Chasing Fire: (Fire and Fury Book One)

by Avery Kingston

  “Not for much longer, you won’t.” He picked up his pace and followed her out.

  Tori wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to sharing a bed with Scott. He’d offered to sleep on the sofa, but she couldn’t do that to him, even if she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks.

  The man was an insane bed hog, and apparently, a cuddly one, to boot. She stared at the ceiling, blinking and sweating, his big, hairy arm wrapped around her. It was like being trapped in a bearskin rug.

  Oh my God. I’m going to have a heat stroke. He was like a personal space heater.

  Tori wiggled out of his grasp. He rolled over, grunting and letting out a low growl like a bear in hibernation. She quietly shimmied out of bed. She threw on her robe, pattered downstairs, and smoked a joint, hoping that would induce sleep. All getting stoned seemed to do was give her the munchies. She wandered into the kitchen and rifled through the pantry. She stood there, eating cookies straight from the box like an eight-year-old kid sneaking a midnight snack.

  She finished off the package and put the empty container back into the pantry, brushed the crumbs off her robe onto the floor, and grabbed the milk from the fridge. She chuckled inwardly as she downed several gulps straight from the carton, knowing Keith would have a fit if he saw her right now.

  “Thankfully, Keith isn’t home,” Tori whispered to herself as she placed the carton back in the fridge.

  With a full belly and a brain clouded with weed, she finally felt like she’d get some rest. As long as I can keep Baloo on his side of the bed, she grumbled inwardly as she started up the stairs. About half way up, Scott’s anguished shouts filled her ears. She scrambled faster, her foot slipping along the way as she took the steps two at a time.

  “My leg!” Scott howled. The moonlight from the window trickled across his massive body thrashing in the bed.

  Tori flipped on the light and dashed to his side.

  Scott!” Tori shook his shoulders. His eyes were drawn tight, and he was drenched in sweat.

  “It’s burning,” he said through his clenched jaw. “It’s on fire.” His fingers dug into her forearms so hard she was certain she’d be bruised tomorrow.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She sat there, blinking, unable to move, crippled by fear as he screamed the word her nightmares were made of. Fire.

  A long line of anguish-filled obscenities filtered out of his mouth, snapping her from her trance.

  She fumbled quickly on the nightstand, grabbing his prescription pill bottle, popping one of the narcotics into her hand. “Here, take this.”

  Scott shook his head and swatted her arm away, knocking the pills to the floor. “They f-f-fucking m-m-make me h-h-hallucinate,” he croaked through gritted teeth as his body shook. His deep brown eyes clouded with moisture, screaming for help like a wounded animal caught in a trap.

  “Close your eyes, Scott.” Tori raised her chin and swallowed the lump in her throat, feigning confidence that she didn’t possess. She pulled off the covers and lifted his leg. Her delicate fingers wrapped around the tight shrinker compressing his thigh, and she pulled it down. She touched the bottom of his stump, and he recoiled slightly. “Shhhh.” She began massaging her hands across his scar, humming while she did it.

  “Imagine you sticking your toes into the sand. Curl them up, wiggle them. Feel the cool water lap across your ankle. Visualize it.” She dug her fingertips into his residual limb. Finally, after some time, his muscles loosened, the pain slowly draining from his body.

  She stood, put her phone in the docking station, and pressed play. Music began to flow from the speakers. She went back to massaging him. This time, he didn’t recoil. “I want you to listen to the music, focus on it, tell me about it.”

  “Sounds like whiney Indie music.” His nose curled, and a smirk began to tug behind the grimace.

  “Seriously, what do you hear?”

  “Your sick sense of humor.” Scott chuckled wryly. “Nothing like a limb torn off. That’s the first line of the song? Seriously? Did you pick this on purpose?” His eyes flicked open and a smile finally passed across those sexy lips of his.

  “Possibly.” Tori snickered. Band of Horses “No One’s Gonna Love You” just so happened to be said song. She didn’t pick it. It was just dumb luck.

  His eyes met hers with such intensity when the chorus hit that it made her heart stop. She sucked in a breath and broke his penetrating gaze. “Better?” She quickly stood, patting him on the thigh. She went over to the speaker and changed it to a less intimate song.

  When she turned back to him, his gaze was still burning a hole in her.

  God, those brown eyes with the flecks of gold melted her to a puddle every time. The way they bore into hers with such adoration constricted her airways. He grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb gently across it with such tenderness it made her heart physically ache.

  He wouldn’t love me if he knew everything I am, everything I’ve done.

  “Tori…” Scott began.

  I’m no good for him.

  “I need to tell you…” He let out a deep breath.

  She closed her eyes, fearing what he would say next, because she knew she couldn’t say it back. Don’t say it, please don’t say it.

  “You have some shitty taste in music.” He laughed.

  She released the breath she’d been holding, smiling widely at him. “Asshole.” She poked him in the side.

  “Get up off your ass. We’re going out,” Tori said as she walked into the living room, stepping over the bottles of beer and junk food wrappers strewn about the area. She threw a pair of crutches onto the empty chair.

  When Scott didn’t respond, she sauntered over and looked at him. He was passed out, drooling on the sofa, sleeping, like he had been for days now. He’d been staying with Tori for a couple months now, until he decided what to do next. Which, apparently, is to drink himself to death and clog his arteries with shitty food.

  Tori kicked him in the thigh. “I said get your ass up. You’re fowling up my living room.”

  “You know, I didn’t ask to stay here,” he groaned and cracked one eye open.

  “Yeah, because you were doing so swell in the barracks.”

  Not that you’re doing much better here.

  She went over and yanked up the blinds. “You need to get in the shower.”

  Scott groaned and closed his eyes tightly at the bright light streaming through the room. “Fuck, Tori! You trying to blind me or something?”

  “Listen, I’ve had enough of the angry, wounded veteran. I get it. This has been hell for you. You lost your leg—”

  “I lost a lot more than my leg, Tori,” Scott mumbled as he sat up and rubbed his face. Tori watched his eyes dart over to a photo and letter open on the coffee table, and he quickly diverted them.

  Tori picked up the items. “You’ve been circling the drain ever since this thing came in the mail.” It was female handwriting with photos of a beautiful African American woman and her precious little girl. Tori recognized the her. She was the wife from the funeral she went to with Scott. Tori skimmed the page and flipped over the photo. The back read Violet May Jones.

  “Tori…” he growled, warning her to stop.

  “People rarely send handwritten letters anymore. It’s such a lost art form.” She sighed dreamily as she perused the contents. “She went to a lot of trouble to make this personal to you. She wants to see you. She cares, Scott.”

  “Hey, that’s private! Don’t go reading my mail. You have no business.” Scott yelled at her and stood on his one leg to grab it from her grasp, only to lose his balance and catch himself on the coffee table.

  “She doesn’t blame you, so you need to stop blaming yourself.” Tori put down the letter. “I’m not going to pretend to even understand what you’ve been through. I’m not even going to ask you to tell me about whatever it was that happened in that hell hole, but Scott, you need to live your life. It’s a disgrace to the memory of your friend to si
t here and wither away.”

  Scott grunted.

  “Come on, caveman. Get up. It’s time to go out.” She puffed her chest. “Get. Air. Much. Good,” she grunted in her best Neanderthal impression.

  Scott rubbed his face. “Tori, my leg fucking kills me. It feels like I’m walking on bone when I wear the damn thing for more than a couple hours. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My amputation wasn’t done in the field…”

  Scott was six months post amputation. He’d finally gotten his permanent prosthetic, but it hadn’t been as smooth a transition as he’d like. He’d fought skin breakdowns and infections. He was hurting, and adjustments on his prosthetic took time.

  “We’re fixing this right now.”

  Scott snorted. “How the hell do you plan to do that?”

  “Just get up and shower, asshole. You smell like a sewer.” Tori threw him the crutches from the chair.

  “What are these?” Scott looked at the new pair of forearm crutches.

  “These won’t pinch your nerves in your armpits and cut off the circulation in your hands from trying to support two hundred and thirty pounds of bulky man muscle on them.”

  “Actually, I’m two twenty. I’m down a few pounds, if you haven’t noticed.” He nodded at his stump.

  “Such the comedian.” Tori smirked. “I called your therapist. She suggested them and was pissed as hell that you didn’t tell her how bad you were hurting.” Scott was so damn proud and overly stubborn. It drove Tori bonkers.

  Scott made a sour face. “So, not only are you reading my mail, you’re snooping through my phone? You act like you’re my girlfriend, but we both know better, right?”

  Yeah, lines had been blurred the past few months. Tori crossed her arms, ignoring his snarky comment. Yes, because you’re the epitome of a perfect boyfriend right now, Scott Harris.

  “Oh, stop being a dick. Give ‘em a shot. They weren’t expensive. We can take them back if you don’t like them.” Tori placed her hands on her hips. “Also, while you were passed out drooling on my sofa, some dude named Blaze kept calling you. Is that your drug dealer? If so, I expect you to at least share the good stuff.”

  Scott huffed as he fiddled with the height and adjusted them and stood, swaying a bit. Tori went over and caught him, trying to balance him.

  “It’s cute that you think that you can hold me up,” he snickered.

  “Someone’s hung over.”

  “Still drunk.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

  “You’re strong enough that you should get the hang pretty quick. It requires more upper body strength, but I’m pretty sure we’re good there.” Tori squeezed Scott’s bicep. Scott had been hitting the gym to take out his aggression, and it was doing wonders. She didn’t think it was possible for the man to have any more muscle, but he’d grown even larger up top.

  Scott made his way halfway to the stairs, stopped, and turned around and cocked his head. “Why do you put up with my shit? I’ve been a total asshole to you.”

  “Because you fuck better than any of the other assholes I sleep with. Now go shower, gorgeous. Get that stink off you, and you may get lucky.” She walked over behind him, slapped his ass, and followed him upstairs.

  She sat on the bed while Scott showered. She could hear him belting out the lyrics to Train’s “Meet Virginia”, but instead, he changed the name to Victoria. Cheeky bastard. He knew she was listening.

  Scott got out, dressed, and flopped on the bed, placing the crutches next to him. “Ok, I’ll give it to you. These do work better, even though I look like the damn cripple off There’s Something About Mary.”

  “I dunno. I kinda like them. They make your forearms look all buff and veiny.” Tori reached over and squeezed his arm.

  “You’re a sick and twisted freak, you know that?” His brow went up.

  Tori gave him a smug grin. “You love it. Now, I want to go out tonight. You, my friend, are cut off. Your liver can thank me later. You’re my designated driver.”

  “Tori, until they fix my damn socket, I’m not going anywhere. I have an appointment tomorrow at the clinic—”

  “Stop. We can figure this out.” Tori bent to her knee and peered at Scott’s stump.

  He tensed as her fingers ran across the scar tissue at the bottom. He sucked in a breath and jerked his leg back.

  “Will you stop being a baby?” She yanked his thigh back over. “When will you get it through your thick skull that I don’t give a shit what it looks like?” She examined it.

  “Tell that to the people who gawk at me like I’m a freak…”

  She sighed heavily and pumped the lotion bottle next to his bed and rubbed it into his skin. “It’s dry and cracking. That’s not good. You know better.”

  “If you’re going to try and play nurse, you at least need to put on a slutty nurse costume.” He crossed his arms.

  “I only do that for my patients who behave. You, mister, have been far too much of a pain in my ass. Maybe if you start being compliant, I can throw you a bone.” She reached into the bedside drawer and put a sock over his stump. “Let’s try an extra sock or two, maybe that will do the trick.”

  “I’ve tried that,” he groaned. “The bottom feels better with three, but the top is far too tight.”

  “Well, that’s an easy fix. You should’ve said so sooner.” She stood and walked over to the desk. She rifled through it and pulled out a pair of scissors, cut the top of two of the socks off, and came back over to him. “Try this. Let’s cushion the bottom more, but leave the top alone.” She handed it to him.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as a sheepish smile tugged at his lips.

  “Maybe if you weren’t so drunk and pissed off all the time, you could think with your head again.” Tori smirked, picking up on his embarrassment.

  He put the half socks on, grabbed his rubber liner, and placed it on, followed by his prosthetic. “Alright, let’s see if you MacGyvered this shit.” He stood and did a pass across the room. “It feels good, but only time will tell.”

  “Ok.” Tori smiled, pleased with herself. “Now, let’s go to the barber shop and do something about that hair of yours.” She ran her fingers through his wild, shaggy mop.

  “I thought you liked it long?” He frowned.

  “I do, but it’s looking like a party in the back…” her eyes widened. “I get that you’re from Texas—the mullet capitol of the US and all—but come on…”

  Scott let out a big belly laugh.

  “He laughs! It’s a miracle!” She grinned widely.

  Tori glanced up and pushed her sunglasses down on her nose as she sat on the bench. She watched Scott stop and talk to a tall black man with a white cane by the double doors. His face was pitted with scars, and he wore a patch on one eye. Scott crossed his arms and looked down at his prosthetic and back to the man. Finally, Scott patted the dude on the shoulder, grinned, and walked her direction as his friend with the white cane tapped his way inside the building.

  Tori pushed her sunglasses back up, sipped her coffee, and leaned her pounding head back and closed her eyes.

  “You look like shit.” Scott laughed as he towered over her.

  “I feel like shit. Hangovers suck. Coffee is kicking in, though.” She lifted her paper cup full of the sweet nectar that was slowly breathing life into her. “How was the appointment?”

  “Got an adjustment. I think this one may have done the trick. It feels good,” he rocked back slightly on his heel. If it works out, we can talk about getting me a blade.”

  “A blade?”

  “A running prosthetic.”

  “Oooh, that sounds sexy.” Tori grinned.

  “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” Scott chuckled and shook his head.

  “You seem to be doing better.” Tori stood. “Who was that you were talking to?” She nodded toward the door.

  “Richard Ackerman. I met him months ago. He comes here and visits with the vets.”

  “He’s blind?”


  “Yeah, pretty much. Lost his right eye and most of his eyesight in the left from a car bomb. He went through a lot himself, getting his life back. He’s a great guy.” Scott let out a big sigh. “It’s humbling.” They walked toward the car.

  “How so?”

  “He puts me in check. No matter how bad I think I have it, there’s always someone here worse off than me who’s doing more with their life.” Scott chuckled wryly. “I need to get my shit together.”

  “Yeah?”

  “My disability payout hit my bank account today. Ackerman got me thinking. I have a low-level injury—below the knee in the world of amputations is nothing. There are guys above the knee that are going back in the service, men who have lost both legs opening gyms, training other wounded vets. Dudes who are paralyzed going in the Paralympics… I’m just saying, I’ve got options.”

  This was a far cry away from the pity party he was having yesterday. “Why the sudden change of mindset? Yesterday, you were circling the drain.” She stopped and turned to him when they arrived at the car.

  “I called her this morning. Malita Jones. The one from the letter.”

  “Ah.” Tori nodded. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” Scott opened the door to Tori’s Mazda and climbed in. “I needed to do that,” he told Tori as she started the engine.

  “Well, I’m proud of you. I think you deserve a reward.” Tori patted him on the thigh.

  “What do you have in mind?” He scratched his brow. “You do owe me from last night. I missed my slim window of opportunity for some raunchy fucking. You passed the threshold from slutty drunk girl to vomiting mess.”

  Tori threw her head back in laughter. “Yeah, well, you were the one that kept slipping me shots. Serves you right for trying to liquor me up too much for your own selfishness.” She reached into her glove compartment and pulled out an envelope and handed it to him. “Here you go. It’s a present.”

  “And I thought I was gonna get laid…” He smirked and shook his head as he opened it. He unfolded the paper and read the itinerary in front of him. “Airline tickets? To Amsterdam?” He gave her a questionable glare.