed shelters. Eighteen caskets.

  Her fingers brushed the smiling photo of her dad, whose arm was looped around my dad. They’d been inseparable, best of friends since grade school. Even their bodies had been found next to each other.

  “This is their crew, Emmy. Our dads’, our friends. They loved this team. I’ve never asked you for anything, and I’m asking…” My jaw flexed. “I’m begging you to help me bring their crew back.”

  She looked up at me, those eyes seeing through every layer of bullshit I’d used as armor since I left Legacy. “What do you know about running a hotshot team, Bash? It’s not something you throw money at and walk away from.”

  Shit. Fuck. Damn it.

  I took a breath. “I’m working on hiring someone to run the team. Someone I worked with in California.”

  “California?” she asked, demanding the truth.

  “I’ve been on a hotshot crew for a while now. I know what I’m doing.”

  “How long?” She asked, putting it together faster than I’d hoped she would.

  “S
ix years,” I said quietly.

  “You left m…” She cut herself off with a shake of her head and an ironic smile. “I eventually figured out you were on a crew. Ryker told me a few years ago, but I never realized when it started. Are you with them? Ryker? Knox?”

  “Ryker. Knox is further north,” I replied. “It’s in my blood. It always has been.” I reached for her, needing to keep her close enough to touch, to keep from bolting.

  She stepped away, and I didn’t pursue. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Bash. You never have.”

  Bite the bullet. Do it. “There’s something else you need to know.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m not staying. Once we have the team in place I’m going back to California.”

  As if someone had frozen her features, her face became an unreadable mask. “You’re really leaving. You waited until you thought I’d be in London…you purposely planned this visit so you didn’t have to see me.”

  “Yes.” There was no lying to her. She knew me far too well for that shit. There had never been lies between us. Ugly truths maybe, but never lies, and I wasn’t about to start now.

  She nodded twice, then spun on her heel and walked for the door. Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to be so hard. Clean, easy, all of it—that had been the plan. But then she’d sat up in her chair at the council meeting, and I knew I was royally screwed. And not in the good way. “Emerson, please. This is their legacy.”

  She paused, her hand on the door. Her shoulders rose and fell twice before she turned back to me. “No, Sebastian. We are their legacy. This is you reconstructing the very thing that killed them.”

  Without another word she walked out of the front door, closing it softly and taking my only chance of success with her.

  Chapter Three

  Emerson

  “This is such bullshit,” Harper agreed over the thrum of conversation in the bar. Wicked was the most popular bar in town, mostly because it was the only bar in Legacy. We’d been lucky to snag a couple of stools for a Friday night.