42. Chapter 42
forty-two
We ride to the fire station in deafening silence, both of us torn between what we lived through and what just happened at the school. Finally, Tanner mutters, “Tessa works for me.”
I cut my eyes at him. “I know.”
“They evacuated her and her family. She was just worried about us. That’s all.
” He drags a sooty hand down his face, smearing more black all over it.
Any other time, I’d laugh. If he could see himself.
But the chuckle dies in my throat, swallowed by the knot forming there for him. Fuck, I know how he feels.
“She’s not… she’s not into me like that. She’s just scared. She hugged me because she was relieved. I didn’t even see her coming.”
“I know.” It’s all I can give him.
The optics suck to hell.
A beat. He stares out his window, working his jaw—then knocks the back of his head against the headrest, frustrated and exhausted.
“I didn’t hug her back. You saw. I didn’t want her touching me. But Mercy saw it.” His voice breaks. “She thinks I’m just out there chasing tail. And yeah—I have, in the past. But I’d never do that to her.” He swallows hard, breath hitching. “But if she can’t trust me… we’ve got nowhere to go.”
I can’t answer that, and I haven’t had time to tell him, “Darla didn’t show today. Chad couldn’t get in. The hardware’s been closed all day. We lost a day of revenue.”
“Fuck her.”
“I’ve got to replace her.”
“Replace all the locks, too,” Tanner says. “She’s got a key to everything.”
“I’ll change the passwords on everything, too.”
“Fuck.” He pounds his fist against the door. “When it rains it pours.”
I take my eyes off the road long enough to tell him, “More like when it burns, it burns. Darla’s burning down her world and ours—and you and Mercy are doing the same, right along with this fucking fire.
” I remember. “Mercy said she could keep books. We can let Chad open up and run the checkout. Hire another stocker.”
“She won’t do it now.” His voice is lifeless.
“I’ll ask.”
Tanner huffs out a humorless laugh. “Get ready to hear ‘no.’”
Pulling up to the fire station, the sweetest words anyone could hear crackle over the radio, “Dispatch to all units. Fire is contained. Hot spots remain. Continue mop-up.”
Then Chief comes over. “First shift crew, you’re released from duty. Good job. Get some rest.”
“Thank fuck.” Tanner climbs out without another word, shoulders slumped, boots dragging through the gravel like he’s carrying a hundred pounds of regret. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t wave. Just trudges across the lot toward his truck like a man who’s lost the only thing that ever steadied him.
He gets in but doesn’t start it. Just sits there, hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead.
And something in my chest goes tight.
Because that’s what it looks like when a man loses the woman he loves.
Not yelling. Not throwing things. Just… going quiet. Empty as a fucking hull.
I sit there watching him, my chest hurting for my brother, when the thought slams into me like a freight train. That could be me.
Hell, that was me.
Laurel can still walk away. That could be my truck I can’t bring myself to start.
The wildfire’s out. But the damage isn’t. Not for Tanner.
And maybe not for me, either.
Shit. Enough self-indulgence. I put the truck in gear and head for the hardware store.
I know how to change locks. I don’t know where to send her last check.
Mission accomplished. I’m just hoping our customers remember Tanner and I are both volunteer firefighters. Maybe they’ll assume that’s why we didn’t open today.
I’m running on fumes as I get the last lock switched out.
Software passwords next. I head to the office.
Imagine my shock when I log in—to find I’m locked out. My password’s no good.
Determined, I keep trying it again and again, thinking I’ve mistyped it.
She changed the passwords on everything.
“Fuck!” I roar. “Shit!”
I call the company, explaining, “I’m Calder Boone with B & B Hardware in Ladera, Texas. A former employee has changed our pass—”
“I’m sorry,” the rep says. “I’ll need verification. We received the exact same request earlier.”
Of course they did. Darla got here first.
“Fine. Ask.”
“We’ve already confirmed the EIN and bank account with the earlier caller,” she says carefully. “So, we’ll need a different form of verification. Do you have a photo ID? We can do a live video check.”
I close my eyes. Christ. I’m covered in soot, sweat, and half a day’s worth of smoke. But I pull out my wallet anyway.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
She sends a link. I click it. My own face pops up on the screen—Jesus, someone should’ve been laughing at me. Face streaked black, eyes bloodshot, looking like I crawled out of the fire line.
“Mr. Boone?” the woman asks.
“That’s me.” I hold up my driver’s license.
A pause.
Then, “Thank you. You’re verified. I’ll reset the passwords and remove the other user’s access.”
My shoulders ease as relief rolls over me. “Do it. And until further notice, don’t allow anymore changes to this account without seeing my face and ID in this screen.”
Takes me ten minutes to find out that she didn’t steal anything.
She’s smarter than that.
Didn’t fuck with the website. It was just her parting, ‘fuck you.’
I’ll send her final paycheck to the address I have on file.
A text pings on my phone. A smile spreads across my face seeing the name.
Laurel.
Then my fucking gut twists seeing Laurel’s message: Grant is here.
What. The. Fuck.
When it rains, it pours. When it burns, it burns.
One last call to Chad, telling him I’ll meet him in the morning to open shop.
Then I head to the house. Poor horses have been stuck in the barn all day.
After feeding and freeing them to run in the pasture, after taking the longest shower in history, I crawl into bed with an empty stomach, every muscle in me aching but still tight.
Grant is here.
The fucker’s going to beg.
Will she listen? Will he play on her guilt about Bowie?
What the fuck am I going to do?
Sleep doesn’t come easy. My mind keeps running the same damn circles—him showing up, Laurel opening that door, the look on her face when she sees him.
The look on her face when she sees me.
Her back, walking away.
I try to fight it. Try to think my way out of it. But there’s nothing to fight. Nothing to fix. Nothing I can muscle through.
She knows who I am. She knows what we can have. What we do have.
I’m powerless here. From here on out, it’s up to her.
That thought settles in my chest like a stone—heavy, but solid.
True. Nothing more I can do.
And with that truth holding me down, sleep finally drags me under.