Blaze: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Delaney Foster

  A loud buzz bounces off the walls of the lobby, and a steel door opens behind the Sam Elliott lookalike. Liam is escorted by a man I assume to be Deputy Briggman. Following closely behind them is one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s tall. His dark hair is hidden beneath a charcoal gray beanie and his chiseled jaw is covered in stubble. Not a lot. More like he thought to himself, Yeah, I could shave, but… nah, fuck it. His black T-shirt and jeans do nothing to hide the fact that he’s built like a brick house under there. Not CrossFit-junkie-thousand-pound-tire-flipping built. More like long-and-lean-with-muscles-that-ripple-as-he-carries-his-surfboard-into-the-ocean built. A Greek god, the kind poets write sonnets about and artists sculpt out of stone, the kind of gorgeous that makes every beautiful thing you’ve ever seen pale in comparison. The kind of beautiful that will blind me if I stare too long, scorch me if I get too close. He’s glaring over Briggman’s shoulder right at me.

  And he looks pissed.

  A sleeve of tattoos spills from beneath his shirt all the way down one of his arms. Anger floods his whiskey-colored eyes, and I note that the color black suits him. This man, whoever he is, is the definition of tall, dark, and dangerous. This man is someone I need to stay as far away from as possible. At least that’s what my head is shouting. My hormones are screaming, Good luck with that.

  The steel door they came through closes with a loud click, making me flinch. Deputy Briggman drags Liam by the elbow around the information area and into the lobby where I’m waiting. He glances at me then over his shoulder at the man behind the tall, green counter. “You said his mother was here.”

  The deputy nods in my direction and Briggman laughs. “You’re his mother?”

  Not technically, but I’m the only one here, so you do the math.

  The god of brick house bodies approaches our group, stopping right in front of me. The muscles in his jaw tighten and flex as he studies me from head to toe. I feel naked and vulnerable, and—as my eyes follow his gaze all the way to my feet—ridiculous.

  In my rush to leave the house, I forgot to change out of my gray and white “It’s wine o’clock” slippers. I’m wearing an oversized Metallica T-shirt and leggings. Not to mention the fact that my long brown hair looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in days. I have no business being in public like this.

  His gaze lifts to meet mine. “Is this a fucking joke?” His voice is rich like red velvet and deep like a rising storm. Smooth like polished marble in spite of his words.

  My eyes shift to Liam then back to the stranger. “Watch your language.”

  He laughs. “Your little brother almost burns down my business and you’re worried about me dropping an F-bomb in front of him?”

  Wait? Liam started a fire? That can’t be right. Liam is terrified of fire after what happened to his parents. At least I thought he was. Yet we’re standing in a police station in the middle of the night because he decided to sneak out of his room and play with matches.

  “He’s not my brother.” I turn to Liam. “A fire? Are you kidding me right now?”

  The god speaks again. “Does it look like anyone here is kidding?”

  I glare at him. “I’m not talking to you.” I exhale and look back at Liam, who looks as though he’s about to cry. Other than the day he first walked into HoH, I’ve never seen him so broken. “Liam? Answer me.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Miss M. It wasn’t my fault. I swear.”

  “If it wasn’t your fault, you wouldn’t be here. Go.” I point to a row of small black leather chairs against one of the walls. “Wait over there. I need to talk to these gentlemen for a moment.” He turns to walk away, and I focus on the Greek god and mumble, “I use the term gentlemen very loosely.”

  As soon as Liam is out of earshot, I lean in and speak softly to Deputy Briggman. “Arson? Are you serious? What’s going to happen to him now?” For the first time since I started working for Corporate Cares, I feel helpless.

  The deputy tucks his hands into the pockets of his dark green pants and narrows his eyes. “Well…” He sucks air through his teeth and rocks back on his heels. “I could issue a summons for you and the boy to show up for court in sixty days. Or I could send him to juvenile probation and let them deal with him. Or I could let him go, and the three of you could work it out amongst yourselves.” He passes a knowing glance to the man in front of me. Suddenly I feel like an outsider, like the outcome had already been discussed and decided long before I ever got here. “It all depends on how generous Mr. Abbott here is feeling.”

  Mr. Abbott. The god has a name.

  Of course, as luck would have it, the man I’ve just spent the last two minutes insulting is the one person who will decide Liam’s—and ultimately my own—fate.

  Without thinking, I grab Mr. Abbott’s arm. Mr. Abbott. I’m not calling him that. The guy can’t be much older than I am. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  His hard gaze falls to where my fingers are gripping his bicep then lifts back to meet mine. His eyes catch me off guard, a perfect mixture of cinnamon and honey. Scratch that. There is nothing sweet about them. It’s more like sunlight shining through a glass of whiskey. Warm, but dangerous. Toxic, but beautiful. I’m drunk on those eyes.

  He stares at me for a second before tilting his head to one side and arching a brow. I let my hand fall, and I take a step back. The energy from my skin touching his skin still buzzes in my fingertips. He stands taller, eating up all the space around us, filling it, consuming it.

  “I’ll be right over here if you need me,” Deputy Briggman says to Abbott. He glances at me, then Liam, then walks to join the other deputy behind the desk.

  “Where are his parents?” Abbott asks. There’s a flatness to his tone, an edge he seems to be standing on.

  I swallow hard. It’s a simple question and a fair one. I mean, in what sort of world would a kid be in this kind of trouble and his parents not even bother to show up?

  In my world, that’s where.

  When I don’t reply, he continues. “You said you aren’t his sister.” His intense stare invades my space, wrapping around me until my skin feels tight. Too tight. “You’re too young to be his mother. So, you must be the nanny.”

  “The nanny?” I almost laugh out loud. He thinks I’m the freaking nanny.

  “I get it. I do. I’ve been there, where he is.” Somehow, I doubt that’s entirely true. “And no offense but…” His eyes soften. Not much, but enough for me to breathe air back into my lungs. “You aren’t doing him any favors by being here instead of them. Trust me on that.” His voice is pained and brutal all at once. I’d almost feel bad for him if he hadn’t called me a fucking joke.

  “I’m not his nanny.”

  “Then who are you?”

  I’m still trying to figure that out.

  “Right now? I’m his only hope.” Well, other than Abbott here, but I’m not about to tell him that. Don’t ever let them see you vulnerable. It’s one of the many life lessons I have jotted down for myself in a spiral journal by my bed. I wrote that one down right after I begged my first foster parents not to put me back into the system. They looked me in the eyes and told me I did this to myself, that I asked for it. I haven’t begged for anything since.

  I take a calming breath and look the guy in the eyes. “I’m a counselor for Corporate Cares. We put orphaned and troubled kids in a family-type environment to keep them out of the foster care system. Liam is one of my boys.” I lower my voice. “Other than me and two other counselors, he has no one else. He’s a good kid. He’s just… lost.”

  He stares at me, thoughtful and intense, and I feel it from the bottom of my belly to the tips of my toes. Tingles. All over tingles.

  There’s something unspoken in his eyes, something that, even though it’s silent, holds the weight of a thousand untold stories. I’ve learned to read eyes. I’m an eye-reader. Because they tell the truth before the mouth ever moves.

  The air between us cra
ckles, tiny little tendrils of electricity reaching out and caressing my skin. Suddenly I don’t know the difference between hot and cold, up and down, left and right. I want to be angry with him for his attitude, but honestly, I can’t blame him for it. Liam started a fire. I have no idea how much damage it caused. This guy could have lost his business. Brody could lose his job. I could lose my job.

  Then what? I don’t know anyone in Charlotte. I have no family here. No friends. I’m two thousand miles from a past I would rather bury than look in the eye. I can’t go back to California. I won’t. Besides, I’m really starting to like North Carolina. After a lifetime of being lost, I feel like I can finally walk into a restaurant without being terrified of who I might see—or what kind of emotions they might churn up. I finally feel like people don’t look at me and see a lost little girl. I finally feel like I belong.

  Abbott drops his eyes to the floor as if searching for the right words. “So, you’re not the nanny.”

  I cock an eyebrow and give him a half-smile. “No.”

  He tilts his head to one side, bringing his hand to cup the back of his neck. The bottom of his shirt lifts with his arm, exposing a sliver of golden-tanned skin and the faintest trail of brown hair that disappears inside his jeans. Good. God. I force my eyes to focus on his face before I start drooling and embarrass us both.

  He heaves a sigh then looks at me. “He’s a foster kid.”

  “You don’t have to say that like it’s a contagious disease.”

  His hand falls. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…” Something crosses his face, a confusing combination of pain and… regret maybe? He doesn’t seem like the remorseful type. Then again, he doesn’t seem like any type. He just seems intense. Really intense.

  “Never mind. It’s nothing.” His voice is laced with something I can’t put my finger on, something that seems to come from deep within. Then his eyes give it away.

  Sadness.

  He’s lost in a sadness.

  He peers back at the deputies behind the information desk. “Thank you for your time, Deputy Briggman, but I think the three of us can work something out.”

  I look over his shoulder at the two deputies. They share a knowing smirk as they glance at one another. “Good to hear it,” Briggman says. Translation: Less paperwork for me. He slaps his palm against a piece of paper on the counter. “I just need both of you to sign this release and you’re good to go.”

  Abbott approaches the tall, semi-circular information counter and takes the pen from Briggman. I stand next to him and scan the document. He leans in, and the unmistakable scent of wood-fired hickory and smoke swirls around me. The fire. I glance up at him, apologetic. For what, I’m not sure. I wasn’t the one who did this, but for some reason my heart still hurts because of it. He stares back, and I drink in the chiseled outline of his jaw, the dimple on his right cheek but not on his left, and the way his plump bottom lip has this tiny crease up the middle. There’s a scar, barely visible unless you’re close, just above his left cheekbone. The intensity of his gaze is almost intimate. Inwardly, I curse myself for getting lost in it. But outwardly, I want to curl up and revel in the way it makes me feel.

  He taps the pen against his lips. I’ve never been jealous of a pen before now. “Before we sign, I have one condition.” His words jolt me back to reality. I arch a brow, encouraging him to continue. “The kid—”

  “Liam,” I interrupt. He has a name, and it’s Liam.

  He smirks. “Liam… has to help me clean up and rebuild.”

  Liam jumps out of his chair and starts to protest, but I hold up a hand and he quietly sits back down.

  I shift my gaze back to Abbott. “Done.”

  His eyes meet mine, calm and serene with a hint of untamed wildness. Suddenly, I’m desperate for the wild. I feel it, the pull, in every part of me. I’ve known this feeling before and swore I’d run from it if I ever felt it again.

  He signs his name then reaches for my hand. The second his fingers wrap around my wrist and flips my hand over, my entire body shudders, and it has nothing to do with the cold air in this room. My breath falters as he writes two words on my palm then hands me the pen. The Taproom.

  His gaze stays locked on mine as I mentally will away the goosebumps. “Have him meet me there at seven thirty tomorrow morning. Make sure he’s not late.” His voice is calm, cool, and entirely in control of this situation.

  A bar. Liam burned down a bar.

  “Thank you, Mr. Abbott,” I say after I sign the release then turn on my heel. “Liam, tell Mr. Abbott thank you.”

  “Blaze,” his voice echoes behind me. I peer back over my shoulder, and he smirks, just the tiniest hint of a sexy side-smile. “Call me Blaze, not Mr. Abbott.”

  I don’t even want to think about the irony of that or what it means, me being drawn to a man named Blaze because of a fire I didn’t start.

  “Thank you… Blaze.” I’m embarrassed at how meek I sound right now. “I’m Adrienne.”

  Blaze Abbott. I memorize it, file it away. This man is the worst kind of trouble, the kind you never really see coming. Then all of a sudden, it’s too late. You’re standing in the center of the storm, watching, waiting for the destruction that’s bound to tear you apart.

  Without another word, I take Liam’s hand and lead him to the exit, moving as fast as I can away from the intensity in Blaze’s eyes, from his hypnotizing voice, from that stare. I need to leave.

  I’m torn enough already.

  After a long fucking day of arguing with my father about his twisted idea of obligation, all I wanted was a quiet night. I needed some space to figure out how to tell him for the thousandth time I’m not taking over the family business. If it’s a puppet he wants, he has a better chance of convincing my brother Levi to leave NASCAR than of persuading me to go back home. I made my choice four years ago. I walked away. Now he’s pushing sixty and freaking out because he’s officially out of sons to run his empire.

  I’d just leaned back in my chair, ready to prop my legs up on my desk and pop open a cold one, when I looked out the window of my upstairs office to see clouds of thick, gray smoke swallowing up the sky and flames dancing in the air like fiery ribbons. Who would’ve thought there could be such beauty in destruction? I set my beer down and ran outside because I wasn’t about to sit there and watch everything I’d busted my ass for wilt away under crackling flames. That’s when I saw him, standing there with tear-filled eyes staring at the inferno threatening to destroy everything in its path, focused on shattering my dreams. A kid. A fucking kid who looked like he was a million miles away, stuck in a hell with no way out.

  I called the cops, knowing I’d probably be on a first-name basis with whichever one showed up. They run patrol and do security sweeps at my brewery, and in exchange I hook them up with a way to relax when they’re off duty. I was never going to press charges. I was fifteen once. I’ve made plenty of mistakes. I never set anything on fire, but I did drive getaway while Tommy Kosinski stole three bottles of Fireball from the neighborhood liquor store. Then the next week, I went back and hid fifty bucks in the bathroom out of guilt. Tommy doesn’t know about that or he’d kick my ass.

  I had my whole speech figured out, knew exactly what I was going to say to the kid’s parents. Then she showed up—a walking, breathing contradiction, bold but withdrawn, a fighter but she’s holding back. A double-dog-dare in black leggings and a Metallica T-shirt. And fuck me, I’m a sucker for a challenge. And this thing, this visceral reaction my body had to being in the same room with her, had me rethinking every promise I’d ever made to myself about getting attached. Jesus, how long had it been since I’d had sex? Way too fucking long.

  This is everything I don’t need right now.

  Waves of dark brown hair fell over her shoulders while the most sublime fucking lips I’ve ever seen in my life did their best to spew defiance as her eyes screamed submission. This woman is going to be the death of me. And it’s going to be like poison. Slow
, agonizing, seeping through my bloodstream until I can’t think straight.

  Fuck.

  I have insurance. I don’t need this kid to help clean up the mess he made. It’s not like the whole brewery burned down. The first fire started in a dumpster. The second fire never made it past the patio area. It’ll take some money and a little time to clean up and rebuild, but fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—time and money are two things I have plenty of. However, I know fuck all about construction. The smart thing to do would be hire someone and be done with it. Sign the release and walk away. Wish the kid my best and move along, but before I knew any better the words were spilling out of my mouth.

  And the icing on the you’re about to fuck it all up cake? Liam is a foster kid. I forced myself to blink back memories of a face that still haunts my dreams. It’s been fifteen years since I lost the best friend I ever had to foster care. It was one of the worst days of my life, and I still feel it in my bones like it was yesterday. I re-live it in my nightmares. I should’ve been there. It never would have happened if I’d have been there. His parents would still be alive, and Micah would still be my best friend. Instead, I watched some asshole in navy-blue dress pants and a black polo force him into the backseat of some sedan. Micah said goodbye with tears streaming down his cheeks while my father made bullshit promises to me about doing whatever we could to get him back. No one should have to live through what he lived through that night. No one should have to witness the things he did. Especially not a ten-year-old fucking kid.

  I glance down at the ink on my arm, at my very first tattoo. I carry my memories on my flesh like a souvenir, a constant reminder that everything in life is temporary. Friendship, hope, love… people. All a tiny blip in a great big universe. That’s why getting attached to those things is pointless. That’s why every filthy thing I’m thinking about doing to this woman stops right here, right now. I need to reel it in. I will reel it in.