Chasing Fire: (Fire and Fury Book One)

by Avery Kingston

  “Sorry I startled you, was checking out the new ink.” She nodded to his arm. “I like it. It’s sexy,” she added with a playful wink. “Although I have no idea what it says.”

  “Molṑn Labé,” Scott replied. “It means ‘come and take them’,” he explained further. “Legend is that Xerxes, king of Persia, demanded the Spartans surrender their weapons, and King Leonidas responded with this phrase.”

  “Defiant.” Tori wrinkled her nose. “I like it.”

  He chuckled. “Speaking of ink, I noticed from your photo you had some yourself.”

  “Yeah.” She turned and lifted her little blue casual dress, exposing a purple, lacy thong with the red lips on her right cheek at the hip. “Got this and another one I like even more.” She traced the lines of her tattoo.

  “Another?” His brow arched. “I’m not sure what can top saying kiss my ass.”

  She smiled. “You’ll see it sooner or later,” she said coyly. “When you’re up to it.”

  “Now you have me intrigued.”

  “Good.” She grinned.

  Tori pulled up a chair and sat next to his bed, kicking her feet up on the side lazily. She folded her arms across her chest, heaving a big sigh. He looked down at her sandaled feet, fiddled with her toe rings, and traced his fingers over the feathered tattoo wrapping her ankle.

  “So how have you been?” He rubbed her calf with his rough hand.

  “Better than you, I presume,” she said kindly with a long breath. “I’ve been good. Got into grad school at Georgetown next fall. Getting ready to move in with my friend Keith after graduation. He’s got a kicking job at the Smithsonian and has a small place in Georgetown. He’s renting me his spare room. I’m hoping he can put in a good word. My degree requires an internship at a museum next summer, right after I finish spring semester, either in London or New York.”

  “Look at you, all grown up, going legit. I had no idea you had it in your bohemian blood. I’m impressed.”

  “You should be. I’m kinda a big deal.” She made a silly face, crinkling her nose.

  “So, who’s this Keith dude you’re moving in with?” His brow wrinkled.

  Tori tilted her head to the side, and a calm smile fell over her face. “Is someone jealous?” She let out a huge laugh as Scott rolled his eyes. “Keith is as gay as a row of pink tents.”

  Scott laughed loudly, which made him cough again.

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  “Very. Food here sucks.”

  “I figured.” She bent over and grabbed her suede purse with the fringes on it, digging through it.

  “Fringes?” he teased her about her purse, as he did about most of her clothing all the time. “You’re such a freaking hippie, Tori.”

  “And you’re a wounded vet. Look how stereotypical 1960s we are.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Sneak in any cigarettes in there?” He nodded to her purse.

  “You know I don’t smoke,” she smirked and added, “not cigarettes, at least. That shit will kill you.”

  “So will explosions, but I’m still here.” He raised his palms.

  She pursed her lips into a displeased scowl. From the sound of his lungs, the last thing he needed was a cigarette. She pulled out a large bag of chips. “Brought you some non-hospital food, Lieutenant Dan.” She tossed him the bag.

  “Haha. Very funny.” Scott caught the bag. “Funyans. Fancy.” He opened the bag and popped one into his mouth.

  “Oh, don’t act like they aren’t your favorite. I remember.”

  “That you did.” He grinned smugly. “Burgers are also my favorite.”

  “Hey! I’m a poor, starving artist living off my meager earnings from selling my paintings.” She leaned over and grabbed a chip from the bag and tossed it into her mouth. “That bag of chips was the last few dollars in my wallet”—she crunched on the chip—“and out of the goodness of my heart, I spent it on you. I probably won’t eat the rest of the week now.” She licked her fingers clean.

  “Well, I guess I better share. I can’t have you starving all week. Get over here, beautiful.” He patted the mattress next to him.

  She uncrossed her legs off the bed and stood. He put down the bag of chips, pushed his bottom up, and shifted over on the bed, making room for her. She noticed his face wince in pain as he made the maneuver. She sat gently and tried to lean back as carefully as she could, but she accidentally sat on his oxygen tube, which caused it to pull, yanking his head downward.

  “Oh, my God. I’m sorry!” She sat up quickly, turning and looking at him.

  “It’s fine.” He smiled and laughed as he took it, wrapped it around her chest, and put it back on.

  She cringed, feeling like a dumbass.

  “It’s ok,” he urged. He pulled her in close and she rested her head on his chest.

  They lay there for a long time, not saying much, just watching some reruns of Friends on TV. She was better than a warm blanket wrapped in his arms or any therapist they could bring in. Her hand drifted to his upper left thigh. She didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it, even though he was. He moved her hand higher to his chest.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked.

  “Nah, it’s just…”

  “Oh, stop it, it doesn’t bother me, Scott.” She moved her hand back. He grunted but didn’t protest.

  He shifted uncomfortably. God, not now.

  “I am hurting you, you liar.” Tori sat up and looked at him.

  He squirmed. “Nah, that’s not it. I…” I need to piss like a damn racehorse.

  “What?” She cocked her head to the side.

  “I need to piss.” He winced.

  “Well then piss.” She hopped off the bed.

  He frowned. “It’s just kind of a chore. I’ll call the nurse.”

  He had to remove the oxygen to get to the bathroom, which caused him to breathe heavier, and he’d get dizzy. They didn’t like him making the trek on the walker by himself in case he was to pass out. His ego didn’t want her to see him in such a weakened state.

  “What, you don’t want me helping you or something?” Her brow tightened.

  He looked down, not meeting her gaze.

  “If I can bend over and let you pound my ass, I’m pretty sure you can let me help you piss, Scott.” She crossed her arms.

  He let out a breath, threw out his man card, and sat up, yanking off his covers. “Grab the walker.” He nodded toward it, and he pulled the tube out of his nose and tossed it on the pillow.

  She placed the walker next to the bed as he swung himself over the edge and, placing his hands on the sides, he hoisted himself up. “Just stand behind me. My breath gets short, and I sometimes get dizzy.”

  “So, catch you if you start to go down?” Tori asked.

  “Yeah, and don’t forget the IV.” His brow furrowed into a questionable stare as he looked at her small frame. This was a stupid idea. She could never support his weight.

  “I’m stronger than I look,” she assured him.

  His forehead went into a deep crease. Scott easily weighed double what she did. Tori had about five inches more height than his GI Jane physical therapist, Nicole, but not near the muscle.

  She rounded behind him as he inched the walker forward slowly, one swing of his leg at a time.

  “I like your outfit.” Tori snickered as she pulled open the back of the gown. A draft hit his bare cheeks. “Shows off one of your best assets.” She copped a feel.

  He shook his head and smiled, finally making it to the bathroom. He was sweaty and out of breath. God, his lungs were fucked. He gripped to the railing, and Tori grabbed him under the arms. He stood there for several minutes. Nothing came out.

  “I don’t hear anything,” she said. “You got stage fright?”

  “Yes.” He chuckled.

  Tori reached over and turned on the water to the sink and hummed. Finally, the stream of urine flowed.

  She got him back into the bed and tucked his covers
around him. “See, was that so bad?”

  If you call totally humiliating and emasculating not bad, sure.

  He put his oxygen back in and sucked in a breath, coughing, unable to catch his air. She grabbed her purse. “You leaving?” He frowned.

  She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’m gonna let you rest.”

  Getting in and out of the bed zapped every ounce of his energy, but he didn’t want her to go. He tugged on the back of her neck, pulling her close for one more kiss. His tongue slid between her luscious lips.

  She rubbed her fingers gently over the stitched cuts on his face.

  “Those are gonna leave a mark.” He chuckled wryly.

  “Scars are sexy.” Her mouth wrinkled into a slight smile. Lord, if her blue eyes weren’t the warmest thing he’d ever seen…

  “Not all of them are.” He glanced at his stump under the sheet and rolled his eyes.

  “Says who?” She furrowed her brow. “Society? Fuck ‘em. Own that shit.” She nodded to the sheet. “You, Scott Harris, can make anything sexy.” She kissed him again.

  His heart warmed. God, she’s incredible. He’d watched other women in here run away after seeing their men’s injuries. “I’ve missed you, Tori.” He gazed into her clear blue eyes.

  “I’ve missed you, too, Scott.”

  She had the same fiery look that she would get right before she was about to undress. That look drove him wild, and even in his physically and emotionally beat-up state, he could feel his body respond to that thought, and he adjusted himself quickly.

  “I see you're in working order.” Tori took notice of his slight erection. She slid her hand under the sheet grabbed his cock and gave it a tug.

  He grinned sheepishly, scratched his temple and looked downward, but didn’t protest. The more she stroked, the more he became aroused. His pain, both internal and external, faded with her touch. He slid his hand over her dress. She was wearing no bra under it, and he could see her nipple poking through. She pulled the strap off her shoulder, letting the strap drop to one side. Her ample breast fell out and he cupped it.

  “God damn, you're fucking hot.” He pulled her in and kissed her again, groping her ass.

  She rubbed her hand over his stubble. “I like your beard. It’s rugged and sexy.” Her hands went under his gown, down his torso, tracing the line of his abs. Carefully and gradually, she pulled the sheet lower, grabbing his cock and parting her lips.

  “Wait.” He stopped her, and her eyes widened. He smiled boyishly to ease her concern. “Go over there for a second and open the right-side pocket of my backpack.” He pointed to a chair in the corner with a camouflage bag lying on it.

  “Ok,” she said curiously, but obliged. As she walked over, holding her dress, it slid off her back. He saw a scrolled cross tattoo between her shoulder blades.

  “Now I see the other ink. Damn, that’s sexy,” he remarked.

  She turned and looked at him and gave him a wide, toothy grin as she unzipped the side pocket. She reached her hand in, pulling out her red, lacy thong she’d left him last time. Her head rocked back with that loud, obnoxious laugh of hers. “I forgot all about these. You almost got a freebie.” She winked, palmed them in her hand, and tucked them into her purse.

  “Now get over here, beautiful, and finish what you started,” he ordered.

  Scott straightened his jacket for about the hundredth time. Tori sat on the edge of his bed, tracing the lines of the dated bedspread with her fingertips. The mattress was hard as a rock and probably miserable for him to sleep on. She looked around the room they’d given him in the outpatient barracks that he’d called home for the past few weeks.

  The brick walls were staunch white and in desperate need of painting. His fridge barely kept the little food he had in it cold, and the coffee from his old pot tasted like it was filtered through a sock. The room made her sad. The man had fought for her freedom, given his leg for his country, and this was the best their government could do for him? Her sadness morphed into anger.

  “You look fine, Scott.” Tori rose from the bed and stood behind his wheelchair in the full-length mirror. He looked more than fine—he looked dashing in his uniform.

  “It needs to not be fine. It needs to be perfect,” Scott snapped. “Can you double-check the safety pins on my pant leg? I don’t want it bunched in the back when I stand.” He started to hoist himself out of the chair, but Tori pushed him down, urging him to stay put.

  “Scott, I’ve checked it three times. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.”

  Scott lifted his chin and turned his head from side to side, inspecting his neck. This was about the tenth time he’d done that, as well.

  And he says I’m the vain one.

  “You’re perfectly shaven, Scott, not a bit of stubble.” Tori placed her arms on his shoulders. “Although I must say, I kinda was starting to like the beard. I’m gonna miss it. It was so sexy.” She bent and kissed his smooth cheek. He jerked his chin away from her.

  “Not now, Tori,” he growled.

  Normally, she’d put him in his place for acting like such an ass. Tori didn’t usually put up with bullshit, but today, she’d take whatever it was he was dishing out. Today, he deserved grace, because today, he was burying his friend.

  The wait list was long to be buried at Arlington, and Tori couldn’t even imagine the grief the family felt for having to prolong this process. At least Scott got to pay his respects. Maybe that was a good thing. Tori wasn’t sure.

  Tori straightened out the wrinkles on her newly purchased, very conservative black dress. None of her colorful, wild print dresses with the plunging necklines would do for today.

  “I’m sorry.” Scott lowered his head. “I shouldn’t speak to you like that. All you’re trying to do is help, and I appreciate you going to support me.” She avoided funerals at all costs. It brought up too much shit for her, but Scott asked. Hell, the man could ask her to bury a body, and she’d start packing shovels.

  “You’re forgiven.” She looked at him warmly in the mirror. Her hands curled around the handles on the back of his wheelchair, and she pulled him away from his reflection. “We have to go. I know you can’t stand to be late.”

  “I’ve got it.” He gripped the wheels and rolled over to the table where his hat lay. He placed it on his head.

  Stubborn much?

  They opted to take the chair due to the massive hills at the cemetery. Tori knew he hated it. “Ok, but don’t bitch at me if you get your uniform sleeves all dirty.”

  He let out a large breath, folding his hands across his lap, giving up. “Fine. You got my crutches, right?”

  “I put them in the backseat, along with a change of clothes for you. We have everything. Are you ready?”

  The morose expression on his face told her he’d never be ready for this.

  Tori had never been to a military funeral. She’d seen them about a thousand times on television. Being there at Arlington National Cemetery was a sobering experience. As they presented arms to initiate the rifle volley, she braced herself, knowing the blasts were coming, but as each gunshot went off, she instinctively flinched anyway. The shots were thunderous in comparison to the somber silence of the graveyard. As the bugler played “Taps,” it echoed across the vast cemetery, causing an ache in her soul. Her eyes glistened as she listened to the lonely tune.

  The soldiers folded the flag, each move rigid, and every tight fold done with perfect precision. They turned, presenting it to his wife. The beautiful woman lifted her chin bravely as tears stained her pretty, dark cheeks, dripping down to her growing belly that held the offspring of Scott’s fallen friend, a child that would never know his father. The soldier’s mother sat next to the wife. The mother’s cries were deep and feral, unlike any grief she’d ever heard before. She didn’t even know the man, and it was ripping her heart out. A tear trickled down Tori’s cheek, and she bit her tongue to keep from breaking out into sobs.

  Fuck, this was awfu
l.

  Scott gripped the armrests of his chair and nodded to his side. Tori grabbed his crutches and held them up for him. He stood and crutched his way over in line with the other men dressed in uniform. One by one, they filed in a line down the side of the casket, each one of them pounding a Trident into the coffin lid.

  Scott kissed his trident pin and beat it firmly into the mahogany wood. He leaned over and placed his head down, whispering a silent prayer or homage of some sort. He pulled back, straightened his spine, and moved on.

  Scott settled back into his wheelchair next to her, and Tori reached over and put her hand on his thigh. Tears stained his cheeks as she glanced at him, staring straight forward with his jaw clenched. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, hard.

  “Thanks for coming,” Scott said as Tori packed his wheelchair into the back of her car. “I know this kind of stuff is difficult for you.”

  Tori brushed off his comment, as she did anytime he tried to touch on that subject. Tori lifted her chin. “That’s what friends are for.”

  His jaw noticeably clenched as she said the word friends.

  Tori climbed into the driver’s seat as Scott stood outside the door. He was headed to a bar with some of his Navy Buddies to drown their sorrows. He leaned on his crutches as he placed his hand above her window. “Drive safe,” he said.

  “Call me when you get settled. Let me know you made it back.”

  “Yes, mom.” He smirked, bent over, kissed her on the cheek, and shut her door.

  The night grew late, and she never heard from him, and he wasn’t returning her calls. Eventually, she drifted to sleep only to be jolted awake by her cell phone vibrating off her nightstand.

  “Hello?” Tori croaked.

  “Victoria Johnson?” A male voice gruffly came through the line. She pulled back the phone and looked at the display—unknown number.

  “Yes.” Tori sat up and turned on the lamp next to her bed.

  “I’m officer Santiago from DC police. I have Scott Harris here…” He started rattling off words that didn’t make a whole bit of sense in her sleepy state—something about a bar fight, lewdness, and public intoxication. “What? Is Scott in jail?”