The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  Brett is no longer on the couch. We make our way to the officers’ quarters and see him sitting at his desk. Nobody says anything; we just stand outside his doorway to show our support.

  “I didn’t think she’d go through with it,” he says, looking up at us with bloodshot eyes. “She gave me everything. Including Leo. All she wants is visitation. Other than that, she wants nothing to do with me. Us. The eight fucking years we spent together.”

  He throws the papers across his desk. “All she wants is a few personal items and her clothes. Who does that? Who walks out on their life after having a kid? How did she turn into such a selfish bitch?”

  He looks at J.D., who he’s known since before he met Amanda. “Was I blind to it, man? Was she always that way?”

  J.D. sits on Brett’s cot. “No, she wasn’t. Before Leo, she was great. And you guys were the perfect couple. Everyone wanted to be Bramanda,” he says. “Becoming a mother changes every woman. It’s just that most of them change for the better. They become more compassionate. Stronger in a way. But it seemed to break Amanda for some reason. None of this is on you, brother. And we’re all here to help. They say it takes a village to raise a child.” He motions to everyone standing behind them. “We’re your village.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I’m not sure why I’m nervous as we take the elevator up to Oliver and Sara’s apartment.

  I’m not sure if I want her to love the place or hate it.

  I’m not even sure if I want her to remember her life with him.

  I’m not sure of anything anymore.

  Except that I’m an idiot.

  Donovan is here, too. It was a requirement that he come with us in case Sara were to fall or have any other issues. And Sara still has the belt thing around her waist—also a requirement in case she gets unsteady on her feet.

  When the elevator doors open, Oliver holds them, allowing Sara to exit first. But then she turns around, not knowing which direction to go.

  “Sorry, hun,” he says, grabbing her hand and leading her down the hallway.

  I can’t help but stare at their clasped hands. It’s the first real affection I’ve seen from him, other than the occasional chaste kisses he’s placed on her forehead.

  I can see Donovan eyeing me out of the corner of my eye, so I try not to react.

  Oliver gets out the key. Sara turns to me as he puts it in the lock. She swallows hard. She’s nervous, too, but probably not for the same reasons I am. I give her an encouraging smile.

  The door opens and Oliver walks through, pulling Sara behind him. Donovan’s eyes go wide when he sees the view out of the main windows.

  “Daaaaaaaamn, girl,” he says, walking over to take a look. “I knew you were successful, but this is filthy-rich territory here.”

  Oliver flashes Donovan an irritated look.

  “What?” Donovan says. “I call it like I see it.”

  “My parents were wealthy,” Sara says. “I can hardly take credit.”

  “You underestimate yourself, luv,” Oliver says.

  Sara shakes her head. “I … I just can’t believe I make money painting.”

  Oliver puts his arm around her. “You’re an amazing artist who can command any price for a painting and people will pay it. Gladly.”

  “Where is it?” she asks. “My studio.”

  Sara hardly pays notice to the rest of the apartment as we make our way to the back room. She walks through the door and stops quickly, her hand coming to her mouth to cover a sob.

  “Oh, my God, the door.”

  “Door?” Donovan asks.

  She walks over to the door that’s been put on its side on top of two decorative saw horses. It’s being used as a table for her paints. She runs her hand along the edge. “It was my parents’ front door from the house I grew up in. When they died, it’s the only thing I wanted from my childhood home other than all the photo albums.”

  She picks up one of the paint brushes and runs the bristles across the palm of her hand. “My father had an old door that he used as a workbench in our garage. When I was little, I used to help him with his woodworking projects. I told him that one day when I grew up, I was going to be a famous painter and I would have a door in my garage just like he did. And it would hold my paints. The last I remember of the door is having my Aunt Maria, Joelle’s mom, store it at her house for me after my parents died. I can’t believe I actually used it.”

  “What a lovely story,” Oliver says, walking up behind her and rubbing her shoulders. “How proud your parents would have been.”

  Sara’s eyes find mine. “I wish you could have met them,” she says.

  “I wish I could have met them too, luv,” Oliver says.

  Sara closes her eyes and she nods. Then she explores the paintings in the room. She stops and studies one that is only partially painted. She squints her eyes. “Are those … French fries?”

  I look at the pictures that are attached to the wall just behind the easel. “I know the couple in the picture. That’s Baylor and Gavin McBride. You’re doing a painting for them.”

  “People pay me to make paintings with French fries?”

  Oliver laughs. “You paint people’s memories, darling.”

  She cocks her head and furrows her brow. “I what?”

  Oliver spends the next few minutes explaining her paintings. Sara seems fascinated. She looks like she does when I read her book to her. And I remember what she said the other day about her life being like a story that other people tell her.

  She smiles at him. “Thanks, Oliver.”

  He grabs her hand. “Ollie,” he says. “You always call me Ollie.”

  “Okay, Ollie.”

  She smiles a second time, and I wonder if she’s beginning to accept her situation.

  But the smile fades when Oliver leads us back into the main room. Sara wanders around, picking things up and studying them. She looks through kitchen cabinets. She even looks in the refrigerator. Then she goes into the bedroom.

  She waves us along with her, almost like she’s scared to dive into her past without people there to rescue her should she need it.

  She sits on the side of the bed, running a hand over the duvet.

  Oliver sits down next to her. “Our favorite place,” he says, patting the bed.

  Sara flashes him an uncomfortable smile. “I’ll bet,” she says, playing along.

  “Don’t worry, hun. I won’t push you. I’ll even take the sofa after you come home if you like. Anything for you.”

  She looks relieved and more at ease after his offer.

  She leans over and opens the drawers of her side table. Her breath catches when she sees something in the lower drawer. She reaches in and pulls out a handful of pregnancy tests.

  “Oh, my God. Oliver … uh, Ollie—were we trying to have a baby?”

  Oliver laughs, almost doubling over on the bed. “Sara Francis—a mum? Not a chance. You hate kids. You call them all brats. But we did have a scare a few months ago. You went out and bought ten tests just to be sure. After the fourth one was negative, I told you to stash the rest.”

  Sara puts down the tests and shuts the drawer. She turns to Oliver. “I hate kids?”

  “That’s what you’ve always said.”

  “Why would I hate kids?” she asks.

  “Dunno. Never thought to ask since I’m not too fond of the little buggers myself.”

  “Sara,” Donovan says. “Maybe you could find a few things to take back with you. You know, reminders of home. It might help you feel more connected for when you come back for good.”

  She looks around the room. “I don’t know what to take.” She turns to Oliver. “What do I like?”

  He goes into the closet and comes out with a purse. “Your Prada bag,” he says. “It’s your favorite. Oh, and there’s something in the kitchen as well.”

  We follow him out into the other room and watch as he pulls a large wine goblet from a display cabinet. “You got this from a bona f
ide Sheik in Saudi Arabia. It’s rimmed with actual gold. It’s the only wine glass you drink out of. You said it’s because the other wine glasses weren’t good enough to be held by such talented fingers.” He picks up her hand and kisses her fingertips. “And you were right.”

  He plucks a throw blanket off the couch. “And this. Go ahead, feel it.” He holds it out to her.

  “Oh, wow. It’s so soft,” she says. “I love this.”

  “You’d better. You had it custom made. You sent it back twice before they made it to your expectations.”

  She studies the blanket. “What were my expectations?”

  “That it be softer than butter so it wouldn’t scratch your sensitive skin.”

  “I …” She looks at Donovan and me, embarrassed. “I sent it back? Twice?”

  He wraps the blanket around her shoulders. “Nothing is too good for you, luv.”

  Oliver wraps the goblet in paper and packs the three items into a bag. “There,” he says, handing it to her. “All the comforts of home.”

  She takes the bag from him, but it slips out of her grip and falls to the floor. I cringe waiting to hear the crack of what might very well be a priceless wine glass.

  Donovan picks up her bag. “You’re getting tired,” he says. “We should get going.”

  Oliver’s phone rings. He seems irritated when he looks at the screen. “I’ve got to take this,” he says. “I won’t be but a minute.”

  He walks into the bedroom and shuts the door. We hear a few muffled shouts. The three of us look at each other and shrug. Then Oliver comes back into the room to see us staring at him.

  “Who was that?” Sara asks.

  “That? It was Ben … uh, nobody.”

  “Who’s Ben?”

  “I told you, he’s nobody. Do you have everything you need, hun?”

  Sara looks frustrated by his lack of explanation.

  “Just one more thing,” Sara says, pointing to her studio. “Do you mind helping me? I feel a little unsteady on my feet.”

  Oliver helps her into the studio and they gather some more paint and brushes before we leave.

  On the street, as we wait for our cab, Sara eyes something in a storefront window. I turn around to see a Nighthawks display. Sara looks over at me and smiles.

  Oliver looks annoyed. “What is it with you and baseball? First you wear those silly baseball shirts. Then you ask me to tune the telly to ESPN to catch a game. And now, you’re drooling over a storefront display.”

  Sara shrugs. “I just like baseball, I guess.”

  He looks amused. “I wonder what other surprises you’ve got in store for me.”

  “I could get you some tickets to a game, you know,” I tell them. “I’ve got connections.”

  “Oh, I’d love to see a game in person. Wouldn’t that be fun, Ollie?”

  He smiles at her correct use of his nickname. “I suppose it could be rather fun if that’s what you want.”

  “Can we, Donovan?” Sara asks with excitement.

  “You mean before you return home?”

  “Yes. Another field trip. Come on, I did good today, didn’t I?”

  “You did great,” he says. “Going to your apartment is one thing, Sara. A baseball game will be crowded. You could be pushed down. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “Not if we’re in a suite.” I say.

  Donovan’s jaw drops. “You could get us into a suite? I thought you were a fireman.”

  “I am. But my brother-in-law plays baseball and two of his best friends play for the Hawks.”

  “Tickets for four?” Donovan asks.

  I look at Sara. “That’s up to Sara.”

  She nods. “Tickets for four.”

  “I’ll set it up.”

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “Yes, thank you,” Donovan adds, looking almost as excited as Sara.

  Our cab arrives and Oliver pulls Sara close. “I’ll see you tonight, luv. Any requests for dinner?”

  “Anything but tofu.”

  He laughs and then leans down to give her a peck on the lips. She lets him. Oliver looks at me to see if I noticed before helping Sara into the cab. As Donovan climbs in behind her, Oliver asks them to wait for a second.

  He pulls me aside. “You’re coming on kind of strong, don’t you think, mate?”

  “Come again?”

  “You know. The baseball tickets. The shirts. The pizza and the cheeseburgers. Maybe you should give it a rest. She’s not your fiancée, after all, now is she?”

  “I’m not doing anything she doesn’t want me to do, Oliver.”

  “Remember the promise you made to me the day we met? What was it you said? That you wouldn’t step on my toes? Well, if I took my shoes off right now, you’d see that my feet are nearly flat with all the bloody stepping you’ve been doing. I need you to back off. I need you to back off so she has a chance at becoming the woman she once was. Don’t you think you owe her that?”

  I look into the cab to see Sara staring at me impatiently. I think about the kiss that she allowed moments ago. And I know that he’s right.

  I nod at him as I duck into the back seat, making sure to keep Donovan in the middle.

  Chapter Eighteen

  222-555-7591: Hi, Denver. It’s Sara.

  I find it difficult not to smile when I read the text. I don’t want to admit how hard it was to stay away from her today. To walk away from her this morning. I didn’t know what to do with myself. For three weeks now, if I haven’t been at work, I’ve been by her side. But this morning at her apartment, I realized that’s not my place anymore. Maybe it never was.

  I quickly add her name to my contacts.

  Me: You got a phone!

  Sara: Oliver brought me one today. At least phones haven’t changed much in the past three years.

  Me: They’ve just gotten a lot more expensive.

  Sara: You left awfully quickly this morning. I wanted to see if everything was okay.

  I look down into my half-empty beer bottle, searching my mind for an explanation.

  Me: I had to help a friend.

  Sara: Well, it’s something you’re good at. Helping friends seems to be your strong suit.

  I watch Bass grab a beer from the kitchen on his way back from the bathroom. It’s a lie. I didn’t need to help a friend. Unless you call Oliver a friend and I’m helping him by staying away from his fiancée.

  Sara: We’re friends, aren’t we, Denver?

  Me: Of course.

  Sara: So, you’d tell me if something is wrong.

  Me: Nothing’s wrong, Sara.

  Sara: Do you think you’ll be able to come by tomorrow? Nobody plays Go Fish as well as you do.

  I laugh. How did that become our thing? A game five-year-olds play. But somehow, every time I visit, we end up playing.

  I think about coming up with another excuse. Being called into work, maybe. I’m afraid, however, that if I miss seeing her two days in a row, it would be more than obvious. I don’t want to hurt her. She needs all the friends she can get. But I don’t like the way I’m starting to feel around her. Aspen warned me about this. Hell, everyone warned me about this.

  Oliver was right to ask me to back off. When I try to put myself in his shoes, I’d be pissed at me, too. I wouldn’t want another man spending that much time with my girl. Even if she’s not sure about him at the moment, she was before. She was in love with him.

  Sara: Denver, what is it? Is everything okay?

  Me: Everything’s fine. Any requests for lunch tomorrow?

  Sara: Pizza.

  Me: Pepperoni?

  Sara: Is there any other kind?

  I laugh.

  Me: You got it. See you tomorrow, then.

  Sara: Have a good night, Denver.

  Me: You, too.

  I put my phone down and find Bass staring at me. “Trouble in paradise?” he asks.

  “Very funny,” I say, turning to watch the baseball game on TV. “Caden’s
up.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” he says.

  “I wasn’t aware there was a subject.”

  “That was Sara, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So I can tell how much you care about her.”

  “We’re friends,” I say.

  He eyes me skeptically. “Are you sure that’s all there is to it?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. She’s engaged, Bass.”

  “To a man she doesn’t know. And you spend every waking minute together.”

  “I haven’t seen her since this morning,” I say.

  He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell. You’ve been in a piss-poor mood all night long.”

  “No I haven’t.”

  “Oh, but you have. Did you have some kind of falling out?”

  “It’s not like that,” I say.

  “Then tell me what it’s like, man. Because you’ve been acting so differently these past few weeks.”

  “I have not.”

  “Denver, cut the shit. Do you remember last year when I came back from Hawaii? Remember what a pain in the ass I was because I couldn’t be with the woman I loved?”

  I get up off the couch and walk into the kitchen. Bass follows me.

  I throw my beer bottle into the trash. “What the hell are you saying? You think I’m in love with her?”

  “I’m just saying it’s like looking in a mirror, that’s all.”

  “My situation with Sara is nothing like the one you had with Ivy.”

  “There’s a situation?”

  I twist off the top of another beer. “There’s no situation. I’m helping her with her rehabilitation. I’m being a friend to her. End of story. Now, if you’re done giving me the third degree, mind if we watch the rest of the game?”

  He shakes his head. “Sure, brother. Whatever you want.”