by Nikki Ash
While I’m still conscious, I get up to clean us both up. She murmurs as I wipe away the remnants between her legs and get back into bed. As though we’ve been doing it for years, she settles back with her ass against my hips and once again the scent of her shampoo lulls me back to a dreamless sleep.
In the morning, I reach for her, but she’s gone.
Chapter Six
Avery
My hands go to his biceps to hold on the moment his lips touch mine. The world spins away. I forgot what it’s like to feel wanted by him. So many things happened in the months since I've seen him it’s easy to push away the memories. The only thing I haven’t been able to push away is when he stars in my dreams at night.
Now there's no forgetting the pressure of his lips. There's no washing away his addictive taste. His kiss burns away all my good reason and common sense. If I wasn’t hyper aware of every way he invades my senses, I would have said his kiss is another fevered dream.
When his tongue brushes mine it's like I've been stung all over. Nerves that had gone dormant buzz to life like the yellow jackets swarming around us. I make a needy noise in the back of my throat and it's that sound that brings me crashing back to rationality.
My hands are twin vices on his biceps, and I force myself to relax my grip, although very reluctantly. The heat we're generating between us rivals that of the steamy afternoon air. It's a good thing I won't have any hot water when we get home because a cold shower is exactly what I'll need.
“I've been thinking about doing that since the morning I woke up and you weren't there.” His rough voice is like honey in my ears.
Hot guilt washes over me. “I'm sorry about that. My grandma was having a moment and I had to leave in a hurry. Besides, I thought it would be easier without the awkward goodbyes.”
I make a move to put some space between us, but his hands on my waist tighten, keeping me close. “Would it be creepy of me to say I've thought about you probably more than is healthy while I was gone?”
It's not creepy, but it does hit me right in the heart. I clear my throat. “It's not creepy,” I manage to say. In fact, no one has ever said anything of the kind to me before and if I weren’t so panicked to have him here in the flesh after all this time, I’d think it was kind of sweet. In the past, what few short-lived relationships I’d cultivated had crashed and burned when they realized how much time I had to devote to Grandma Rosie.
“Why don't we—”
In the distance I hear the squeal of a protesting screen door, cutting off my focus from what Walker’s saying. Then the sound of Grandma Rosie’s frail voice penetrates my thoughts. “Avery, is that you?”
Before I can say anything, Walker turns and spots Grandma Rosie on the front porch.
He twists back to me for a moment. “Is that your grandma? The one with Alzheimer’s?”
My hands grow clammy and I wipe them on my thighs. “What—what? Oh, um, yes. Grandma Rosie. But she’s okay. We didn’t have any significant damage and I stocked up before.” I’m rambling. I don’t know if he can hear the straight panic in my voice, but it sounds brittle and desperate to my ears.
“I should give your place a look before I get back to the guys. It’s the least I can do.” He gives me one last kiss on the lips and even though it’s only the barest touch I feel it down to my bones.
“No!” I nearly shout, but he’s already stalking across the street to my house. His long legs make easy work of the distance and I’m simply no match. He’s at the fence before I get halfway. The air simply evaporates from my lungs as he eats up the space between the gate and the front door where Grandma Rosie is waiting patiently, innocently. I don’t know where the baby is, probably still asleep in the bassinet, but she isn’t holding her. With my heart in my throat, I follow behind as quickly as possible.
“Good morning, ma’am, I’m Walker Bryant with the fire department. How are you doing?”
“Has there been a fire?” I hear Grandma Rosie ask.
“No, ma’am. I’m helping with the cleanup after the storm. You remember the storm from last night?”
“Storm?” Grandma Rosie's expression is guileless.
“Yes, ma'am, there was a bad hurricane last night. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I'm all right. My granddaughter Avery takes good care of me.”
Walker glances back over his shoulder at me as I climb the steps to the porch, out of breath. Both from the kiss and the short sprint across the street.
“I bet she does.”
“Do you want some sweet tea?” I wince at Grandma Rosie's ingrained hospitality. The last thing I want is for Walker to go inside.
“No, Grandma, I’m sure he’s—”
But Walker acts like he doesn’t hear me. “That would be great, ma'am, thank you.”
I nearly wince. “Are you sure you aren’t busy? Don’t you have a ton of people to check on or something?”
Walker merely grins over his shoulder as Grandma Rosie leads him inside the house. “I always have time for the company of beautiful women.”
My heart is at my feet as we move inside. Rosie busies herself making us all glasses of sweet tea. I already know I won't be able to drink any around the knot in my throat. All I can see are the baby things everywhere. A man like Walker must notice everything, so they can't go outside his observation. Once she gives him the glass of tea, Grandma Rosie smiles and goes back to watching her shows on her tablet in the recliner.
His throat works as he drinks deeply. Despite my panic, my eyes are glued to him. “Have you been working all night?” I figure distracting him will be the next best thing. Maybe if I do, he won't notice the bottles on the counter or the breast pump on the kitchen table. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I hope he thinks it's because of the heat. I don't know if it's my nerves or the lack of air conditioning, but it feels about 100 degrees inside now.
Walker finishes the glass and sets it inside the sink next to a bottle he doesn't seem to pay any mind to. “Well, I'm between contracts again and I came back to visit. When I heard about the storm, I volunteered with the fire department for their emergency response. When they saw how bad it could be, they knew they needed all the help they could get. It's a mess out there.”
“If it's anything like around here, you'll have your work cut out for you.” I hope that didn't sound as inhospitable as it does inside my head.
“You’re not wrong.” With a quick glance at Grandma Rosie, he says, “So would it be okay if I came back the next time I’m free? I’m not sure when that’ll be, but I want to see you again. I wanted to see you again after you left, but I didn’t have any way to contact you. I never did get your number.”
This is either my dreams come true, or my worst nightmare. I’m not certain which.
“Um, I’m not sure—”
Once again, I’m interrupted.
This time, by the thin, high-pitched wail of a hungry baby girl.
Chapter Seven
Walker
The first thing that comes to mind is there’s a baby at a neighbor’s. With most of the electricity out, it’s easier to hear ambient noises around even with all of the chainsaws buzzing around. Then I see Avery’s pained ghost-white expression. My brows furrow, because the dots don’t connect.
She’d never mentioned a kid before and I would have noticed if she had. Without a word, Avery turns and disappears into a bedroom and I’m left in a pile of confusion until she returns with a swaddled, squirming bundle in her hands. Throughout the paramedic arm of my training, I’ve been around enough babies to know a newborn or thereabouts when I see one and that baby isn’t more than a month or two old.
Avery doesn’t meet my eyes as she retrieves a container of milk from a cooler. She prepares the bottle in the absolute quiet save for the fussing sounds from the infant. The baby quiets as she teases its mouth with the bottle and begins to eat.
I don’t know what to think at first. My mind goes incredibly blank. After some qu
ick mental calculations, I realize either she was pregnant when we were together or…
No.
There’s no way.
She would have found a way to tell me.
I couldn’t have spent nearly an entire year as a—I nearly choke on my own spit at the thought that follows—father and not known it.
“Is that a baby?” I ask when I can finally get my voice to work again.
Avery’s eyes are still on the gurgling infant and she nods silently.
“Look at me,” I demand, my heartbeat throbbing throughout my entire body. I swear I can almost hear it pounding in my head and ears. When she doesn’t, I say, “Avery.”
Her wide eyes meet mine reluctantly and there’s fear and defiance there in equal measure. “This is Rosalynn Grace,” she says. “My daughter. Gracie.”
“When was she born?” My words come out as harsh and choppy as the ocean in the middle of a winter storm.
“A few months ago.” Her words are so faint I damn near have to read her lips to know what she’s saying.
It doesn’t take a genius to realize a few months plus nine months gestation means the baby was conceived roughly the same time we were together. The sweet tea turns sour in my stomach and the sugar now seems like a terrible idea. I want to sit down, but I’m afraid if I try to move, my locked knees will give out from underneath me, completely betraying the level of shock I’m experiencing.
“Is she mine?” I ask, the words coming out harsh and cold unintentionally. Or maybe the tone is intentional. How could she have kept a secret like this from me for so long? What if something had happened to me and I didn’t make it out of a fire alive and died not knowing I had a child out there in the world.
At my question, Avery’s eyes go back to the now sleeping baby’s face. Mine follow despite how much I try to keep from looking at them, feeling anything for them. The baby must sense some of the unease in the room, because she shifts restlessly, her sleepy eyes cracking open just long enough for me to see how identical they are to my own.
“Yes,” is all Avery says.
At her answer, I collapse into the chair at the table next to her, my thoughts racing. I have a daughter. The words repeat over and over until they have no real meaning. I have a daughter.
I’d never given much thought to children. I never had much time. If I wasn’t training or fighting fires, I was traveling back and forth to Battleboro to make sure what was left of my family didn’t splinter off and fall to ruin. There was never any room for starting a family.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand.
Her hand fiddles with the baby’s blanket and a little chubby arm breaks free of its restraints and a pudgy hand finds her fingers and holds on tight. I can’t say why the image makes my chest tighten, but it does.
“You were already gone. I tried to find you, but I barely knew you. I only found out your last name today because you told Mary and Tom.”
“You knew I was from Battleboro. It’s not a small town, but you could have asked around if you wanted to and someone would have pointed you in the right direction.”
She bites her lip and I notice how red it is, nearly raw to the touch, from her constant gnawing. “I could have tried harder,” she admits, faltering. “I take full blame for that. I was scared.”
It’s her breathless vulnerability that stops me from berating her further. Striving for calm, I say, “I’ve had a daughter for damn near a year and you couldn’t tell me because you were scared? Do I seem like that much of a jerk to you?”
Her eyes widen. “No!” Her raised voice jolts a cry out of the baby. As Avery tries to soothe her, she says, “No, of course not. I just—I could hear how much you loved what you do. I could never take that from you. I knew you’d be back eventually and each day I didn’t tell you I rationalized that maybe it was better this way if you didn’t know.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make. I had a right to know.”
Who knows what the hell I would have done with the knowledge, but now I’ll never get the chance to find out.
“You did. I know you did. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry. I was scared.”
“Of what? Of me?”
“No, of course not. Of a lot of things. She means everything to me. I thought I was doing what was best for her.” The words sound torn from her very soul and I have to fight not to reach for her, bite back the words of consolation.
My first instinct is to soothe, but anger overrides it. “Do you have a police scanner?”
She glances up, confusion written on her face. “A—what?”
“A police scanner. Do you have one?”
“Um, I think so. My grandpa used to volunteer at the fire department. He liked to listen to it sometimes and I kept it around because listening to it reminds me of him.” Her expression turns wary. “Why do you ask?”
I get to my feet, suddenly needing some space. “Because that’s how we’re communicating. You can listen to them for the most up to date information and to find out when they’re organizing distribution of resources or whatever. Where’s your phone?”
She blows out a breath, her brows still knitted with confusion. Pulling the phone out of her pocket, she says, “It doesn’t really work.”
I program my number into hers, then send myself a text from her phone so I have it stored in mine. “Texts do, but they take a little longer. If you three run into an emergency, you can shoot me a text and I’ll be here as soon as I can. Do you have access to a generator? It’s gonna get hot soon and that baby and your grandma will need cool air.”
“No, not yet, but I—”
“If you don’t have one by tomorrow, I’ll have one delivered here. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I think we’re okay. But you don’t have to go to the trouble. I planned to get one as soon as I could.”
“I’ll take care of it. Keep your phone and the police scanner nearby. I put in the numbers for the station if you need to get ahold of me and can’t get to me with my cell.”
“You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”
I shoulder my kit and head back through the house without answering. I’m not sure I can without spewing a ton of nasty thoughts and I’m not the sort to pop off without considering my words. Her footsteps follow close behind and I can feel the anxious waves of energy emanating off of her at my back.
“I’m sorry,” she says when I reach the door.
I jerk my head in answer. I have nothing else left in me to say. Nothing nice anyway.
Chapter Eight
Avery
True to his word, a generator magically appears on my porch the following day. The only note with it are instructions on how to set it up safely. Apparently several people have already been killed by having the exhaust blow into their homes and causing them to slowly asphyxiate. The generator also runs on gas so there were an additional five cans of gas lined up like neat little soldiers.
I didn’t plan to run the generator constantly, mostly through the hottest part of the afternoon because there was no telling how long the electricity would be down. From what reports I’d heard over the police scanner and the spotty connections I’d made on my phone I’d gleaned power lines were down from Mexico Beach to Tallahassee. It would take months of repairs and thousands of linemen from all over the country to repair the catastrophic damage.
You know your shit has gone sideways when the aftermath of a hurricane is easier to deal with than the wreck of your personal life.
In the long days that follow, I spend most of my time trying to get the front yard in some semblance of order. I learn through the patchwork communication grapevine that there will be debris pickups on certain days of the week if the community puts the debris on the side of the road. When I’m not taking care of Grandma Rosie or tending to the baby, I’m hauling limbs and logs to the ever-growing pile by the road. I borrow a spare chainsaw from Tom and after a quick lesson, get to work cutting down some of the mor
e manageable felled limbs. There are a few monsters I don’t know what I’ll do with, probably pay someone to remove at some point, but that’ll have to be put off until later.
It’s a lot of work, but it keeps my mind off of Walker and gives me something to do since most roads are still closed unless you’re getting food from the various distribution locations or getting gas for your generator. There’s even a curfew for our town to discourage looters. Someone had tried to open our front door a few days after the storm, but our automatic porch flood lights scared them away. It’s the only time I’ve ever wished I had a gun in the house, but thankfully I haven’t had to resort to that.
All in all, it could be so much worse. The only tree that fell on the house was an immature magnolia and it didn’t cause any structural damage. I was able to get it cut down for the most part. There’s still the base of it sticking out at an angle across the yard, but at least it’s not on the roof. The others that were blown down were in the back yard and out of the way. Most of the damage to the house was the window that was broken and some of the tin that was pulled up by the wind. Truthfully, we got lucky.
So, so lucky.
I’ve seen pictures of homes in our area that were completely wiped away. Roofs ripped completely off. Trees spearing through living rooms, through cars. That’s not to mention the homes on the coast where the hurricane made landfall. The whole community of Mexico Beach…there aren’t words to describe the devastation. My family and I have spent many summers swimming at Mexico and Panama City Beach. To many Floridians in the Panhandle, they’re as ingrained in your blood as choosing a side in the Florida / Florida State rivalry. Seeing the pictures of entire tracts of homes simply wiped away…there’s no way to explain the hole it leaves. I can’t imagine how that would feel to the people who live there. Lived there.