Up In Flames (Bring The Heat #4)

Chapter 1

Knox

“Knox, did you hear me?” my fire captain yells. If the volume of her voice hadn’t made me turn my head, her tone certainly would have.

“Uh, no. Sorry, Steph. What’d you say?” I ask, pulling off my boots. We’ve just finished getting the truck cleaned up after our third call of the night. Thankfully, it was a medical assistance call this time and not a fire, because I’m a little out of it.

Clearly.

“I said, take your tired ass home. I’m pulling you from the schedule for the next six weeks. You need to take some time off.”

“Six weeks?” I say indignantly. “I’m fine.”

That’s a lie, and we both know it.

Stephanie places a hand on my forearm. “You’re not fine, Knox.

You’re here too much, and you never sleep.

You’re growing increasingly distracted and you’re going to get yourself, or one of my other guys, killed.

So, as much as I love having you here, I’m kicking you out for mandatory R&R. Effective immediately.”

“Did I just get fired from a volunteer position?” I ask, trying to crack a joke. Steph doesn’t even give me a pity grin.

“Go home, Knox.”

Home.

It used to be a place I loved more than anything. Hell, I built it myself, board by board and brick by brick. It’s exactly the way Karen wanted it, and it still wasn’t enough to make her stay.

I grab my shit out of my locker, say goodbye to the squad, and head for my truck. It’s not even six p.m. yet, so I text Jake, Hudson, and Phoenix, asking if anyone’s available to hang out. Because fuck going home to an empty house again.

Their responses don’t shock me, and Hudson doesn’t even text back at all.

Jake

Can’t tonight. Taking Dyl out on a date.

Phoenix

Walker and I are heading out of town for the weekend.

Knoxy, GO GET LAID.

Jake

He doesn’t do one-night stands, Phoe. That’s not his style.

Phoenix

Well maybe that’s his problem. His style sucks.

He needs to change it up.

Remember how to let loose.

Have a little fun and spontaneity.

It’s like they’ve completely forgotten I’m on this text stream with them.

Jake

I don’t think it’s that easy to change who you are as a person.

Phoenix

I’m not telling him to change who he IS. I’m telling him to change what he’s DOING. Try something different. What can one night hurt?

Hell, at least he might come, and it won’t be by his own hand for once.

The conversation dies after that because there really isn’t anything for me to say. I thrive on routine. I like knowing what comes next, but I suppose that does make my life slightly predictable.

Maybe Phoe’s right, and I need to change things up for a night.

The only problem is I really have no idea what that would even look like.

I think about that text conversation the entire drive home from the fire station. I think about how my friends are all happily paired off, leaving me on my own once again.

When I finally make it home and step into the shower, I try to imagine spending every night for the next six weeks exactly like this one: alone and adrift with no bearings or anchor.

And then I think about life once I return to the fire station after my mandatory rest period, and honestly, I can’t say it looks a whole lot better.

In the last five years since my divorce, I’ve been in survival mode. Filling my time with my friends, my contracting business, and the fire station to distract myself from debilitating grief and loneliness.

But now, my friends all have partners, my business can basically run itself, and I just got banned from the only other thing in my life with meaning. It’s times of anxiety like this that I used to find myself loading Karen and our shit up in the truck and heading for the coast.

My place of solace.

There was freedom in how powerless the vast expanse of the ocean made me feel.

As a business owner, I’m responsible for every decision that gets made during the day, and the ocean never allowed me to decide a single thing.

I could sit in the sand and watch the incessant ebb and flow of the tide and find comfort in knowing no matter what I did, the ocean’s cycle would continue long after I was gone.

Some probably think that’s morbid, but to me, it was peace.

Right until Karen walked out and took every ounce of my peace with her. I sold the beach house to Hudson and Shannon last year, and I’ve taken my anger and bitterness out on the one thing that was always able to center me. No more trips to the coast for me.

By the time I get out of the shower, I’m so tired of wallowing that I’ve made up my mind.

I’m doing it.

I’m trying something new.

Phoenix said one night.

I can do something different, be someone different, for one night.

I slip on a pair of jeans and choose a shirt that’s just a little too tight. I work my ass off trying to maintain my physique after forty, and I’m proud of it, but showing it off isn’t my normal M.O.

The tight material strangles my biceps, and I’m immediately uncomfortable, but I leave it in place, figuring my discomfort is sort of what tonight’s all about.

I’ve been out of the game so long, I’m not even sure what the game is anymore, and I definitely don’t know where to start.

A quick search on my phone tells me there’s an upscale karaoke bar on the north side of town.

Normally, I’d never choose a place like this, which means it’s perfect for tonight.

Do I honestly think I’ll go through with a casual hookup? Probably not. But a hint of desire or attraction and some nice conversation would do wonders for my mental state.

I arrive at the bar twenty-five minutes later, throw my truck in park, and make a pact with myself. Three hours. Three drinks. And if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll start a conversation.

Pulling the door open, I scan my surroundings. It’s a nice place, though the crowd is younger than I’m used to. Immediately, I wish Jake, Phoe, or Hud were with me.

There’s a mix of high-top and low-top tables. A platform is set up in the corner, and a guy is onstage singing a song I don’t recognize. A low hum of chatter permeates the air, and the microphone’s volume is at a comfortable level for conversation.

I snort. That last thought makes me sound so old.

Do women my age even come to places like this to meet people? Hell if I know.

The first, and only, date I’ve been on since my divorce—which Jake set up for me through some app—was a disaster.

The woman was offended when I offered to pick her up, telling me she was capable of driving herself.

Then she fussed at me again for opening her door.

And thinking I’d learned my lesson, I’d told the waitress Miss Independent and I would split the bill, but that, too, was the wrong move.

My date got up and stormed out of the restaurant like I was the most inconsiderate asshole on the planet.

I was so embarrassed that I gave dating up altogether after that.

I value traditional roles and manners and chivalry and shit, but apparently, that’s all as dead as my sex life.

Pushing the terrible memory of that date to the side, I make my way to the bar and order a beer, taking a seat on one of the open barstools.

Not wanting to crowd anyone, I sit toward the far end and look around for a bit, but I feel creepy when I make eye contact with too many people, and finally, I pull out my phone.

It probably makes me look unapproachable, but hey, I’m trying.

I’m almost done with my first beer when a woman slides onto the barstool next to me and orders a lemon drop martini. My gaze rises slowly, trying not to be obvious.

The woman’s objectively pretty. Maybe mid-to-late thirties. Light blonde hair, artfully curled around her shoulders. Her profile is attractive, her makeup isn’t overdone, and she isn’t trying too hard. I like that.

But something keeps me from making the first move.

She gives me a sidelong glance before fully turning her attention toward me.

“Flying solo tonight?” she asks with a sweet smile.

Here’s my chance. Don’t fuck this up, I tell myself. There’s no spark or thrum of desire yet, but I made a pact and I’m a man of my word. So, I jump into the conversation because it’s a golden opportunity.

I smile and aim for flirty and to the point. “I fly solo every night.”

“Same,” she says, undeterred by my awkwardness…and fuck am I awkward. “Unless my girlfriends drag me out. The dating scene is so overwhelming.”

“I know what you mean,” I agree.

She reaches her hand out for me to shake. “Lauren,” she says, introducing herself.

“Knox,” I reply, wishing I had more to offer.

“What brings you out tonight, Knox?” The bartender places Lauren’s martini on the bar top. She reaches for it and takes a sip, waiting on my answer.

Opting for honesty, I tell her, “Just thought I could use a change, I guess.”

“And is it working for you?”

This is the part where I should say something cheeky, like Maverick in Top Gun. ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow, but it’s looking good so far.’ However, the lack of desire to see this through is concerning, and I find myself deferring to a shrug.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure what I came here looking for.”

“I get that.” Lauren holds up her drink. “To figuring out what the hell we’re doing here.”

I clink my beer against her martini glass and feel myself slipping back into my normal, brooding demeanor.

I’ve watched my group of friends all get hearts in their eyes and have an intense physical desire to be near their significant others. And while I’m not in this bar looking for that necessarily, a flicker of desire would really help let me know I’m not broken beyond repair.

But despite Lauren’s attractiveness, and seeming like a genuinely kind human being, there’s nothing on my end.

No spark.

No desire.

No thrill of the potential release I might find. And, most concerning of all, no motivation to push this thing forward in an effort to satisfy my touch-starved body.

I’m about to ask her what she does for a living and begin the daunting task of mindless small talk when a young girl climbs the stairs to the stage.

I can’t really see from my spot at the bar, but I groan inwardly as a pop song begins to play.

I need to adjust my mindset before I render this whole outing useless. There’s a beautiful woman to my right, a decent beer in front of me, and kids onstage having a good time, singing their hearts out.

Come on, Knox. Live a little. Get into it.

I angle my body toward Lauren and lean in so she can hear me over the music. “Are you from this area?”

Kill me now.