The Heat Is On (Boston Five Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Book Description
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
The Heat Is On
Poppy J. Anderson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Heat Is On
Copyright © 2015 by Poppy J. Anderson
Cover design by Clarissa Yeo http://yocladesigns.com/
Translation © Claudia Rapp
Edited by Annie Cosby
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Publication: April 2015
poppyj.anderson@googlemail.com
www.poppyjanderson.com
Book Description
When Hayden's fiancé breaks off their engagement, her whole world falls apart. After all, she has loved Heath Fitzpatrick since they were children. Though she can hardly believe he really wants the breakup, she picks up the pieces of her life and tries to accept the new situation.
But her efforts are thwarted time and again by the rest of the Fitzpatrick clan, who have always been part of her life—and who are notorious for being outspoken, persistent, and downright meddlesome. None of Heath's siblings are above adding their own two cents. Or twenty.
Even Heath himself, a daring firefighter, seems to be having trouble adjusting to his new single life. So how in the world is Hayden supposed to move on, forget the plans they made for the future, and get Heath off her mind? And even more difficult—she'll need to banish him from her heart, forever.
Prologue
Heath Fitzpatrick opened his eyes with some difficulty, immediately regretting the move, as the gleaming daylight apparently wanted to make his pupils explode. With a groan, he buried his face in his pillow, which smelled of stale beer, nausea-inducing tequila, and sangria. As soon as he processed that thought, all of it seemed to bubble back up his gullet.
There was a buzzing in his skull as he prayed for a coma that would relieve him of the gruesome queasiness and all the other symptoms of this hangover from hell, but instead, the doorbell rang again.
Annoyed, he rolled over on his back, accidentally stabbing his kidneys with the remote and pulling a pillow over his face. He lay still and panting on his fold-out couch and pondered their mutual need for a thorough cleaning. Both he and the rotten sofa stank to high heaven and would make a lousy impression.
Since the insistent ringing didn’t seem to be ceasing anytime soon, he threw the pillow aside and struggled into an upright position. As he staggered through his one-room apartment barefoot and aching, he barely avoided slipping on an old pizza box. The one advantage of his place was that it was close to his job, but the exact location of the building was an unfortunate one—right next to the main highway and the train tracks. That meant he not only had to live with the constant smell of curry from the Indian restaurant below, but also the incessant noise of traffic.
On mornings like this, the cacophony of the street reverberated in his head in an especially obnoxious way, even though the windows were shut tight. The closed windows were another cause of the awful smell that permeated the tiny den he’d inhabited for a few weeks now. When compared to the beautiful house he had painstakingly restored for the last two years, the dingy apartment could only lose. Not that he even tried to take care of it. He had stopped caring about anything a while ago. Thus, the incessant noise was only a minor source of irritation. In the evenings, he just turned up the volume on the TV and got plastered if he didn’t have an early shift the next day.
He felt exhausted as he rubbed his face, pulled back the chain on the door, opened it, and frowned directly into a pair of all too familiar blue eyes that stared back at him with concern.
The nausea from his alcohol consumption was now joined by a sensation not unlike a kick to the stomach…while someone was choking him. For three months now, whenever those blue eyes were directed at him, he’d experienced the same feeling.
His voice was frightfully hoarse when he asked darkly, “What do you want?”
“Stupid question.” She rolled those blue eyes of hers and squeezed past him into the apartment. “Heavens! This place looks like it’s been hit by a bomb.”
Heath didn’t say anything but slammed the door and followed his uninvited visitor into the only available room. In contrast to himself, she looked crisp, clean, and not in the least bit down and out. Neat as ever, she hugged her purse in front of her red and white polka dot dress, let her eyes roam his post-apocalyptic place, and made a face that did nothing to mar the prettiness of her features. He tore his eyes away from her, ignoring her perfectly coiffed blond hair, as well as the tugging ache in his chest.
“You want a beer?” he asked.
“Heath, you can’t go on like this.”
“I guess that means no beer.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned to the kitchenette. There, he opened the door of the little fridge and, when he realized there was no more beer left, took out a bottle of water. He had demolished the last six-pack last night, together with half a bottle of tequila. The empty liquor bottle was now lying on his stained rug, exuding revolting fumes. No wonder she’d noticed his place looked awful—as if he’d entertained all six members of a rock band. She shook her head just a fraction and pressed her lips together.
He leaned against the rickety sink, opened the water bottle, and drank its contents in little more than a single gulp. The whole time, he was awkwardly aware of her eyes on him, as hungover as he was, dressed only in boxers, his hair tousled and greasy.
When he lowered the bottle and saw her bend to pick up the empty pizza box and a dirt-encrusted plate, he frowned at her. “What are you doing, Hayden?”
“Looks like a pigsty in here. That’s not you, Heath.”
“I don’t remember asking your opinion.”
“You don’t have to.” She shook her head again, looking distressed. It made him want to lower his head in shame and ram his fist into the stained wall in front of him at the same time. He didn’t want Hayden here, didn’t want to see her, hear her voice, or even think of her. He didn’t want to think of anything anymore—at all. For three months, he had been struggling to forget what had happened, but how was that supposed to work if Hayden kept showing up and looking at him with those understanding and compassionate blue eyes of hers?
He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“It’s Sunday,” she replied. “You missed church again, Heath. Father Brady asked about you …”
Even their parish priest was worried about his salvation. An involuntary smile of amusement lit up his face, even though he was in no laughing mood.
Hayden didn’t seem to be, either. “That’s not funny, Heath. Your mom is awfully worried about you … I am awfully worried.”
“I feel terrific. Isn’t that obvious?”
“No. It’s not.” She placed the pizza box and plate on a side table that was a
lready loaded with magazines and Chinese takeout boxes. “You look horrible, you’re living in a dump, and even your brothers haven’t heard from you in ages! You’re not even speaking with Kayleigh anymore.”
“I’m busy.” He pushed his chin forward belligerently.
She dropped her purse on the dirty fold-out couch and raised her hands in exasperation. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Heath. You haven’t shown up to bowling or basketball in weeks. Instead you spend your time getting drunk at O’Reary’s and—”
“Are you spying on me?”
“How is it spying if all your friends are also my friends? Everyone keeps asking me what’s wrong with you, telling me they’ve seen you wasted in the pub. Your family keeps calling me because they can’t reach you.”
“Hayden, we broke up,” he answered lamely. “I don’t need your concern, nor do I need your help. And you don’t have to be my secretary either.”
“You damned idiot!” she burst out. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re going through? Joseph was my—”
“You don’t know anything!” he cut in angrily, clenching his fists. “Why can’t you all just leave me alone?”
“Your family is worried about you!”
“My family suffocates me. You’re suffocating me, Hayden!” He gritted his teeth. “I need some distance, some breathing room, but none of you seems to get that!”
Her pale face spoke volumes. “You’re going to destroy yourself if you go on like this. Are we supposed to stand by and watch?”
“I told you two months ago,” he replied, struggling for restraint. “We’re no longer together, and thus, my life’s not your business anymore.”
She didn’t acknowledge his objection at all. “You’re experiencing a crisis, and we all understand that—”
He snorted derisively. “Shane, too? I don’t get the impression he’d be all that understanding.”
Hayden touched a hand to her face and said, “Your brother is feeling awful, too. It drags him down. He’s worried about you on top of all the grief and pain. Why don’t you talk to him, Heath?”
“Because he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Now it was her turn to grit her teeth. “You Fitzpatricks are a bunch of pigheaded idiots, all of you! I can’t imagine how your mother managed to deal with four sons this obstinate, and a daughter just as stubborn.”
“If that’s all you wanted to tell me—”
“That’s not nearly all of it, no.” Her expression was determined. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for two months now, and you’re always dodging me or stalling.”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about, Hayden.”
“Then at least try to understand how concerned we are.”
“None of you need worry about me,” he spat angrily.
“We’re family—of course we’re worried about you! We’d be worried just the same about Kayleigh or the twins, darling—”
“Shut up.” He shook his head again, more grimly this time, and tried to refrain from throwing something against the wall. “Don’t call me ‘darling’ and leave me alone.”
She had run out of patience. She took two steps toward him and then slapped him. “You’re unhappy—okay, I get that! I’m unhappy, too. The whole family is unhappy, but you can’t simply run away and pretend everything’s fine. Do you have any idea what you’re putting us through?”
He rubbed his cheek and told himself he wasn’t affected by her upset expression or her brimming eyes—or her lovely scent. He wanted to be left alone, and he didn’t want to see her anymore. “The only thing I know is that I broke up with you, Hayden.”
“Let me be here for you,” she whispered, trying to take his hand.
Heath shook his head and stiffened, pulling his hand away. “It’s over.”
“But … you can’t mean that,” she said, her voice brittle. “We’re Heath and Hayden … a couple since first grade. We love each other.”
Suddenly his throat felt scratchy, and he barely trusted his own voice. His stomach churned as if he’d ingested poison. “Hayden, I packed my things, moved out, and canceled the wedding. How can you believe we’re still a couple?”
When her eyes filled with tears, he wanted to pull her close and offer her comfort, but instead, he remained silent and still.
“I know you don’t mean that, Heath.”
“But I do.” In truth, he’d have rather cut his own wrists than hurt her, but he hoped she would buy his lies now. Willing his voice to sound firm, he said, “I don’t love you anymore, Hayden. Since I moved out, I’ve been meeting other women, sleeping with them and—”
Apparently he’d learned to lie more convincingly than fifteen years ago when he’d tried to fool her into believing his parents had allowed him to see Terminator in the theater. Now, she uttered a choked sob, grabbed her purse from the couch, and ran from the apartment.
And Heath could finally give in to the urge to ram his fist into the wall.
Chapter 1
When she pulled onto the quiet street in Charlestown, a Boston suburb, Hayden immediately recognized Kayleigh’s car. She suppressed a sigh. Right then, she’d have rather been alone. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed swollen eyes and a shiny red nose. Her friend would see right away that she’d been crying, and she’d also know that her own brother was responsible. Hayden was not in the mood for the impending discussion, but she also knew she couldn’t get rid of Kayleigh now. She was a Fitzpatrick, after all, and as such, she was known for her obstinacy.
Hayden knew all too well that it was practically impossible to be left alone once you were considered a Fitzpatrick family member. After all, she’d known the family since she was five years old. All four sons possessed a pronounced pigheadedness, and their sister Kayleigh was in no way inferior in that regard.
For a moment, the thought that she was not really a member of the family any longer held her in a chokehold. Her fingers tightly clutched the braided leather on the steering wheel of her van. And the fact that she and Heath had bought the vehicle only six months earlier filled her with sheer despair now. They’d wanted to buy a family van because they’d been thinking of marriage and babies. How was it possible that everything had fallen apart so quickly?
She was living alone in a house Heath had bought for them two years ago and renovated diligently. She drove a car that had been intended for their swarm of children. And she still wore the engagement ring he’d put on her finger in front of the entire family. But now it seemed he wanted nothing to do with her. They would have been married pretty soon, but Heath had already canceled the date for the church ceremony, even though his mother and brothers had tried to convince him not to. Hayden had been unable to express the awful way she felt.
She swallowed bitter bile as she looked at the house with its remodeled façade and newly paved driveway. She couldn’t go on living here and driving this car, not while Heath was living in that dump and cruising around in some jalopy he’d found somewhere—probably a junkyard. When he’d left her all of a sudden, he had insisted she stay in the house and keep the car, and she’d agreed because of course she’d assumed the separation was merely a knee-jerk reaction to grief. She’d known him for twenty-three years, so, naturally, she’d been sure they would get a grip on the situation sooner or later and work through it together. Any other option had seemed ridiculous. For three months, she’d been constantly telling herself that Heath would soon realize how much he needed her and that he would return to her.
Now she saw what a huge, naïve error that had been. Today’s encounter had shed a harsh and unambiguous light on their separation. It was over.
It was really and truly over.
All the excuses she’d found for his behavior in the preceding three months were suddenly exposed as desperate attempts at whitewashing the truth: Her fiancé had changed and didn’t want to marry her anymore. The why didn’t matter, because his decisio
n seemed irreversible.
Hayden turned into the driveway and killed the engine, remaining in her seat for a moment with her eyes closed. She took a deep breath.
How could she go on living here, in the house they had chosen and inhabited together? How could she drive to work in this car every morning? And how could she go on being a part of the Fitzpatrick family, if, in reality, she wasn’t? She understood Heath insofar as she knew he was grieving, for she was doing the same. That was the reason she wanted to be there for him, but he had pushed her away and hurt her deeply. The mere thought of him and other women …
The awful feeling in her stomach grew, so she struggled to ban such images from her head. The thought of him sleeping with, kissing, or even touching other women made her so mad she couldn’t bear it. But the irrefutable fact that remained was: Not only had she lost her fiancé, but also her oldest and best friend.
As she got out of her car in slow motion, the hollow question of how on earth she was supposed to go on echoed in her head. Normally, she was no mope, but she had been beside herself with worry and doubt for weeks now. It was difficult to even pull herself together enough to get done what was necessary. Even though her job kept her from too much brooding during the day, that changed as soon as she left the school building and the noise of the kids died away.
Speaking of noise … As she walked up the three steps to her front porch, she was greeted by her stereo—Heath’s stereo—turned up so high that she was afraid the police would be on her doorstep any minute. Though that wasn’t really a problem, given that two of the Fitzpatrick men were police officers, but she could really do without the added trouble of annoyed neighbors.
As she entered the house, she threw her coat and purse on the couch, turned down the volume on the stereo, and received a frown from the dark-haired woman who stuck her head through the kitchen doorway. Mouth full, she complained, “Hey! I love that song!”