Burning Up: Firefighter Contemporary Romance Series Box Set

by K. C. Crowne

  He kissed her forehead gently. “I love her already,” he said softly, stroking her cheek with his tiny hand.

  “You’re going to be an amazing brother, little man,” Finn said, helping Ollie up on his lap.

  “I’m gonna do my best,” Ollie said.

  Natalie cooed and fussed over the baby, stopping long enough to tell me, “The girls say this is the best birthday ever.”

  “Bring them by soon. I can’t wait for them to meet her.”

  “As soon as you’re ready, I will,” she said, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But for now, I think it’s time to let the four of you have some family time.”

  Family time. I had a family. A happy one too.

  All this time, I had run away, trying to build my dream life, and yet, there it was. Right in my own backyard. This is where I belonged.

  This is where Ollie belonged.

  We were finally home.

  Did you enjoy Chelsea and Finn’s love story?

  Great News! This book is part of a bestselling Firemen o f Manhattan series. You can check the full series out HERE.

  I’ve also included a sneak peek of the next story in the series, Big Bad Fireman’s Baby, on the next page.

  Big Bad Fire Daddy

  He's the sexiest firefighter and single dad alive.

  And I can't get my brother's best friend out of my mind.

  He would do anything to protect his family.

  So, when his little girl goes missing...

  He moves heaven and earth to bring her home.

  But when all is said and done, will our flame wither away...

  When I need to tell my fireman daddy that he will become a father again?

  Prologue

  Atlanta, Georgia Sally

  “Please, Sal, I have nowhere else to go,” Dee begged on my doorstep, her little girl by her side.

  As her mother begged for me to let them stay the night, little Abigail stared up at me with big, brown eyes. I knew the five-year-old wasn’t intentionally trying to manipulate me, but it was hard to turn them away knowing both of them would end up on the street if I did.

  “One more night, Dee, and I mean it,” I said, pointing a finger at the young woman’s face. Deidre Price - Dee - had come and gone a lot over the last year, and I watched her slow decline. Her bleached blonde hair was growing out with darker roots, her eyes sunken into her face more. It was hard to believe she was only in her twenties, but the streets had a way of aging you. I knew it all too well.

  “Thank you,” Dee said, reaching out to hug me with tears in her eyes.

  I resisted the hug. “I ain’t doing this for you. I’m doing it for Abby. That girl deserves better, you know.”

  “I know,” Dee said, her voice sad as she ran her hands through the girl’s chocolate brown hair.

  The little girl’s face was dirty and her hair was knotted up, and it broke my heart to see her in such shape. I’d had kids of my own, raised them through the hardest of times as a single mother - and was now a grandmother - and my kids never looked as sad and filthy as little Abby. I took the little girl’s hand and guided her back in the house, as her mother continued promising me money I knew I’d never see.

  I rented my house out room by room to get by. No retirement except the measly social security check I got each month meant I couldn’t keep up my mortgage without renting out a few rooms. People came and went, but I had a few hard and fast rules. 1) No drugs, 2) no gang activity, and 3) no prostitution. I tried to keep my home a sanctuary, a place I felt safe, but it was hard in this day and age. You never knew who you could trust, and while I knew Dee would never get the money together to pay me, she often brought little drama with her. She and her daughter usually would sleep and be gone the next morning, doing God knows what. It wouldn’t help pay the bills, but it would let me sleep better at night, knowing Abby wasn’t out on the streets.

  I didn’t know Dee’s story, except she came from New York City about six years earlier. She never told me why, and I didn’t ask. It was none of my business. The only info I had on her was a form I had her fill out with emergency contact info, friend’s names, etc. I had everyone fill it out, and it was especially important when kids were involved. Too many people left their children with me, and as much as I liked kids, I was far too old and frail to care for them, and couldn’t afford them either.

  We walked through the living room where a group of young men was sitting and watching TV, the volume louder than I cared for. I let it go. At least these men weren’t getting into trouble on the streets. With them was my grandson.

  “Zachariah Lamont, don’t sit so close to the television,” I scolded, patting my grandson on the head as I walked by.

  Zack rubbed his head as if I’d smacked him, frowning at me until he saw the playful smile on my face. It was hard to believe that boy was nineteen with his baby face. He still looked - and often acted like - the nine-year-old I was left to raise on my own when his father died. His daddy, my son, got involved with the wrong people, so I was grateful Zack was sitting in front of the television. Some nights, I had no clue where he was or what he was doing, and it drove me crazy. He was an adult, but he still lived under my roof and had to abide by my rules. But it was often hard to enforce when I had so much to do.

  He was a good kid, though, and I had to trust I’d raised him properly and he wouldn’t make the same mistakes as his daddy.

  He looked just like him too. Lord have mercy, he looked just like his daddy, and it often gave me chills how closely they resembled one another. It was like seeing my dead son’s ghost sometimes. They had the same round, baby face. The same dimple in each cheek. The same dark skin and hair only a shade darker. Both of them wore their hair in long braids - I think Zack did that to honor his father, it wasn’t just a coincidence. It made him feel closer to him.

  A pungent aroma pulled my attention to the others on the couch. One of the guys, a twenty-something friend of Zack’s, coughed.

  “Take that shit outside,” I snarled at the kid. They were all kids as far as I was concerned. “You know I don’t allow weed in this house. There are kids present.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the kid, Mike, said.

  I shook my head and stood there, hands on my hips. “I’ve raised five babies, all of them trouble. If you don’t think I can tell when you’re hiding shit from me, you’re mistaken.”

  Mike slunk out of the house, head down. I glared at Zack as the others followed Mike out. He knew what that one look meant and stayed right where he was, his attention on the television instead of his friends taking the weed outside.

  “If I ever catch you--” I started in, but Zack stopped me.

  “Don’t worry, Ma,” he said with a sweet smile. “I don’t do that shit.”

  Like I said, he was a good kid. I cursed under my breath, finally remembering that little Abby was standing nearby, watching everything I said or did. I turned to Dee.

  “You know where your room is, girl,” I said, pushing her down the long hallway. “You don’t need me to show you to it.”

  Dee walked down the hallway, to the last door on the right. It was the same room she’d slept in the night before for free. It was the smallest of the bedrooms, not even technically a full bedroom. When my kids were younger, I had to put up some fake walls between rooms to make my house have more bedrooms than it did. Dee and Abby had a small space with a twin sized bed, which used to belong to my son Darrell - Zack’s daddy - when he was a little boy. The walls were still painted blue, and glow in the dark stars were stuck to the ceiling. I never bothered to remove them. Zack’s room was on the other side of the half wall. When possible, I tried to keep this room open, to give my grandson his privacy, but bills had to be paid, and sometimes it wasn’t an option.

  Dee sat her purse down on the bed, then collapsed on the bed with her face in her hands. “Sally, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Thank me by getting yourself a job and giving your baby a better
life,” I said sternly, my lips pursed.

  Abby was a sweet girl, always so well-behaved and quiet. She sat down by her mother, her eyes filled with sadness. She might not know the full details of what was happening, but she could sense her mother’s stress and sadness and it weighed on her more than it should. No child should ever have to go through that.

  If it were anyone else, I might have called CPS, but I knew Dee was trying. I also knew the system often fucked over children as often as they helped them. Dee wasn’t perfect, but I knew she’d been clean for a few months now and was trying to get back on her feet. As long as a person was trying, I was willing to help them as best I could.

  “You hungry?” I asked Abby.

  Abby shook her head.

  “When’s the last time you fed that child?” I asked Dee.

  “Someone gave us some food earlier,” Dee said, biting her lip. She hugged her arms around herself as if she were cold, but it was the middle of summer in Atlanta and the air conditioning in my house was shit, so I knew she wasn’t chilly. “She had some McDonald’s.”

  “Good,” I said. Not the best food out there, but at least the little girl ate. Her mama often begged on the streets, and people took pity on a woman with a child. Dee was lucky in that regard. She was also lucky nothing had happened to her. Being a pretty young thing, she could have been lured into prostitution or just raped and killed, but somehow, Dee always survived and kept her daughter safe. I lowered my voice, “I don’t have much in the way of food, but I have some bananas in the kitchen. Make sure you feed her and yourself before you leave in the morning. Don’t let the others know. I can’t make it a habit of giving away what little I have.”

  “Thank you, Sally,” Dee said, lifting her face and smiling at me. There were tears in her blue eyes as she spoke. “One day, I promise to repay you. When I get my shit together.”

  “Seeing you on your own two feet one day will be payment enough,” I said, yawning. It was getting late, well past my bedtime. “Now get some rest. That child should be asleep. Doesn’t she have school?”

  “Not until the fall,” Dee said, stroking her little girl’s head. “She just turned five.”

  “Isn’t there preschool or something for her?”

  Dee shrugged and stared at me with a clueless look. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  It was hard being a single mom, I knew all too well. But she seemed to be lost. I had my mama to help me, and I had a college degree - early childhood education - that meant I understood the system a little better than most. Perhaps it was high time I helped Dee out. She usually refused my help, but it was no longer just about her. Her little girl needed an advocate, someone who could stand up for her. I knew that Dee had a good heart, she loved her daughter, but she just didn’t know how to be the best mother.

  My kids were all grown up, and I was too old to take on anyone else. I could barely survive on my own. But my heart spoke to me and told me to help this young woman and her child, and as I went to bed, I decided I’d do everything I could to help Abby have a better life.

  Even if I couldn’t do much.

  Ooo000ooo

  I’d only been asleep for about an hour when I was woken up by a child crying. No, not just crying - screaming. There was only one child in the entire house, and I knew it had to be Abby. I waited for Dee to step up, thinking the child just had a bad dream or something. I stared at the ceiling, fearing that the kid’s screams would wake up the entire house. There’d be complaints in the morning.

  When it didn’t stop, I sat up in bed. There was another sound. A pounding. I listened, trying to make it out. Someone was pounding on a door at the end of the hallway. More screams - “Mommy!” - and I realized they were also coming from the hallway.

  Now, our rooms have locks from the inside, so I assumed the little one just went to the bathroom on her own and got locked out. I waited for her mom to wake up, but after a few minutes, there was a pounding on my wall.

  “Sally, can you shut that kid up? Some of us are trying to sleep here!” It was Christopher, one of my regular renters, and unlike many of the others, he had a steady job and had to be up early the next day.

  “I’m on it,” I muttered, climbing out of my bed.

  The screaming continued.“Mommy! Please, Mommy! I’m scared!”

  The screams broke my heart. Little Abby sounded terrified. Why on Earth was her mama not answering the door? I didn’t want to think the worst - that Dee fell back into her pill addiction and was too out of it to even realize her daughter was screaming for her. When I saw her earlier, she was fine. She was clean and sober. I knew a lot could happen in an hour when it came to addicts, but I wanted to believe Dee was still clean. I grabbed the keys from my dresser before heading for the door. My old body ached and complained; it didn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night.

  I opened the door and found Abby at the doorway, her little fists pounding away at it. She looked up at me, startled, tears running down her cheeks, leaving trails of pale skin as the dirt washed away.

  “Abby, sweetie, quiet down,” I said, hobbling down the hall. My hip screamed at me for getting out of bed so quickly. I hadn’t grabbed my glasses, so most of the hallway was a blur as I reached the doorway. I fumbled with the keys, trying to find the right one. Abby calmed down a bit, her screams turning to soft sobs and hiccups as I tried one key, then another.

  “Dammit, Dee,” I cursed under my breath. I’d done her a favor, and she repaid me by letting her child scream outside her door at two in the morning.

  Finally, I found the correct key and it slid into the keyhole. As the door opened, my blurry, cataract eyes couldn’t be sure what I saw before me. I squinted but reflexively held Abby back. The hair stood up on my arms and the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right, I knew it.

  Dee was in bed, not moving. Something about her stillness felt off to me, and I told Abby, “Wait here, let me check on your mama.” I closed the door behind me so the child would stay in the hallway. I could hear her sobs through the door.

  Slowly, I walked over to the bed. Dee was laying there in her bra and panties, her pale skin standing out against the black undergarments. Bruises lined her body, her chest, and her neck - bruises that weren’t there before. A lump formed in my throat.

  “Dee?” I said, nudging her arm. It was heavy and lifeless.

  Her pale face stared up at the ceiling, and I realized that her eyes were open. Open and staring at nothing in particular. Her chest wasn’t rising or falling. I didn’t have to be a doctor to know that she was gone.

  “Oh Dee,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. I wanted to scream, but I managed to hold it together. This wasn’t the first time I’d found someone dead in this room, but God willing, I hoped it would be the last.

  And just like when I found my son dead, there was a child in the hallway. A child that had no idea how their life would change. I’d taken in Zack all those years ago, but I couldn’t do it again. No, I couldn’t take care of sweet Abby.

  I cried for the woman, my heart breaking at another young life lost - a life so full of potential. I knew what I had to do, too, since it appeared her death wasn’t accidental. I had to hurry, to keep everyone else safe in the house, including Abby. And I had to call the cops.

  I went back to the hallway, closing the door behind me. Abby stared up at me with such big, wide, hopeful eyes. I couldn’t be the one to tell her about her mother, I just couldn’t.

  “I want my mommy,” she said, wiping at her tear-stained face.

  “I know, baby,” I said, dropping to my knees, though they creaked and I feared I wouldn’t be able to get up. Wrapping my arms around the little girl, I stifled my own tears. “I know.”

  Hannah

  A Few Weeks Earlier - New York City

  Fig had to be the cutest little cafe in all of Manhattan. It was my first time there, as the place had just opened about a month prior, but I was instantly blown away by the adorable d
ecor. My best friend, Melody, and my brother, Logan, were already seated on the patio when I arrived.

  As I approached their table, I couldn’t help but smile. They hadn’t seen me yet, lost in their own little world. Melody’s belly was growing larger by the day, and it was hard to believe she was only four months pregnant. She was a small girl, however, so any weight gain was obvious on her slight frame. Her jet black hair was pulled back into a side bun, loose tendrils falling around her face. It was easy to see why my brother was smitten with her, but maybe I’m biased because she was my best friend. The two of them held hands, Melody’s giant rock glistening in the sunshine as they laughed over a private joke, probably something I wouldn’t understand even if I had heard it.

  “I’m sorry I’m a little late,” I said, hustling to the table. Melody stood and we hugged tightly.

  “Let me guess, Elizabeth had you running some crazy task again?” Melody chuckled.

  Elizabeth Brownstone was my boss and one of the richest women in all of New York. A self-made billionaire and fashion guru, she ran her own empire from the comfort of her penthouse, and I was lucky enough to be her assistant/intern/go-to girl for pretty much anything and everything she needed. I’d taken the job because I wanted to learn from the best, but most of the time, I was on coffee runs instead of actually learning anything about running a successful business. One day, I told myself. One day I’d work hard enough to actually sit in on the meetings with the board or work on something useful. Three years had passed, however, and I was still her little errand girl - something everyone teased me about. It stung every time someone cracked a joke about it.

  I laughed and waved it off. Melody never meant anything by it.

  “Yeah, but I’d rather not talk about work. I’d rather talk about your wedding instead,” I said, smiling brightly. My brother stood beside Melody and we embraced quickly.