Burn (L.A. Untamed #2)

by Ruth Clampett

  “Joe?” I whisper.

  He’s silent as he pulls off his clothes.

  Is this a dream? I hope so because this has the potential to be a really good one.

  “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” I ask.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Joe says as he joins me under the covers. When he rolls me to my side so he can spoon me, I revel in the warmth of his body pressed against me.

  I let out a happy sigh.

  “Sorry I woke you.”

  “Never apologize for that. I’m just glad you’re here.”

  His hand runs along my hip, and slides over to my midriff so he can pull me closer.

  “Glad to see you got off the roof in one piece. What else has been going on? Anything I should know about?”

  “Mikey and I had a serious talk tonight. I hope you don’t mind, but I told him that I love you and I’m having sex with you. He knows we’re involved now.”

  I can feel his smile break against the back of my head. “I don’t mind.”

  “Good.”

  “I think he’s ready to move things along with the divorce. We talked about selling the house and he didn’t say no.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “So you’re going to have to find a place to put me.”

  He chuckles. “I will, but I don’t want to talk about the future now. I just want to be.”

  “Be? Like, with me?” I ask, wanting clarification even though the answer is pretty obvious.

  “Yes, with you.”

  I feel him getting hard against my backside and I figure it’s a good sign. I wiggle my butt against him so he knows that I’m extra glad he’s here.

  His hand moves up to cup my breast and I feel his lips on my neck.

  “God I’ve missed this,” I whisper, my body humming for him.

  “Me too,” he says, his breath hot on my skin.

  His fingers slide up my inner thighs. He’s really handsy tonight and I like it. I lean into his touch.

  “So were you really up on my roof?”

  I nod and swallow hard, as he slides his fingers between my legs.

  “On your roof, inside your bed, in your arms. I’m all over you, Joe. It’s the only place I want to be.”

  “Hmmm.” He tugs on my earlobe with his teeth.

  I suggestively part my thighs and tilt my hips back. “You know what I need.”

  “I do,” he says as he takes his cock in his hand and rubs it against me.

  I almost cry it feels so good. “More,” I whisper.

  “So demanding,” he moans, and then excruciatingly slowly, he pushes inside of me.

  Every feeling is intense, and there’s something about my back pressed to his chest, and being held so close against him as he moves inside of me, that’s perfection.

  In this late hour, I push away my fear that my life is too complicated, my personality too much for this man who’s looking to find peace in his life. Instead I bind myself to him with threads of hope as he makes love to me with not just his body, but his heart too.

  In turn, I love him back with everything I have and keep faith that we will find our footing again in the light of day.

  I’m sad that the next time I wake up he’s out of bed and putting his clothes back on. It’s still dark out but he’s turned on a low light somewhere past the bed in his rig.

  “Stay,” I murmur.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve gotta get back to the station. Go back to sleep.”

  I watch him with sleepy eyes as he pulls his jacket on. In the faint amber glow my heart skips as I look at his messy hair and shadow along his jaw where a beard is beckoning. Even half asleep and rumpled, this man has become the sole focus of my desire. I’m so powerfully drawn to him and grateful that apparently he feels the same about me.

  “Today I’m going to work on getting things finished here so it’s just you and I and Betty.”

  He nods, and leans over to kiss me good-bye.

  “I love you,” I say.

  He pushes my hair out of my eyes and the intensity in his gaze startles me. “I love you too.”

  Even when he’s out of my sight, I resemble a burrowing woodland creature as I listen with pricked up ears for the click of the door shutting, his engine firing up, and the fading roar of his motorcycle as he rides away.

  What’s that saying about ‘if you love someone set them free, and if it’s meant to be, they’ll come back to you,’ or some shit like that?

  Yeah, I never liked that lame-ass saying, and especially not now.

  The next morning at breakfast Mikey seems nervous. He keeps stirring his oatmeal over and over without taking a bite. I’m pretty sure it’s going to turn into cement if he doesn’t leave it alone.

  “You all right?” I ask as I refill my mug with coffee.

  He nods, and keeps stirring.

  “Hey, what did that oatmeal do to deserve such a beating? Maybe you should just calm down and eat it.”

  He smiles and lets go of the spoon.

  “So I was wondering . . .” He pauses, his eyebrows knitted together.

  “About?” I wave my hand in small circles to encourage him on. Otherwise, knowing Mikey, this could take all day.

  “Well, I was wondering if Stanley can come over this evening when you’re at your parents, so he and I can talk? He thought it would be better somewhere neutral like a restaurant, but I’m not comfortable with that idea and his mom is staying with him through tomorrow.”

  Wow . . . It seems like our talk last night inspired Mikey.

  I pause to think about it and realize at least this should move things along, one way or another. “Okay. I’ll be heading over to their place at six-thirty.”

  “Are you sure this is okay?” he asks.

  Like how much weirder can my life get?

  “It’s not a problem. You know I’ll be at their place at least a couple of hours.”

  A thought occurs to me, and I crinkle up my nose. “But no sex in my bed.”

  His eyes grow wide with horror. “Oh no! Of course not.”

  I nod. “Speaking of Stanley, did he ever get another job after he quit the shop?”

  “No.”

  “So he could come back to work for you if you wanted him to.”

  Now I’m encouraging a multi-faceted hook-up for my husband and his gay lover.

  “Would it upset you if he did?”

  I purse my lips as I consider the question. “Actually, I’d be relieved. You always talked about him like he kept the place running like a well-oiled machine. It only makes sense to bring him back. The last thing you need right now is added stress at work.”

  “True.”

  Could this mean we have figured things out so we can clearly head down our separate paths? The feeling makes me melancholy for a moment as I remember our good times but then I give myself a swift virtual kick in the ass. This is now, Trisha.

  I clap my hand. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road. Your appointment is in forty-five. And if she clears you for driving we can go pick up your car. Right?”

  He nods with a hopeful smile.

  I raise my fist in the air. “Onward!”

  Ma brushes her hair off her forehead with a huff. Her face is still flushed from standing over a hot stove, but the spread tonight looks extra good. She’s even used her favorite tablecloth on our old oak table that has been the stage for the drama of our family dinners over all these years. It makes me wonder if we’re celebrating something?

  Dad, on the other hand, seems grumpy as all hell. “What’s the matter, Pa?” I ask. “You look like you’ve got your knickers in a twist.”

  “Meat pie, dear?” Ma asks him with a wide smile that looks overdone.

  Why is she trying to butter him up?

  He taps his fork on the table next to his plate and then sets it down. “I’m not going to stay quiet, Millie. It’s just not right.”

  Her shoulders sag in defeat and Dad turns toward me. “Patricia, as your fath
er I have to step in. I will not let you take that cheating scoundrel back.”

  Ma lets out a long sigh, and I hear Paul mutter under his breath, “Here we go.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Are you serious with this?”

  “Yeah, when does she ever do what you want her to?” Patrick asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  “He’s got a point,” adds Paul.

  Meanwhile, Elle looks like she’s fighting back a smile.

  Skye pushes her long, wild clumps of hair off her shoulders. Does she even own a brush? It looks like small animals could be living in that mess and she wouldn’t know it. She lets out a long sigh. “I think Trish taking her husband back is beautiful . . . so loving and beautiful.”

  Patrick looks down at his plate and pushes the carrots around.

  It feels like the dining room walls, with their faded floral wallpaper, are closing in on us. I roll my eyes upward and notice that the frosted globes on the brass light fixture could use some dusting.

  “What do you mean, beautiful?” Dad says, his face getting red. “It’s desperate and pathetic maybe, but there’s nothing beautiful about it.”

  Now my face is heating up too. “Gee, thanks a lot, Dad. Really, that’s an awesome thing to say about your only daughter.”

  “Patricia . . .” Mom says in her warning voice. She knows how explosive my temper can get.

  I fold my arms over my chest. “As long as we’re throwing around insults, let me ask you, what in the world gave you the stupid idea that I’m taking him back?”

  “Did you just call your father stupid?” Ma asks with a scowl. For sure that’s a hard-limit for my parents.

  I shrug. “Let’s not get caught up in semantics. I’m not taking him back, Dad. I let him stay for a week or so because if I didn’t he would’ve been taken to the psych ward.”

  “Where he should be! Lock him up and throw away the damn key! What kind of man marries a good woman, and then runs around having sex with other men? A man who’s out of his gourd.”

  “I’m not sure what a gourd is, but I do know one thing. From what I’ve heard about Mikey, his soul was bruised, and Trish is helping heal him,” Skye says pressing her hands together. “She’s giving him the most soulful gift.”

  I look at her with wide eyes wondering what planet she came from. I glance over at Dad and sure enough, his face is now more of a scarlet hue.

  “There’s going to more than just his soul bruised by the time I’m done with him,” Dad grumbles, and cracks his knuckles like a cartoon villain.

  Paul nods over to Dad and winks at Elle. “Two peas in a pod. Now you know where Trish gets her badass edge from.”

  “Daddy’s girl,” Ma says, shaking her head, as if she’s teasing us for being so much alike.

  “Well, since my personal life is now fodder for tonight’s family theater, I’m happy to share that right now Mikey is meeting with Stanley to talk about their relationship.”

  Ma’s mouth falls open and she presses her hand over her heart. “I don’t understand any of this,” she says.

  “Stanley, is that who you referred to as Sasquatch?” Patrick asks.

  “The one and only.”

  “Wow. How modern of you, Trish,” Elle says with a sympathetic gaze. “It sounds like you’ve come full circle to some kind of acceptance about the situation.”

  “I can’t deny that his suicide attempt forced me to see everything differently. There’s so much I loved about my life with Mikey, but now knowing his truth, I realize that I want more than he’d ever be able to give me.”

  “And has Joe played a part in figuring that out?” Elle asks.

  My heart swells at the mention of Joe’s name. “He has.”

  “Joe’s a real man,” Ma says with a sigh.

  I nod. “But Mikey’s a real man too . . . he’s just a real man that’s more into men, than women.”

  “We love who we love,” Skye remarks. She reaches over and takes Paddie’s hand.

  Dad drops his head into his hands and rubs his face briskly.

  Picking up the open bottle of wine to my right, I pass it to Paul. “Pour Dad another glass, will you? Looks like he could use it.”

  Patrick points to my phone. “Hey, Trish, your phone is flashing.”

  I look down and sure enough the red light on the back of the phone winks up at me. I normally keep the phone out and close to me in case there’s a call from the station.

  When I flip the phone over, the screen reveals that it’s not the station, but Mikey calling me. I push my chair back and step away from the table toward the living room. There must be a good reason he’s calling me now, and at this point I don’t want to discuss anything in front of my parents.

  “What’s up?” I ask after I swipe the screen.

  “Trish!” he howls. “Oh my God, what do I do? It’s on fire!”

  “What? What’s on fire?” I yell.

  “A candle fell over in the backyard and the grass caught fire. The grass is almost dead and dry as timber. Why hasn’t it been watered?”

  He has some fucking nerve to be asking me this.

  “Have you heard about the drought? What the fuck do you mean the grass is on fire? And what the hell was a burning candle doing out there?”

  “Stanley’s out back with a hose but it’s getting worse!”

  “Have you called 911?” I can feel the rage surging through me.

  “No, I called you first.”

  “Damn! I’ll call,” I snap.

  I hang up on him, and dial 911 dispatch with a tight grip on my phone to steady my hands from shaking.

  When the operator answers I cut her off. “Reporting an out of control fire in the backyard at 2710 Addison, Valley Village between Laurel Canyon and Ben. This is Patricia O’Neill, firefighter from the Van Nuys station, thirty-nine and it’s my house. Please dispatch the crew from there. My husband is on site and I’m headed there now.”

  I grit my teeth and pace the living room as she repeats the information to me one damn detail at a time. I know they have to do this, but it’s making me want to hurl my phone against the wall. As soon as I hang up, I storm into the dining room.

  “Paul, I need your help. There’s a fire at my place and I need you to drive me. Now!”

  Ma gasps. “Oh no!”

  Paul leaps up, pushing his chair back so forcefully that it almost topples over. He turns to Patrick. “Take Elle home after dinner.”

  Elle leaps up. “No! I’m coming with you.”

  Patrick jumps up. “Me too!”

  Skye seems to think that she’s automatically included. I want to snap at her to back off so that her spiritual observations are not included in this frantic chase to my burning house, but there’s no time to argue.

  Thank God Dad and Ma stay seated with concerned expressions on their face, but no proclamations about joining us.

  “Paul, call us!” Dad calls out as we grab our stuff.

  I’m first out of the dining room.

  “Get a move on, guys! This is a race for time, not a traveling circus,” I curse as we rush to the front door.

  We pile into the car with Elle and Patrick in the backseat, and Skye squeezed between them. It’s a somber clown car, with everyone giving each other worried looks as I rant under my breath about idiots and their candles.

  Paul floors the gas pedal before we’ve even put our seatbelts on. I’ve never appreciated his inclination to speed more. As soon as I buckle up I start to call Joe, but then realize that I need to update Mikey on what’s going to happen next, so I dial him first.

  “Trish, what are we supposed to do? The hose is barely doing anything!” His voice is high-pitched and tight with panic.

  I gasp and swallow my wrath. “The trucks are on their way. Are the side gates open? Go stand out front,” I bark at him.

  I look up just as Paul guns through a light that’s past yellow, and turning red. Elle let’s out a squeak.

  “I think I hear the sirens
,” Mikey says in between pants.

  I press my phone tighter to my ear and I can hear the faint wail in the background.

  “Lead them to the backyard. How the hell did this fire start anyway? What were you doing with a fucking candle in the backyard?”

  “We were sitting on the back patio talking and the mosquitoes started up, and Stanley is allergic to mosquito bites. So I lit a couple of those citronella candle torches and one must have fallen over when we went inside after it got cold.”

  I wonder how a big, hairy Sasquatch can be appealing to mosquitoes but there’s no damn point in wasting my time on him.

  “And you didn’t blow out the fucking candles?”

  “Obviously I forgot, Trish. It wasn’t until I went to the kitchen to get some water that I saw the fire.”

  “Is the house on fire too?” I question calmly like I’m asking if he picked up the dry cleaning, but in reality I’m gritting my teeth like a wildcat.

  I hear the sirens much louder now in the background.

  “No, but I’ve gotta warn you, Trisha. That trailer thing of Joe’s . . .”

  My stomach lurches. “What? What Mike?”

  “The trucks are pulling up. I’ve gotta go.”

  The line goes dead.

  “I’m going to kill him!” I yell out, and Paul’s grip tightens on the steering wheel.

  I look out the window and realize we’re being slowed down by heavy traffic on the 101 passing Universal City. The colorful lights of City Walk and Universal Studios with all the knuckleheads going there to party are annoying the hell out of me, with the hard reality of what I’m trying to rush home for.

  “What, Trish?” Paul asks.

  “Mike says Joe’s rig may be on fire.” I shake my head and slap my free hand on the dashboard.

  “Damn,” Paul says, and I sense murmurings in the backseat that I’m better off not hearing.

  I pick up my phone again but this time I dial the station, knowing that if Joe is on the truck heading to my house, he won’t be answering this call.

  Scott picks up. “Van Nuys Fire, Station Thirty-Nine.”

  “Scott, it’s McNeill. Is Joe out on the call in Valley Village?”

  “No, he’s here. You want to talk to him?”

  “Yes, thanks.”