Chapter Three – Second Wind #2
“Well, Fallon has friends, and we both know she’d rather see you as the fire chief than Stoney.”
Like me, Fallon was only twenty-six years old, but her resort was the town’s largest employer and most prominent donor. It meant she held considerable sway with the city leaders.
We finally reached the end of the court where our family homes stood almost shoulder to shoulder.
The cement pathway from the street to my dad’s steps was cracked and buckled from the roots of an overgrown oak tree.
Clumps of dirt peeked out of grass that needed reseeding, the porch roof sagged slightly over the tapered columns, and one of the decorative shutters was hanging askew.
No sign remained of the perfectly maintained house Mom had taken so much pride in.
Next door, Beckett’s house gleamed. He’d painted it a pretty forest green that complemented the dark-brown shutters and stone foundation.
The front door was a beautiful cerulean color that highlighted the four stained-glass squares built into it.
His porch was in perfect condition, just like his yard.
He’d replaced the grass with eco-friendly plants, giving the yard an English-cottage vibe.
The difference between the two houses was heartbreaking.
“She’d hate this,” I whispered before I could take it back.
I felt Beckett scouring my face for tears, but they were all locked up.
I rarely cried over Mom anymore. I’d done enough crying the first summer she’d been gone that I’d foolishly thought it had drained me of tears forever.
But life had proven me wrong, and Beckett had had a first-row seat to those times too.
“I’m almost wrapped up with the remodel on my place. I can start helping out here,” Beckett offered.
“I’m not sure he has the money to do anything right now, but I’ll talk to him.”
I didn’t have the guts to say he might not even own the house for long.
“Whose car is that?” Beckett asked, drawing my attention to the shiny red sports car parked across the street by the Helmer’s mailbox. It was so new it didn’t even have an official license plate yet.
I shrugged. “Probably holiday renters.”
When Mrs. Helmer had passed not long after her husband, their kids had come home and cleared out anything of value before listing the house on an online vacation rental app.
Then, they’d promptly returned to the lives they’d built elsewhere.
Dad griped about the traffic on the street sometimes, but for the most part, the guests came and went without him even noticing.
I stepped backward toward the house, careful not to trip over the roots peeking through the sidewalk.
“Thanks for walking me home, Chief Fireball Romero.”
“Don’t jinx it,” he huffed before adding, “Thanks for coming out tonight. I know you didn’t want to, but it was good to see your face, my Maisey-girl. It’s been too long.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “You saw me on Wednesday at the Emporium.”
Amusement lifted his lips once more. “Passing in the fruit aisle doesn’t count.”
It had been a long time since we’d really hung out one-on-one.
But being with Beckett was always a double-edged sword—joy and pain.
The truth was, it would be better if I spent even less time with him.
Maybe then I’d actually get a date with someone who might make my dreams of a home and children come true.
I ached for a love and a permanence Beckett insisted didn’t exist.
I gulped at the cool air and forced lightness into my voice as I said, “Night, Beckett.”
“Night, Maise.”
I turned around and didn’t look back as I made my way up the porch steps, slid the key into the lock, and quietly opened the door.
Once I’d shut it behind me, I leaned against it, only to be assaulted with memories of sneaking in just like this as a kid.
Not from any rebellious teen adventures like Chelsea, but from reading books by flashlight with Beckett in his treehouse.
Surprisingly, it had been my sister who’d given me the hardest time when she’d caught me.
She’d told me she couldn’t protect me if I was stupid enough to continue to dog after Beckett.
She reminded me that I’d always be the deformed little girl next door whom he took pity on and not someone he wanted to date.
And I’d known she was right. I’d heard him say it himself after that horrible attempt at a kiss when I’d been twelve. Ever since then, he’d simply treated me as a friend. Someone he shared his secrets with, but not a woman he wanted to devour and claim.
And that was exactly what I wanted—to be devoured and claimed in a way that left no question as to whom I belonged to—so I could claim someone right back with equal ferocity.
Unfortunately, all my experiences with men had been with jerks who couldn’t be bothered to keep me.
Men who’d run just like Carter had after a failed makeout session in high school.
I pushed myself off the door and made my way through the living room, trying not to let the house's hollowness unravel me.
The neutral-colored, microfiber furniture, cream walls, and dark wood flooring were the same as they’d been before Mom had died, but the jewel-tone colors she’d splashed around the room had slowly dwindled over the years.
The only remains of our happier days were the pictures piled in the dark wood built-ins.
They showed my family stuck in a time before I’d turned fifteen, when Mom was still here.
But even those bright images had faded now.
As I made my way to the kitchen that was stuck in time like the set of a canceled ’90s sitcom, the absolute neglect I found hit me in the gut.
It wasn’t because of the chipped counters or cracked cabinets, but because of the stack of empty take-out containers and the smell coming from the sink full of dishes.
More guilt slammed into me. Dad had been home almost a week, and I hadn’t been by to see him.
If I had, I would have been able to help him keep up with some of it.
He’d never been good at cooking or cleaning, but as my therapist would gladly have reminded me, I wasn’t responsible for looking after an adult father.
It should have been the other way around.
He should have looked after his daughters when they needed him most.
Instead, after Mom’s death, he’d done what he thought he had to do, which was get behind the steering wheel of his semitruck and drive.
He’d loved us, but he’d thought providing for us monetarily was the best way to support us, when what we’d really needed was him.
Chelsea and I had been mere teenagers, left alone to keep up with Mom’s egg business, maintain the house, and hold everything together, while trying not to fall apart.
I shook my head. The alcohol and the memories my childhood home always brought back weren’t a good combination.
I’d wash up, fall into bed, check on Dad in the morning, and then head out to the ranch to train with Titan.
I’d use the fresh air and exercise to shake the haze of regrets and memories trying to stick to me like the humid air was clinging to our town.