Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
SAVANNAH
Closing the apartment door, I drop my bag, kick off my sneakers, and toss my coat on one of the finger hooks—still opting for the bird.
Shuffling through to the kitchen, I find Nix putting the finishing touches to her dinner. Her go-to is living off snack plates she makes up from random things. Think Lunchables for adults. Maybe it’s because she’s surrounded by eight-year-olds in the classroom.
“Hey, Sav. Hungry? You’re in time for food.”
“I ate at the station, although this is a perfect life reminder that Cheetos, peanut butter, and grapes make for a great combo.” I manage a chuckle as I sit at our tiny table for two, an Ikea special that Nix customized with bright blue polka dots.
She plonks her plate down and joins me. “Tell me everything. How was day one? Was Brodie on his best behavior or were the eyebrows working flirty overtime?”
“Don’t start.”
“Okay, fine. But how was it being around him all day? Did he get on with the guys? Did you get him kitted out in uniform? Any secret trysts in the broom cupboard?”
“Enough.” I shoot her a warning look, but I’m too exhausted to actually be annoyed. And deep down, I may have had a couple of vague thoughts about secret trysts. Especially after seeing him in his glasses today.
I toy with whether or not I should share these errant thoughts with Nix.
She was amazing when I told her about the fight, and patching Brodie up, and my decision to do the feature.
Practical. Supportive. Non-judgmental over the mountains of conflict I’ve been feeling. Maybe I need another dose of the same.
“It started okay but we ended up arguing again, and before we could clear the air there was a callout.” Resting my elbows on the table, I drop my chin to my hands and close my eyes.
“Honestly, when I left I was ready to dead the whole thing for good, but being out helped. Put things into perspective and reminded me why I’m doing this.
When I got back to the station, I found him writing in the rec room looking even hotter than the Brodie Clark Kent pictures you googled last week.
I let my guard down a little. Probably would have let my guard down a whole lot more, but there was another callout.
” I open my eyes to find Nix blinking at me.
“How much hotter than the pictures?”
Of course that’s what she’s zeroed in on.
“Like, my-tummy-did-a-full-Olympic-gold-medal-winning-gymnastics-display hot. All disheveled bed head, crumpled shirt barely containing his biceps, and his gorgeous eyes tucked behind those so-cute-it-hurts glasses he’s wearing in his LinkedIn profile.”
She swoons as she dips a grape in peanut butter and pops it into her mouth. “What did letting your guard down look like? Did you launch yourself into his lap and try to rip his clothes off? For the record, if you did, I’d totally understand.”
“No. Of course not.” I flush because that’s exactly where my thoughts had taken me. Undoing my hair from its ponytail, I allow it to fall like a curtain in an effort to hide. “I maybe allowed myself to flirt a little. Challenged him to a ladder climb.”
“Ladder climb? Interesting flirting technique.”
“Shut up.”
She smirks. “Flirting’s fine. Always harmless fun.”
“You would say that. You’re the ultimate queen when it comes to flirting.”
“Did he flirt back? No, scratch that, of course he did. Look at you.” Her eyes sparkle. “So, what were you arguing about this time?”
“Too many things.” I sigh. “He’s getting some promotion if he writes this article.”
“And that’s a problem because…?”
“It doesn’t matter. Not now.”
“Okay. What else did you argue about?”
“He also found out I haven’t told the crew who Dad is and he got mad all over again. Said I should tell them.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Bold suggestion. What’s your take on that?”
I look away. Staring at tiled flooring is clearly my favorite distraction technique.
“Savannah-Jean Archer. Don’t avoid the question.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Alright. Yes, I am.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Yep. Because once again Brodie’s totally right.
You do need to be honest with your crew.
You’re meant to be able to trust each other and that trust would be broken if they thought you’d been deceiving them.
” She eats six Cheetos in quick succession and then noisily sucks her fingers clean as she continues to speak.
“Plus, if they were the sort of people to judge you for coming from money and having a father whose name graces the city’s biggest arena, then maybe they’re also not the right group of people for you to be relying on with your life. ”
I sigh. “Have you somehow climbed into Brodie’s head and accessed all his thoughts?”
“Sav, babe, he really is speaking sense about this. And you know it.” She pushes away from the table, placing her empty plate on the side. Turning to the fridge, she removes a roll of unbaked cookie dough, unwraps it, and nibbles at the end.
“When are you going to stop eating like a toddler?”
She waves the dough all feisty. “When are you going to stop lying to your dad, your crew, and, most importantly, yourself?” She must catch my deflation because she softens, sinking back into her seat and grasping my hand. “Sav, does anyone on the crew even know about your mom?”
I swallow, my stomach heavy as if I’ve ingested the rest of the cookie dough in one mouthful. “No. And they don’t need to. It’s not relevant to anything in my life now.”
“Seriously? She died in a fire. Surely it’s important someone knows.”
I shrink into myself. “Why?”
“Think of it like this. They’re your work crew and I’m your home crew. They need to know things like I do so they can be there for you. Open up with them. Tell them about your mom. Share who your dad is. Put all the past behind you so you can get on with being—”
My phone dings in my pocket and I hook it out, blinking at the message on the screen.
“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me it’s your dad.”
I turn my phone to her.
“Spooky. It’s like he knows we’re talking about him.”
“Nix, he may be super rich, but that doesn’t mean he has superpowers.” I open up his message. It’s long. I read it, and read it again. And then read it a third time for good measure, my pulse racing faster each time. “Holy crap.”
Nix snatches at the phone. “What’s going on? Is he o—” She locks eyes with me over the table. “Oh god. I totally forgot it’s coming up on fifteen years. I’m so sorry.”
“Forget it. It’s been a long time. That’s what you always say about your mom.” I grip my hands in an effort to stop my head from spinning out. “Anyway, that’s not the issue. Keep reading. There’s more.”
She returns her attention to the message, her eyes growing bigger with each passing second until she lets out a gasp. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
I swallow. “Guess that depends. What do you think it means?”
“Uh, well… that he’s hosting a sparkly charity gala in your mom’s name. And he’s going to use the event to announce the first official steps in naming you future CEO of Arch Holdings. Starting with you taking on the operations for Arch Telecoms by the end of the year?”
I manage to nod. Just. But my body feels like it’s scattered in pieces across the kitchen.
Nix sits taller, planting her hands flat on the table.
“Okay, let’s regroup and get practical here.
What’s the date today?” She glances at the calendar pinned to the wall above the table.
“Shit. Barely two weeks to the gala.” She visibly shrinks.
“Look, you obviously have to talk to him about the whole firefighting thing before then. That’s a given. ”
I give another micro-nod.
“And remember, he loves you?”
I’m certain she doesn’t mean it to sound like a question.
“And also remember that what you’re doing isn’t bad. It’s not like you’ve joined some weird cult, married a dozen men, and are living off only goat milk while birthing the future messiah. You’re a firefighting hero.” Her voice wobbles like it isn’t remotely on board with this train of thought.
“Nix, we’re talking about my dad here, remember? Not yours.” I struggle to swallow. “A man who lost the love of his life in a fire.”
She blinks. “And because of that, he’ll understand why firefighting is the career for you.”
I look away.
On so much in my life Nix is always right, but I’m not so sure about this. I can’t share that though. She’ll dig, asking why, and the only way to explain myself is by voicing the thoughts I do everything I can to avoid.
The ones where I allow myself to relive the fire that killed Mom.
And then question everything that’s changed with Dad in the years since.
Immediately after the accident, he bubble-wrapped me like I might break, but bit by bit he began distancing himself. Our relationship becoming increasingly focused on work. His work. And his plans for my career. Everything set out like some predetermined fate.
I claw at my throat, heat prickling against my skin. “Maybe there’s still time for me to give all this up. Go back to grad school. Accept my role as the future of Arch Holdings.”
Nix glares at me, narrowing her eyes and looking every inch the elementary school teacher.
“No fucking way. You’ve worked too hard and overcome too much to get to this point.
I know you’d prefer to never tell your dad about this, but you’re going to have to now.
You cross this final hurdle and you’ll be free.
” She nudges my phone across the polka dots.
“Message him back. Tell him you need to talk about something important and suggest he fly in earlier than his current plans.”
I pick up my phone like it’s infected with some kind of virus. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think, Sav, just do it. It’s not like you’re going to destroy what is otherwise a picture-perfect relationship. You’re barely speaking to him as it is.”
I look at my phone, then at Nix, and then back to my phone.
She’s right. But that’s not because of Dad; it’s because of me and the giant wedge my lies have planted between us.
“Okay. I’ll message him. Then I’m having a bath, doing yoga, and taking some Gravol to knock myself out.” I stand, my legs shaking.
She nods solemnly. “Good idea. Pampering, flexibility, and beauty sleep. The perfect trifecta for another day of harmless flirting with the Brodster tomorrow. Which, in light of all this, is more than deserved.”
I’m all out on energy so I simply roll my eyes and retreat.
Closing my bedroom door, I fall against it and reread Dad’s message.
I get that it’s been fifteen years since the fire so he wants to do something to mark the occasion. But to go this stratospheric? It’s too soon. He isn’t meant to be handing things over to me for years.
Dropping my shoulders, I force myself to focus, my fingers trembling as I type.
Hi Dad. The gala sounds great. Really special. Wondering if you can come to Vancity earlier that week for lunch? I have news I want to share in person.
I’m reading the message for at least the twentieth time when Nix yells through my closed door, “Hit send, Sav. You’ve got this.”
Honestly, her witchy mind-reading skills freak me the hell out. I allow my thumb one more second to hover over send and then press the button.
Gray ticks.
I wait for them to turn blue.
And wait some more.
Still gray.
Gripping my phone, I get the urge to push another boundary via text message.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline high from facing my biggest fear and messaging my dad.
Maybe it’s the pressure from setting the countdown clock in motion to my secrets being revealed.
Or maybe it’s because in light of all that, I’m simply not thinking straight.
Whichever it is, my fingers are moving before I have time to think any more about it.
Settings.
Blocked contacts.
I scroll through the endless list of blocked spam numbers until I find his name.
Swipe.
Unblock.
My heart stammers and my throat burns as I start a fresh message thread.
I reached out to my dad.
I have a plan for telling him.
See you tomorrow.
It’s Savannah btw.