Fire and Ice: Rekindled (The Fire and Ice Series Book 2)

by Delaney, Kiara

  "Are you sure that's prudent?" she feigned concern.

  I was standing in my own fucking bar, and suddenly I was feeling uncomfortable. "What do you mean?" I asked, placing my hands on my hips, my eyes trained on her.

  Hailey averted her eyes, stretched out her hand and began examining her nails, as her voice became honey coated. "I mean, no offense...I could use the extra money, but you just took over..." Her sentence trailed off as she placed her hand over her heart, knitting her brows together. "Like, what if something happened that you didn't expect to? Don't you think you should reserve some money in case there's an emergency?" she asked theatrically.

  Gritting my teeth, I say with irate brevity, "I know how to manage my money just fine."

  She held her palm up towards me, as if trying to calm me down, but the mischief in her eyes was indicating she had a bit of spice to go along with all that sugar. "Nobody's saying you don't...it's just, well, you never know when life is going to throw you a curveball."

  Is she auditioning for Broadway? I'm fairly certain she had infused a southern drawl into her voice. If she says, 'Bless your heart', I'm going to blow a fucking gasket. But the playfulness in her taunt has me picturing her in pigtails, swirling them around her fingers as she chews loudly on pink bubble gum, swaying back and forth, wearing a Catholic schoolgirl's uniform.

  The picture suddenly takes a violent mood swing as I envision Hailey in the same outfit, bent over Skip's lap in his office as he grabs a ruler, lifting her skirt and preparing her bare bottom for a swift lesson. I'd been so absorbed in my conversation with Hailey, I'd forgotten the fucker was still here, and what's worse, she was toying with me. This is the first time she's bringing up the subject...the subject...and though she's not publicly defaming me, she certainly doesn't seem to be above making me sweat a little. Quirking a brow, I ask with distain, "A curveball, huh?"

  Hailey and I hone in on one another, neither of us willing to budge as a pregnant pause descends upon us all. Finally, The Good Doctor speaks up, saying timidly, "Maybe I should give you two a minute..." Maybe you should fuck off, asshole!

  Hailey wasn't backing down, and as Dr. McDreamy went to stand, I halted him, placing my hand firmly against his chest. Fuck it. Fuck it, fuck him, and fuck her. I was out. I broke my gaze from Hailey's unrelenting one, saying caustically, "Nah...don't worry about it man. I have some shit to take care of."

  As I strode towards my office without a second glance, clinching my fists at my side, Skip yelled with trepidation, "Nice to meet you!"

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kellan

  "Un-fucking-real," I muttered under my breath as I took long strides towards my office. All I wanted to do was drag the smug fucker from his seat and pound his face in. No, that's not exactly true. What I really wanted to do was grab Hailey, shake her like a ragdoll, and ask her what the fuck she was doing hanging around this dipshit. She may as well have slapped me in the face back there. I was furious, and my anger was only mounting the longer I lingered at the bar.

  Walking past Joe, I didn't even bother looking at him as I gritted out, "I'm outta here. I'll be back tonight."

  He was either oblivious to my harsh tone, or acting as if he didn't notice as he said cheerily, "Ok, Boss. Take it easy."

  Regardless I couldn't give a fuck right now what anybody thought. Check your pockets...there might be one in there. Nope. No fucks to give.

  I barged into my office, slammed the door behind myself, and leaned against my desk, gripping the sides as my head slumped between my shoulders. I was breathing as if I'd just run a city block, and doing my hardest to contain my fury. My pulse was off the Richter scale, and I feared if I didn't get myself under control, I'd end up doing something I'd regret. Back in the day, I wouldn't have thought twice about uncorking my pent up venom, the monster that resides inside of me; but things are different now...complicated. I have to lock that shit down, no matter how badly I want to unleash it right now.

  I'm doing my damnedest to create a new image of myself around here, and flying off the handle will only tarnish what I've built up over the last couple of months. It wouldn't surprise me if half the town had a pool betting on when I'd finally lose my shit. I've fought too hard to earn the respect of my customers and employees to impulsively throw it away. And nobody would respect a loose cannon. Sure, they'd fear me, steer clear of me, and probably end up crossing to the other side of the street if they saw me coming in their direction. But that was the old me, the me that deluded myself into thinking that was respect. I'd like to think I've matured since then, grown up a bit, learned from my mistakes. At least that's what I hope people see when they look at me, regardless of how I feel internally.

  I've discovered along the way that people, leaders, don't succeed by demanding respect, they succeed by commanding respect. So far, I'm on the path to success, as long as I can continue to keep my shit together. But my run-in with Hailey and The Skipper has me teetering on the brink right now. I need to get the fuck out of here and decompress for a while.

  As I take in a lungful of air, trying to shake off my vengeful thoughts, my cell vibrates in my front pocket. Pulling it out, I see it's Georgia, and for a moment, I consider letting it go to voicemail, but I haven't exactly cleared the air with her since I blew up at her over calling Hailey. I'd been avoiding the subject altogether, and I could tell she was unsure of where we stood. She needed to hear from me that I didn't blame her, that in the end it was my actions that set these events into motion, and I couldn't keep putting it off. If I was going to have to eat shit, I might as well get it over with. I'm not exactly great at admitting I've fucked up, at least to others, and as much as Georgia can be a pain my ass, she doesn't deserve to carry around guilt for something that wasn't her fault.

  After the third ring, I answered flatly, "What?" I wasn't very good at the whole kiss-and-make-up thing.

  Georgia stated bluntly, "You said if I didn't fix things, I was fired."

  Sighing, I returned, "You're still on the schedule, Georgia. If I was going to fire you, I'd have done it by now." I sensed she was about to say something, but I needed to get this out so I could go home...regroup. I beat her to the punch, continuing, "I shouldn't have taken it out on you. This is my problem." I tensed and pinched the bridge of my nose, as there was a slight pause. Georgia was never at a loss for words. I wondered silently if she was smiling on the other end of the phone.

  My thoughts were quickly interrupted as Georgia finally broke the silence, saying enthusiastically, "Well that makes me feel a lot better." I didn't reply. I didn't have to...she quickly continued, "The good news is, I think we can still fix things."

  I was a bit unnerved. I honestly just wanted this whole situation to fade away quietly, though I had a feeling what I wanted and what I would get were probably two different things, most likely at opposite ends of the spectrum.

  Georgia's statement did leave me a bit intrigued though. "Who's 'we'? " I asked, perplexed. “I'd really like to keep this as private as possible, Georgia."

  "Just keep an open mind, Kellan. I think I can help. My girlfriend, Eve, is gonna call you."

  I nearly chuckled at her blanket statement; her faux pas had a grin spreading across my face. I never missed an opportunity to twist her words or taunt her...she'd left herself wide open. That's what she said.

  Teasing her, I said in my most serious voice, "Look, Georgia, I appreciate the offer, and I'm not usually one to turn down a threesome, but I'm having a hard enough time handling one woman right now."

  "Ew, Kellan- gross! As if I'd ever sleep with you. Eve's a reporter for the Herald, you pervert."

  My tone turned sardonic as I replied, "What's she gonna do? Interview me about practicing safe sex?"

  I envisioned her trademark eye roll as she sighed, saying, "Kellan, I don't have time to play verbal racquetball with you today. I'm half an hour late for my hair coloring."

  "You mean the carpet doesn't match the drapes?" I quipped, feigning sh
ock.

  "Ok...this has been fun, but I have to go. Can you not be a chauvinist pig to my girlfriend?"

  "I can't make any promises."

  "Kellan," she whined.

  "What?" I chuckled. "Jesus. Can't anybody take a fuckin' joke today?"

  "I'm just going to pretend I know what you're referring to. You can fill me in later," she said hurriedly.

  Continuing to goad her, I said, "Look, Georgia, I already told you I wasn’t gonna do that with you, and honestly, this is starting to feel like sexual harassment.”

  “Jesus, you’re a child,” Georgia retorted. “Hanging up now,” she said before abruptly clicking off the line. I had to smile at our banter- Georgia and I didn’t usually get along, and it actually felt pretty good to finally have her in my corner.

  I sighed heavily, running my hand through my hair and scooping up my keys. I didn’t know if I was coming or going at this point. Going- I was definitely going. I made my way to my car, slid into the front seat and fired her up to life. The soft purr of her engine blanketed my frantic thoughts before my stereo kicked in, the lyrics of “Inferno” by Sir Sly invading my mind…

  I think you clipped my wings to save me from the sun

  Forgot my hands and knees, I had to learn a lesson

  Oh fearless teacher how'd I ever lose my sight

  Why'd I ever try to fight against your path?

  Somewhere at half my life I wandered in the woods

  Can't find a single right, I swear nothing is good

  I’m blinded now and darkness shrouds my every sight

  Why'd I ever try to fight for my own path?

  I don't know why

  I must be out of my mind

  I'm just going, going, going, gone

  Going, going, going on my own...

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hailey

  Pick up, pick up, pick up…c’mon Georgia, pick up!

  “Hailey…you’ve got two minutes before my head goes in the sink…make it fast,” Georgia stated bluntly.

  “What? Why is your head…what?” I asked, perplexed.

  “I’m trying to get my fucking hair colored! Between you and Lover Boy, I haven’t had a moment’s peace today,” she barked out.

  “You mean Kellan? He called you?”

  “Well…no, I…I called him…” she trailed off.

  “Well, how was he bothering you if you called him?” I probed.

  “He just…I don’t know…” she stammered before continuing, “Jesus Christ, Hailey- I just want to get my hair done in peace and quiet! Is that too much to ask?”

  “I talked to Michael,” I blurted, ignoring her irritability.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you say so?” she asked conspiratorially.

  Giggling, I answered, “I didn’t want to interrupt your ‘peace and quiet’.”

  “Oh…you got jokes? Who put sassy sauce on your pancakes today?” she teased.

  I quieted my laughter as I asked, “Do you want to hear this, or not?”

  She put her hand over the receiver as she yelled, “Nadine! I gotta take five- get this thing off me ‘till I get outta the bathroom.” I heard swishing against the receiver and Georgia sighing emphatically before she spoke again. “Ok- shoot.”

  “Well, you were right,” I acquiesced.

  “I knew they were fucking!” she exclaimed. “What…you asked him, and he just told you they were fucking?”

  “No, Georgia,” I whined. “They weren’t…they’re not fucking,” I huffed.

  “You said I was right, and I said they were fucking, so if they’re not fucking, then how am I right?”

  “Clearly you’re not right- in the head, anyways,” I deadpanned before continuing, “And will you stop saying fucking. All day, you and Kellan, ‘Fuck this, fuck that, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!’ You two probably drop the F-bomb more times in a day than Eminem does. I mean can’t you find a different word?”

  She blew out an exaggerated breath, saying, “Fine. I just want you to tell me- did Michael and Leila, or did they not…fudge each other?”

  ******

  hailey

  I tried my best to quickly explain to Georgia what I had discovered through speaking with Michael, and I was shocked to say the least.

  I didn’t bother to beat around the bush with him- he’s a psychologist, after all, and I’m sure he could spot manipulation a mile away. I decided to be up front with him to save everyone involved a lot of time and energy. If there was something fishy going on between Michael and Leila that had something to do with Kellan, or me for that matter, at least he’d know I was on to them. No point mincing words as far as I was concerned.

  I had come to find out that Michael was a counselor at a rehab facility prior to becoming a professor at the university. As such, due to doctor/patient confidentiality legalities, the start of the information was obtained mostly through playing ‘Blink once for yes, and twice for no’. After taking multiple stabs in the dark, Michael decided to tell me about the story of a patient of his, saying, “For the sake of privacy, we’ll call her ‘Beatrice’.”

  I said, “Why Beatrice?”

  He said, “That was my great aunt’s name.” I shrugged as he continued, “Beatrice was involved with a man, who we shall call ‘Clifford’.”

  I rolled my eyes, saying, “’Clifford’? Really?” He gave me a chagrined smile.

  “This story also involves a woman who we will call ‘Daphne’,” he said using air quotes. “Who sadly lost her husband a couple of months back,” he went on, giving me a pointed look.

  “Yeah, yeah…I get it,” I huffed. “Just get on with it.”

  It turns out ‘Beatrice’ was one of Michael’s patients at the rehab facility. Once she’d realized she was pregnant, she sought help for her drug and alcohol addictions. I admire the fact that she put her child first. However, being with Kellan…I mean, ‘Clifford’, and then getting kicked to the curb by him, she soon painted a picture of herself as the victim; when in all reality, she should have made better life choices. Hindsight is 20/20…

  Regardless, Michael had come to know ‘Beatrice’s’ portrayal of ‘Clifford’ through her stay at the rehab facility, but took it as a grain of salt- until he’d heard the same version from ‘Daphne’. (What am I…part of the Scooby Gang?) Albeit the abridged version, ‘Daphne’ had talked to Michael about her past, and that’s how he learned ‘Beatrice’ and ‘Daphne’ were discussing the same man, ‘Clifford’, when everything happened after ‘Daphne’s’ husband passed away. (Meaning me- I’m Daphne, Leila is Beatrice, Kellan is Clifford, and Michael is…Michael?)

  What this all boils down to, the most important aspect of the intersecting of all of our lives, is that an innocent child came into the world. Kellan’s child. He can deny it all he wants, but according to Michael (if I deciphered his name code correctly), the dates Leila provided Michael add up. She could have lied, sure, but what would she have to gain by telling Michael lies? She’d admitted she’d struck out in the romance department many a time- well every time, obviously, so she could have pinned the pregnancy on any of the men that had pushed her aside...why pick Kellan out of the blue?

  How did Leila know who I was? Simple. According to Michael, once he’d resigned from his position at the rehab facility, he offered to keep counseling her privately at his office at the university. Leila had apparently overheard a conversation between Michael and me one day, and it turns out she isn’t as stupid as she acts- hence, hurriedly scurrying away anytime I would enter Michael’s office.

  So why the blatant dirty looks she threw my way at the bar, as opposed to the demure demeanor while at Michael's office? My guess would be she wanted Michael to see her as the victim, not for who she really is. She had no issue with flashing her true colors out in the real world.

  I asked him why hadn’t he told me sooner, and why was he telling me now. He said he felt guilty at first, but has realized we’re friends, first and foremost, and friends help eac
h other out.

  He said he wanted so many times to confront Kellan over the last few months, but knew it wasn’t his place, and frankly, after the way Kellan had treated him earlier, he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea after all.

  I said, “Well, I don’t know about this ‘Clifford’ guy, but Kellan has a way of growing on you.”

  He shrugged the comment off, and quickly tried to move the conversation into a different topic, as if he’d not registered that he’d just thrown a ticking time bomb in my lap.

  I halted him and let him know I truly appreciated his candor, but that I needed to get this sorted out, and fast, before anyone else got hurt over this debacle.

  When I’d explained to Georgia, cutting her ensuing questions off before she’d had a chance to ask them (I didn’t have all day!), she’d wanted to call Eve, pronto. I reminded her she’d better get her head in that sink, or her hair would be clear before she got through recanting the story to Eve. And besides, I felt it was best if I told Kellan in person.