Chapter 19
LAWSON
“Spill, bud.” Miles cracks a beer and flops onto my sofa.
“Nothing to spill, how about you?”
He tilts his head with an incredulous look. “Are you paying house calls to all your coworkers or just one fiery blonde?”
I toss a packet of nuts at his head and grab a bottle of water. I’m too tired for anything else tonight.
Miles turns on the game and we settle into the old sofa that barely holds us both. I really should buy another one. As it is, I’m going to have to move. If I stay on at Serenity, that is. It takes me far too long to commute to work every day.
“So, you been fraternizing with the enemy, Rawlins?”
That didn’t take long.
I can’t help my smile as I take a pull of water. “Nope, no fraternizing.”
“Yeah, right, you spent how many nights in a bungalow together?”
“Seven.”
“Seven nights and not a thing happened?”
“Sorry to disappoint, bud.”
He shakes his head, but his face isn’t filled with amusement as I expected, it’s etched in concern. “When was your last relationship of any kind?”
“You oughta talk, four years is insane. And you’re a firefighter, shouldn’t women be falling at your feet?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Pretty sure the hours I keep scare off any potential contenders for serious relationships. That and the fact that every shift may be my last.”
He loves to play that fucking card, real funny.
Because it’s absolutely not.
“What about another firefighter, then?”
“Yeah . . . my unit is my family, be like kissing my sister.”
I chuckle and he drops the subject, returning his gaze to the game. My phone rings and I remember Ma’s missed call. I push up from the sofa and swipe up the phone.
Gracie.
“What you doing up so late, little mama?” I answer.
“Mack is snoring beside me. Said I had to tell you the good news before I went to bed.”
“Oh yeah, what good news?”
“You’re staying with us for Thanksgiving, Laws.”
“Damn straight, little woman.”
She huffs a laugh. “Oh shoot, don’t make me laugh, now I gotta pee.”
“TMI, Gracie.”
“Never.”
“You good?”
She sighs and I imagine her running her fingers through my little brother’s hair the way she always does when they’re in close proximity. “Yeah, I’m good. How’s your new job going?”
“Pretty great actually, but there’s been a slight hitch.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, turns out one of us goes at the end of the three-month probation period. Budget constraints or something.”
“Oh, that sucks. Well, I hope they choose you. You deserve this, Laws.”
“Maybe.”
Carlie’s worked years to get where she is, being passed over for promotions time after time. I’m not sure I’m the one who deserves to stay on.
“What do you mean, maybe? Of course you do, you do an amazing job. With everything you do.”
I chuckle. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Love you, Gracie.”
“Love you, too, Laws. Night.”
I tap the phone and hang up.
“How’s she doing?” Miles asks. He’s been a Gracie fan since the day I came home and told him about her showing up in my brother’s—my family’s—life.
“She’s good.”
But it’s Rubes he would steal away from my brother given half the chance.
Lucky he’s good at putting out fires, because that girl burns him down every time she’s in town.
Which brings us to Addy. She took to Miles like a duck to water with Miles’s dad being a chef like Adds’s mom.
They swap childhood war stories that have the entire group in stitches whenever we get together.
They both had to be the foodie experiment guinea pigs, which always ended in some hilarious tale.
“How is it that you Rawlins boys pull the most amazing goddamn women? Save some for the rest of us, will you?” Miles gives me a pointed look.
“Milo, that’s like a grand total of three. Pretty sure there’s a few left.”
He holds up four fingers, mouthing the number. I toss a cushion at his head, and he harrumphs. “Could have fooled me.”
How this man is still single is beyond me. A handsome, buff, kind-hearted firefighter. Go figure.
I tap out a message to Ma, even though I know she won’t check her phone ’til tomorrow morning.
“Man, is it cool if I pass out on your sofa? I’m done.”
“Yeah, of course. Up for a run in the morning?”
“Sure, bud.”
I pad to my bedroom, unbuttoning my shirt and shrugging it from my shoulders. I should text Millie and see how Carlie is doing. But it’s late, and I don’t want to disturb her. I know Carlie will have her phone on silent. I opt for texting her instead.
How you doin’, Princess?
The message sends.
The dots appear.
Shit, I hope I didn’t wake her up.
Still breathing, Rawlins.
I smile.
Good to know.
The dots oscillate and then disappear.
They pop up again and then vanish, so I send one of my own.
Night.
Night.
I shower and pull on my boxers. When I lie in my bed, I can’t shift her soft words out of my head. “If I wasn’t sick . . .”
That’s all it takes for my brain to run with it, sending every last drop of blood south. I roll on to my side, ignoring the damn raging hard-on a few words from her lips has given me. Thinking of anything else, I shove a pillow over my face, like it will help.
An hour later, I’m still wrangling with thoughts I shouldn’t have. Carlie in only a towel in the bungalow. Her between the sheets in those silky pajamas that barely covered her gorgeous ass. The swell of her chest as she slept mere inches from me.
Sweet Jesus.
My cock throbs from studying the curves and elegant angles of her.
I roll over into the mattress, but the pressure does nothing for the ache in my cock.
“Fuck.”
I’m never going to fall asleep with a goddamn hard-on.
I tug my cock free, fisting it.
It’s her pouty lips and elegant hands I want around my cock right now, not my hand. Christ, the woman is laid up in bed, sick as hell, and here I am fucking my hand to the slightest thought of her.
I’m going straight to hell.
The sound of her soft whimper, her tiny moans when I carried her to her bed, her body pressed to mine . . .
I come all over my stomach.
Now I have something to atone for, Princess.
My feet hit the pavement. Heavier footfalls pound beside me, harsh breathing the only sound exchanged between Miles and me.
We hit the five-mile mark a little way back, and neither of us is showing any sign of slowing down.
With only a week until Thanksgiving, my head has been full of numbers for the last few weeks.
Carlie made a full recovery and is back to giving me attitude like nothing else.
I swear, now that she knows me better, she’s taking this thing between us to DEF CON 1.
We spend an ungodly number of hours in the office.
Arriving early and leaving late, trying to prep and plan for the first quarter like we’ve been tasked with saving humanity.
Perhaps we have?
The performance outcomes of quarter one decides who stays and who moves on.
Besides the fact I am desperate to make a difference, the idea of not working with Carlie annoys me more than the idea of leaving.
We’ve got under each other’s skin, but in a good way now.
It feels like something that’s a rare find in this life. Hell, maybe we really are friends.
That grinds my gears like nothing else, and I stumble to a halt on the pavement, pressing a hand into my side, walking a tight circle.
Miles turns back before slowing to a walk and meeting me at the edge of the sidewalk. “What’s going on? Talk to me, Rawlins. Or I’m calling Ruby.”
I try for a laugh, but it comes out strangled.
“Ah, shit. I knew this would happen.”
“You knew what would happen?” I look up into the brown eyes that are filled with empathy and a streak of amusement.
“You and the feisty blonde.”
“She has a name, Milo.”
I rarely call him that, because he hates it. But the guys referring to Carlie as the ‘feisty blonde’ almost makes my skin crawl.
Like she’s some stuck-up bitch with no depth.
She’s far from shallow.
She’s impossible and incredible.
She’s stunning and sassy.
She’s gor—
Oh fuck.
My face must have registered the realization, because Miles slaps my shoulder. “You’re a goner, bud.”
“Fuck off, Hammond.”
“Hey, I never said it’s a bad thing.” He grins at me.
I bend over, gripping my knees. The deep breaths flooding my lungs still burn. And he’s right. The line between love and hate is a fine one, and I just obliterated it out of existence.
“Come on, let’s grab a coffee. My treat, you poor sap.”
I shake my head at him.
“It’s all downhill from here, you know.” The joy on his face contradicts his words. Asshole.
“Your turn’s coming, Milo.”
He snaps an arm around me, pulling me into a headlock. I uppercut him, and we fall apart laughing.
Coffee. Coffee would be good.
The closest Starbucks is luckily not too busy this early in the morning, and we grab coffee and bagels. Miles heads off, making me promise to text if anything develops between Carlie and me, and I make my way home to shower and get ready for the day.
An hour later, I’m running out the door, already five minutes late.
When I reach the office, I do the rounds, saying good morning to everyone but Bob. Him, his candy trash can, and sideways deviant looks can go die in a hole.
Carlie sits at her desk, working at her laptop when I open the door to the fish tank.
She looks up and smiles as I pad to my desk. “Coming in late already, tardy Cowboy?”
“Three minutes is hardly late, Princess.”
She stills and frowns. “On time is late by default.”
“Oh yeah, and I guess you’re going to report me to HR?”
“You know that guy is useless,” she says and returns her focus to her screen.
“Hopeless, more like it,” I mutter and sit at my desk.
I’m one hundred percent sure she’s referring to me. Old wounds take ages to heal. And my being here must remind her every day of the worst day of her career. Hell, I only now just stopped thinking about it.
Nope, still think about it.
She was right when she said I was here to atone for something. I absolutely am. But her losing her job is only one of the wrongs I need to right in this world. I run through the semi-finalized plan for the next quarter and attend to my emails.
A discrepancy has been noted on the sponsorships and city funding—by Bob, of all people. Tempted to disregard his comment, I flip through the pages and come to the same conclusion.
Dammit.
I’ll need to double-check those numbers, maybe confirm with the respective departments that the figures are still correct.
I dial the city and speak to the community liaison first. She confirms the city’s budget as Serelle said. One confirmed, one to go.
Three large sponsors are responsible for half of the funds needed to run Serenity. Their generous donations of millions of dollars keep these doors open for the limited hours they are, during daylight hours.
I wonder what it would take to keep them open twenty-four seven?
I dial the first number and speak with a receptionist, who promises to put my request in writing to the finance department, who will get back to me by end of day.
Not ideal.
I dial the next company. I have my confirmation in under five minutes.
Great.
The last set of digits goes straight to an automated voice. “The number you have called is no longer connected.”
I check the number I dialed.
It’s correct.
I try again and get the same response. I google the company only to get a 404-error page. Well, that’s not good. Running a finger over my screen, I search for their sponsorship percentage.
Eighty percent.
Our biggest sponsor.
Christ.