Cyrus
Chapter thirty-five
Closed for Construction
The late-afternoon sun beats down on the cracked driveway, baking us where we stand as we sort through boxes of crepe paper and paint Jonah and Amos dropped off early this morning.
We’ve spent all day hammering away at this float, and creating something out of nothing turns out to be a hell of a lot harder than I thought.
Makes sense now why the cops and firefighters always teamed up for this thing in years past. It’s too much work for one crew alone.
My truck sits in the station parking lot, the deep blue paint gleaming from this morning’s wash and currently dusted in enough glitter to look like it lost a fight with a Vegas showgirl.
“Alright,” I call, crossing my arms over my chest and raising my voice over the crowd with mock authority.
“Rules are simple. Nobody touches the sirens, nobody drives the truck, and nobody,” my glare lands squarely on Amos and Jonah, “uses duct tape for decorations. We are not trashing the damn paint job.”
Amos grins, already waving a roll of bright orange tape in the air. “Relax, Chief. I’ve got a vision.” Fallon shakes her head, a strand of copper hair sticking to her cheek as she wrestles with a bundle of pool noodles.
“Amos, either you’ve got the director’s cut, or I’ve got the blooper reel, because our visions are not matching up.”
Billy giggles from her perch on the step stool, “I can’t wait to be in jail!”
“The kid gets it,” Amos says proudly.
My stomach drops thinking that one day my daughter could wind up behind bars. Does being a parent and all the what-ifs ever get better? No wonder I’m graying prematurely.
Jonah kneels by the truck bed, spreading a white sheet out flat. “We should anchor this—without duct tape—so we can paint on it, maybe jailhouse rock or smooth criminals.” He looks Jules’ way; she ignores him.
Passing over the anchors. She smiles, “What would you know about being smooth?”
Liam, who had been circling the truck screaming he’s Sonic the Hedgehog most of the day, finally stops. “Where do I get to sit again?”
I crouch down beside him, my ball cap he stole earlier shadowing his eyes. “Wherever you want, buddy. Remember, it’s not about who’s got the best seat. It’s about making it together.”
“Even if it’s ugly?” Liam presses.
Fallon chokes down a laugh, reassuring Liam. “Especially if it’s ugly.”
The group erupts into laughter, and soon everyone is moving around one another to create a perfect float.
Amos balances on the bumper, arranging the pool noodles into the shape of a jail cell; Jonah hammers a makeshift frame for signs; and Jules sits cross-legged in the grass, painting cardboard wanted posters of the kids.
Billy hops down from her stool and tugs at Liam’s sleeve. “Come on, help me with the banner.”
Together they sprawl across the pavement, paintbrushes in hand, arguing over whether the letters should be red or blue. By the time Fallon checks on them, Liam’s cheek carries a smear of paint, Billy’s hands are covered, and the word ‘Wanted’ is scribbled across it.
“Perfect,” Fallon tells them, her voice soft with pride. God, this woman is perfect.
I tighten the last bolt on the float railing, but my mind isn’t on streamers or wiring. It’s stuck on a thirty-second clip I watched more times than I’ll ever admit. Fallon’s copper hair filling the screen, her voice quieter than usual when she confessed she still had feelings for me.
Across the float, she glances up and catches me staring. Color blooms across her cheeks, spilling over the dusting of freckles on her nose.
The same blush. The same tell.
And suddenly that video doesn’t feel viral anymore. It feels private. Like something I was never supposed to see. I wish she’d told me instead of the whole damn internet. Maybe that’s on me.
I’ve never bothered with social media before. Never cared enough to make an account. But curiosity got the better of me, so I used the department page to poke around, and the first thing I found was one of Billy Blue’s color-line videos.
At first glance, it looked harmless. Behind-the-scenes salon chaos.
Jules danced around like she’d inhaled too much hairspray while Fallon worked with her back to the camera.
Didn’t matter. The second Fallon appeared on-screen, she was the only thing I saw.
I never meant to hit the damn ‘like’ button.
Panic punched me square in the chest the second I realized what I’d done. Then, as if the universe wanted front-row seats to my humiliation, Billy Blue’s Salon followed the department page back. Caught red-handed stalking my ex’s business account like some lovesick idiot.
But embarrassment took a backseat the second Fallon admitted those feelings never left. Mine never did either.
Shame still heats my face when I think about the fact that she trusted strangers online with the truth before she trusted me with it. I don’t blame her for that. I gave her reasons not to.
Still, I plan on changing it.
By the time dusk settles over the station, the truck barely resembles a police vehicle anymore.
Streamers ripple from the roof rack in the evening breeze.
Oversized wanted posters of the kids cover both sides, and a painted jailhouse—now framed and secured in the bed—sits proudly in the back.
A giant WANTED banner stretches across the front bumper.
Leaning against the cooling hood, I drag the bottom of my shirt across my face, sweat darkening the fabric as I take in the chaos with reluctant satisfaction.
Damn thing actually looks good.
Amos flicks on the lights with no siren. All of us are slightly overstimulated from today’s hustle. “Well, Chief, what do you think? Not bad for a bunch of amateurs, and if you’ll notice, no duct tape.”
A slow grin tugs at my mouth. “These are the results of a great team effort.” My features relax as I take in Fallon. Before shifting to Liam and Billy, who are now chasing fireflies around the truck.
“Team effort,” Fallon echoes, brushing her paint-streaked fingers over my arm as she passes me to stand with Jules. “Messy, exuberant, a bit chaotic, but it works.”
Jonah’s hand smacks the truck door, the metal rattling under his palm. He grins at me. “Sounds like us.”
We erupt into easy laughter, and the tension inside me finally eases. Is that optimism on the horizon? I’m not sure. One thing is clear: when this float inches down Main Street, I want the world to know who Fallon is riding with.
Me.