Chapter 29 #2
“Here.” He digs out his wallet and slips a glossy business card from inside as he comes back down a few steps, holding it out to me.
“In case you lost my number.” When I only gape, he does a disgusting little smirk and adds, “For when you get over your Bob the Builder phase and need a man who sits at the grown-ups’ table. ”
It takes everything in me not to punch him in the throat.
This guy just won’t let the dream die.
I give him an icy once-over. “If anyone’s a child here, Fletcher, it’s you.” I take one step up—as close as I’m willing to get—and drop my voice low. “You selfish, entitled…”—I pause before landing on the perfect term for my ex, courtesy of my favorite wordsmith—“… shitweasel.”
Plucking the business card from his grasp, I tear it in half, then turn away to jog down the last steps. As I cross the driveway to my car, I flick the pieces from my fingertips like they’re not worth the dirt they land on when they flutter to the ground.
Twisting the gift bag’s handle between my fingers, I peer past the fire engines, unsure whether I’m allowed to just walk in. I’ve never been to a fire station before, and I’m on edge.
Of course, being on edge is a near-constant state of affairs for me lately.
My nerves feel like they’ve been raked over a bed of nails. It’s been five days since I stormed out of my father’s office. A lifetime of repressed emotions and people-pleasing finally broke me, detonating some part of my brain. I haven’t found a way back to normal yet.
Not that anything about the last month has felt normal. Between losing Miles and the stress from Grandpa’s accident, I was already a mess. Blowing up the status quo with my parents has only tightened the twisting grief gripping my chest for the last few weeks.
My indecisive loitering outside eventually summons a young woman in a thick LVFD coat and navy cargo pants, who emerges from a wall of equipment in the back corner of the fire station. “Hey! Something I can help you with?”
“Yeah, hi,” I say, stepping toward her. “Sorry for just dropping in. I wasn’t sure where to go, but I need to talk to Gus. Is he here?”
“Oh, yeah. Come on in. Shep’s upstairs. Follow me.”
“Shep?” I follow her inside, toward a narrow staircase.
“Yeah, Gus Shepherd, right?” Climbing the stairs ahead of me, she glances at me over her shoulder. “That’s who you’re looking for?”
“Yeah, uh…” I thumb the handle of the gift bag as we reach a kitchen area. “I actually didn’t know his last na—”
“Caroline! Hey!” Gus calls over from the stove. Stirring a huge, steaming pot of what smells like chili, he lifts his chin at the woman who let me in. “Thanks, Martinez.”
She nods and disappears the way we came.
Gus lowers the heat on the stove and turns to face me. “What’re you doing here?”
Great question.
I open my mouth to answer but get interrupted when a young, muscular firefighter comes up the stairs carrying a tray. I step out of his way so he can set it on the counter beside Gus. “Hey, Shep! Brought some fresh bread from my Nonna.”
“Oh, hell yes!” Gus peeks under the cloth covering the tray and takes a huge whiff. “Damn,” he sighs, “that smells good.”
“Figured we could have it with the chili,” the young guy explains.
Gus cocks a brow my way. “Nicolosi’s Nonna is a damn saint.”
The guy, who I gather is called Nicolosi, finally cuts his gaze to me and his expression shifts. “Well, who do we have here?”
“Nicolosi?” Gus gives him a long, warning glare. “Wrong tree.”
“Roger that, Shep.” With a polite nod, Nicolosi excuses himself and ducks back into the stairwell.
“So, what’s up?” Gus asks again once we’re alone. He gives the chili another stir.
“Um, well, I didn’t have your number, so I thought I’d take a chance that you’d be working.” I look around, feeling about as comfortable as a wet sock. “I won’t keep you, but I was hoping you could give this to Miles for me.”
Even saying his name seems to knock the wind out of me, but I force myself to hold up the little gift bag in explanation.
I had to do something for him. He made it to a year sober and I’m so damn proud of him. It had taken me a few days and some begging, but Ada came through for me—gem that she is.
“Uh, okay?” Gus throws a skeptical glance at the bag.
“For his sobriety anniversary?”
Realization smooths the confusion from his face. “Ah, gotcha.”
“Yeah, uh, he saw my grandpa at the hospital the other day and mentioned it was this weekend.” Awkwardly, I hold out the bag. “So if you could…”
He moves to reach for it, then pulls his hand back. “Actually, I’ll do you one better. You can give it to him yourself.”
“What? No, I—”
“We’re doing a bonfire in my backyard Saturday night.”
I drop my arm. “Oh, no, I don’t wanna intrude. We haven’t been…” I try to mask the way my throat tenses up just remembering the last time we spoke—those few heartbreaking moments in the ER. “I’m not sure he’d want me there.”
The look Gus gives me drops into duh territory. “Promise you he would.”
“You sure?”
“Listen, between you and me,” he says, “he’s had a hell of a month.
Doing a bit better lately but, let’s just say, it’d do him some good to see you again.
” Gus leans back against the counter and folds his arms over his chest, watching me with something glittering in his eyes.
Then his expression turns more serious. “Unless… Would that whole situation with your dad be a problem? Or do you think we could steal you for one night?”
“No,” I blurt out. “That’s not— I mean… that won’t be an issue.” I don’t go into details, not trusting my composure yet on the subject. Processing my father’s toxicity in therapy has been an emotional ride—and one I’d rather not get on at this moment.
“Alright, then you have to come.” Gus pauses, probably watching the cracks form in my resolve in real time. “I can double-check with Miles if it’d make you feel more comfortable.”
I bite my lip, anxiety already swirling inside me about seeing Miles again. “Um, yeah, okay? As long as he’s alright with it.”
“Nice! I’ll text you the details.” He turns to snag his phone from the counter behind him.
“Supposed to be cold this weekend, so dress warm.” He stops whatever tapping and swiping he’s doing on the screen and looks up with a smirk as he hands me his phone to get my number.
“You ever been up on Westview Crescent in December?”
I frown as I take it from him. “Don’t think so? Why?”
He sticks his tongue in his cheek, clearly trying to fight off a grin.
“Specifically in December?” I ask, confused. When I finish typing in my number, I pass the phone back to him.
He winks. “We’ll keep it as a fun surprise.”