Love Ignited

by Jacie Lennon

I lean back, feeling a single tear roll down my cheek. I can try to fool myself all I want, but I know deep down that I’m hurt and scarred over this breakup. This betrayal.

  How can I ever put trust in someone again? How can I put trust in myself to pick a real man the next time?

  After a much-needed nap, I wake to the sounds of rustling in the kitchen, and sweet, little giggles echo down the hallway. Padding barefoot from my room, I see Hanna sitting at the table, feeding Luke baby food in his high chair while making silly faces.

  “Hey,” I say, leaning against the doorway.

  Hanna looks up with a smile as she uncrosses her eyes from the amusing face she was making.

  “Oh, hey. You’re awake,” she says as she pats the seat next to her at the table. “You hungry?”

  “I put my food in the fridge. I’ll eat some of that.” I open the refrigerator door, my stomach grumbling.

  “Hey, Ezra’s work is having a holiday party the day after tomorrow. Be my date?” Hanna asks with a big smile.

  “Won’t Ezra be jealous that I’m your date?” I mumble around a mouthful of food.

  Oh my God, this turkey wrap is amazing.

  “Well, I’ll just have two dates,” Hanna says.

  “Sure, sounds fun. I don’t have anything to wear to a fancy holiday party.”

  “Don’t worry; I can hook you up.” Hanna squints at me and cocks her head to the side. I know what she’s about to ask. “How was the ride home with Mason?”

  Bingo.

  “Weird,” I mutter. My mind drifts back to the conversation and how caring he seemed to be before acting like such a guy again.

  “Weird how?” Hanna asks as my phone starts ringing in the waistband of my pants where I stashed it.

  “Hold that thought.” I raise one finger as I fish the phone out. My mouth drops open as I read the name that’s flashing across my screen.

  Kyle.

  Why on earth is he calling me? I haven’t heard from him since we split. I haven’t wanted to hear from him.

  I slowly turn the phone around to show Hanna, and her jaw drops open, matching mine.

  “Don’t you dare answer that,” she hisses. “The low-down, no-good, dirty, rotten scoundrel.” Her fists are balled up, and she has a stormy look on her face.

  I recover for a second and bust out laughing. “Did you just say ‘low-down, no-good, dirty, rotten scoundrel’?”

  “Yes,” she says sheepishly. “Usually, I’d call him an effin’ jerkface asshole, but I’m trying out new words for a PG rating. You know, kids.” She gives me a big grin that morphs back into a frown. “So, what are you going to do?”

  I quietly stand there for a moment, contemplating.

  “Well, he left a voice mail. I guess I’ll listen to that. But I doubt he has anything to say that I want to hear.” I shrug one shoulder.

  “Don’t let him sweet-talk you. You know I don’t like him. He never was that nice to you.”

  “I won’t,” I say, purposely avoiding the topic of how Kyle treated me in our relationship. She could get heated on the subject.

  I walk to my room, holding the phone with my thumb hovering over the voice mail. Shutting the door, I push play.

  9

  Mason

  “What are your plans for tomorrow?” I ask Ezra as soon as I pick him up from the park.

  “Sleep off this shift and then Craig mentioned playing a pick-up game. You interested?” He glances over at me.

  “I’m in.” I need something to occupy my mind and my time. I’ve gotten wound up, and I need a stress release. We haven’t played a good pick-up game in a while.

  My mind drifts to the earlier conversation I had with Jules. I don’t know what prompted me to try and talk to Jules about her relationship. It’s not like I care.

  Do I?

  “I honestly thought you and Jules would kill each other. Good to see you are still in one piece,” Ezra jokes.

  I chuckle. I need to shake these weird feelings I have going on.

  “Yeah, I’m tough to kill,” I say back. “How much longer is she here for?”

  Why do I care?

  “Not sure. I think Hanna is inviting her to the holiday party tomorrow. Will that be a problem?”

  “Nah, we are grown-ass people,” I say with a shrug.

  “Sure you are,” Ezra says back sarcastically.

  The next day, Ben, Craig, and Ezra meet me at the court, ball in hand.

  Finally. My competitive side is working its way up, and I can feel the adrenaline start to rush in my veins. I love getting physical. In all different ways.

  As a teenager in high school, some of us formed a fighting ring for fun. We would gather in an abandoned field behind a friend’s apartment complex and pummel each other for shits and giggles. It was one way to relieve the pent-up aggression that manifested in teen males. I can’t say I’m proud of it, but I could have been doing much worse things. Grams never found out, for which I was thankful. She would’ve wrung me out, chased me around the house with a paddle, and made me clean dishes for a year. Come to think of it; I’m not sure how she didn’t find out. She seemed to know everything I did before I ever did it. By this point, I was back to living with my dad, so she never got a good look at my bruises.

  “Porter, you’re with Ezra. Johnson’s with me,” Craig says, throwing the ball to Ezra to get the game started while we snicker at Ben’s name.

  It feels good to be outside in the crisp December air. It’s helping to clear my head, which I desperately need. I’ve never let a woman occupy this much time in my mind. I’m not sure why I’m doing it now. Yes, she’s gorgeous with her long, thick hair and big brown eyes blinking up at me. I could see a hint of a tattoo on her back when she leaned forward at the bar in that sexy outfit, and my dick liked it. Not me. Just my dick. Sometimes, we work as different entities.

  “Yo, Mason. Where’s your head? That’s the third shot you’ve missed,” Ezra yells at me from across the court. He’s stopped to rest his hands on his hips and glare at me.

  Sweat rolls down my back regardless of the cold temperature, and I fan my shirt back and forth to cool my skin.

  “Damn it, sorry,” I mutter.

  “Focus,” he yells back.

  I try. I do. I thought that this exertion would help. I jog to the side and throw my arms out around Craig as Ben tries to inbound the ball to him. The ball shoots under my arm, and Craig catches it, swiftly turning and launching the ball into the air. With a swish, the ball settles through the net, coming out the other side to bounce on the court while Craig and Ben whoop.

  “Up fifteen to ten on your sorry asses,” Ben says.

  “Fuck,” Ezra growls.

  I grimace. I know I’m letting him down. Pick-up games are fun but also a matter of pride. No one wants to lose, and I’m not giving one hundred percent.

  “Sorry,” I say, narrowing my eyes. I slap my hands together in an attempt to jolt myself out of this fog.

  “You said that. Show it,” Ezra mutters.

  “Fuck you,” I shoot back.

  “Damn, Porter. What’s gotten into you?” Craig says, coming to a stop on the court.

  The game halts while three men stare at me. I suddenly feel very awkward. I can’t talk about girl problems. It’s just an unwritten rule that I can’t be a pussy and complain about my lack of it. It doesn’t look very good for me.

  “Nothing,” I say, averting my eyes. “Come on. Let’s play.”

  “Fine. But get your head out of your ass.” Ezra pins me with a glare. “I won’t hear the end of it if Craig beats us.”

  “Fine,” I return his glare.

  We continue playing even though, every pass, I feel like I have butter fingers. Ezra’s face is turning red, and we both want to punch Craig and Ben for their constant heckling. I shouldn’t have come. I’m just not in the right mindset.

  The game ends, fifty to twenty-five. We had our asses handed to us, and now, we have to buy the winners dinner. Damn
betting will get me every time.

  Ezra keeps giving me weird looks that I don’t like, and I shake hands with the guys and guzzle some water before trying to hightail it out of there.

  “Hey, wait up.”

  I hear footsteps jogging behind me. I slow my fast-paced walk and groan.

  “Yeah?” I say shortly to Ezra, who stops in front of me.

  “You all right, man?”

  “Just peachy,” I deadpan back.

  Ezra isn’t who I need to be talking to. I need to see a shrink to help me figure out why my brain has short-circuited all of a sudden.

  “You just seemed like you’d never touched a ball before in your life back there.” Ezra hooks a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Got a lot on my mind.” I shrug. “Dad’s trying to hire me as a general contractor for the bistro.” I congratulate myself on pulling something out of my ass to tell him. I’m not stressed about the general contractor job. I love doing it, and I’ve been telling Dad for a while now that he needs to utilize the extra space in the bistro for more money.

  “That’s awesome. What’s going in the bistro?”

  “Ah, see that’s where the hang-up is. We don’t know,” I say.

  Ezra furrows his brow for a second and then glances off, chewing on his cheek. I don’t like that he feels like he needs to help. I can figure the job out for myself.

  “It’s cool though. Dad and I are working through ideas.” I try to put an end to the subject. I just want to go home and veg out in front of the television.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you at the party tomorrow?” he asks.

  I agree, and we head toward the vehicles. Ben and Craig come up behind us. They start heckling us about dinner before Ezra and I both throw up middle fingers and get in our cars.

  Damn, losing sucks.

  I head home and tear off my ball gear, throwing it in the hamper. I walk around, ass naked, to cool off before I turn on the shower. While the water is warming, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water and see my phone light up where it rests on the counter.

  Dad: Grams isn’t doing well.

  I stare at the message for a moment, feeling my heart drop to my feet. Grams was fine a few days ago when I went to see her at Dad’s house. Once she was unable to care for herself, Dad and Debra moved Grams into their spare bedroom. She’s lived there a little over a year, and I go see her at least once a week.

  I finally realize the water is still running in the bathroom, and I look back down at my phone that has gone black. I turn it back on and read the message again. It still says the same thing. I hover my thumb over the keyboard.

  Mason: What’s going on? I’m about to shower, and I’ll be right over.

  I throw my phone on the counter and head to the bathroom for a quick shower. Once I’m out, I check my phone to see if Dad has sent a reply.

  Dad: I’ve called an ambulance. Meet us at the hospital.

  In a panic, I slip into some jeans and a gray T-shirt. I put on my tennis shoes and grab my phone and keys, and I’m out the door.

  This day has been one big adrenaline rush. From seeing Jules at the park to the pick-up game where I sucked ass, and now, I’m rushing through the crowded streets of Nashville to the hospital where the best woman I have ever known is lying in a bed without me by her side. I wrap my palm around the figurine of St. Christopher until it digs into my hand, muttering a prayer as I drive. The slight discomfort of the figurine keeps my attention focused until I pull into the parking lot, sliding into the first available spot I see. I haven’t heard from Dad since the last text, so my brain is filling in the unknown with horrible images.

  As soon as I arrive in the waiting room, Debra is standing there. When I run up to her, she takes one look at my panicked face and takes my hand.

  “Mason, hey. She’s fine. The doctors are just checking her over. They think it might have been a panic attack.”

  “A panic attack?” I parrot back.

  “Yes, she’s going to be okay. I’m sorry your father scared you. She’s right in there with him if you want to go see her.” She points to the room down the hall and to the right from the waiting room we are in.

  I walk that way, entering the room with a quiet knock.

  “Grams?” I say as soon as I see her.

  “Is that you, Mason?” She squints. Her eyesight has been getting worse, and it looks like her glasses are resting beside her instead of on her face.

  “It’s me.” I sit in the chair next to her bed and grab her hand. “Hey, Dad.” I see him standing beside the door I just came in.

  He greets me back and says something about going to get a coffee before leaving.

  “Oh, you didn’t have to rush over here for little old me,” Grams says with a chuckle, patting my hand.

  I look down and stare at her hand covering mine, at the little spots covering the back and trailing up her arms. I remember counting them as a little boy. She would sit patiently, arms outstretched, as I ran my small fingers across them, pushing each one in as I counted.

  “Of course I did, Grams. You’re my best girl,” I say with a smile.

  It’s what she told me Grandpa always said to her, and once I was old enough to realize how much she missed him, I took over saying it to her.

  “Can I get you anything?” I have the sudden urge to stand up and pace. My body feels jittery from the adrenaline rush.

  “No, no. Just sit here and hold this old woman’s hand.” She lays her head back against the pillow and closes her eyes.

  “You scared me, Grams.”

  She cracks open one eye to look at me. “It’s going to take more than a panic attack to take me down.” She grins.

  She’s a tough woman, and this has made me realize what a strong role model I had in my grams, growing up. I can’t imagine anything happening to her.

  “Tell me what you have been doing since last week.”

  I rack my brain, trying to think of everything.

  “Well, I met a girl,” I say.

  Her eyes pop open. “A girl, huh?” A small smile creeps over her face before she wipes it off, replacing it with a serious look. “Tell me about her.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I was trying to help out a friend by keeping her company, and I said the wrong thing. One thing led to another, and now, she hates me.”

  Grams looks thoughtful after I say that.

  “You know, I didn’t like Marv once upon a time.” I can feel her hand shake for a moment when she says his name.

  “Grandpa? I thought you were in love with him from the beginning.”

  “Oh, no.” She laughs. “Marv was quite the looker. He was tall with dark hair, a dashing face. Had a dimple right here, just like you,” she says, pointing to her cheek. “He courted quite a lot. He took a few of my friends out before he even looked at me. Of course, nothing ever stuck with them, but he wasn’t quite the brightest bulb in the drawer when it came to women and their feelings.” She pauses, a twinkle in her eye that illuminates the single tear gathering in the corner.

  I pat her hand, wanting her to stay calm and not get upset.

  “Oh, I’m fine, dear. Anyway, he set his sights on me, and I wasn’t anyone’s second choice. He wasn’t going to have his cake and eat it, too, when it came to courting me. Either he was all in or we were done. I didn’t speak to him for five months while he got his shit together.”

  I bark out a laugh. This might be the first time I’ve ever heard a cuss word come out of my grams’s mouth.

  “Well, it’s the truth,” she says with a smile. “But he got it together and courted me properly, and we fell in love. I miss him every day.” A single tear slips down her cheek, and she reaches up to brush it away.

  “You never told me that.”

  “Yes, well, the good times far exceeded the bad. Once the man got his head out of his—well, you know, things were never the same.”

  “Are you trying to tell me something, Grams?”

  “Yes.
Get your head out of your butt. If you like the girl, don’t let a simple disagreement send the relationship off the rails.”

  “Easier said than done, Grams.”

  “It’s only hard if you make it hard.”

  “I told you, she doesn’t exactly like me. And I’m not sure I like her.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said to me. And I’ve heard a lot of dumb things come out of your mouth. You remember I raised you.” She lifts one eyebrow and angles her head to the side.

  I groan and sit back. Rubbing a hand down my face, I look over and stare out the window beside her bed. She has a point. The girl gets under my skin, but part of me loves the banter, the heightened emotions where she’s concerned. It’s exciting, and it’s been a while since I found a woman truly exciting.

  The door opens, and Dad enters, carrying a coffee cup, with Debra trailing behind him.

  “Did you bring one for me?” Grams asks Dad, who looks sheepish.

  “No, Mom. You don’t need caffeine right now.”

  “Who is the parent here?” She narrows her eyes at him, and he fidgets.

  I guess you never really outgrow having parents. Dad is saved by a nurse coming in to announce that the doctor is coming in to discharge Grams.

  A little while later, Grams’s doctor comes in, going over her chart with her while we all stand around, hoping for answers.

  “Mrs. Porter,” Dr. Jarvis says, glancing up from his papers, “I analyzed your chart and tests and deduce that you’ve been under some stress lately.” His eyebrows rise as he waits for Grams to confirm or deny his statement. He continues once she gives him the barest of nods while narrowing her eyes. “I won’t go over the confidential portions, but you need to work on lowering your stress levels and maybe incorporate some meditation techniques in your day-to-day life.”

  Grams visibly relaxes, and I glance at Dad as the doctor continues his spiel. Dad’s face mirrors mine, the confusion making my heart thump nervously. I don’t like the feeling in this room right now.

  The doctor finally leaves, and Dad says what we are all thinking, “Mom, what was all that about?”