Wildfire

by Allison Martin

  “I dunno, Little Brother. I honestly don’t.”

  “You have a kid now,” he says as if that answers everything. I let that thought take root as I walk up the cracked walkway. I have a kid now.

  Do better.

  Be better.

  The implication is than him.

  #

  The alcohol still present in my body is preventing me from being as nervous as I am, but my heart still pounds. My throbbing headache keeps in time with each beat.

  I have zero time to prepare because she’s waiting for me, her arms crossed but her stare as non-judgmental as the last time I met her.

  “Mr. Ryker. You’re late.” She gestures to a door and I pass by finding my way to the plush chair and lowering my aching body. “And your drunk?”

  “I had a rough night,” I say all these nerves begin to solidify and I’m acutely aware of my own defensiveness.

  She says nothing as she closes the door and sits. I assume she’ll sit on the other side of the desk and pity me like Miss Uptight, but she sits right next to me in the second chair, crosses her legs and leans into me. Like a mother would. Or I guess I assume that’s what a mother would do. My mother never did.

  “What does rough night mean to you?”

  Right out of the gate she asks a question I can’t answer. I lean my head back and stare at the water stained ceiling. I can feel her eyes on me, and I’m convinced I’ll never get used to it.

  “I drank too much. That’s what it means, I guess.”

  Silence permeates the room and my heel bounces, the heel thumping against the hardwood. Shunta is as calm as I am when I step into the flame engulfed forest. To me this space, this silence is deafening. I want to coil in on myself like a water line. I wipe my palms on my jeans to rid myself of this evidence of my discomfort. She stares at me, everything from the shadows rises to the surface and panic swells inside. I can’t keep it in. I can’t hide from this woman and I simultaneously hate her for it and want to submit to it.

  “I don’t want to be here.” I finally blurt.

  “I can see that,” she replies with a hint of amusement in her voice. I open my eyes and she’s patiently waiting for me. Her dark maroon lipstick absorbs all light into her smile.

  “This kind of emotions shit isn’t really something that comes naturally to me. There’s only ever been one person I could talk to like this.” I gesture between us and I regret saying it. I have a feeling I’m going to regret everything I say to this woman.

  “Who is that?”

  “The mother of my child.”

  Her eyebrows quirk up and I’m sort of proud of myself for throwing her even if it was a micro flinch.

  “I wasn’t aware you had a child,” she says and it’s my turn to laugh.

  “I wasn’t either. My girlfriend in high school. We got pregnant. She took off for ten years and then shows up out of nowhere with a ten-year-old daughter. She looks like me.” I shift in my seat, slumping further.

  “That must have been a shock.”

  “A bit, yeah.” I trace the brown outline of a water mark with my eyes.

  “And while you’re dealing with the death of your crew member. That’s a lot for one person, Alexander.”

  “I can handle it. I’ve been handling it.”

  “With alcohol?”

  Irritation digs into me swirling phrases through my mind at rapid speed.

  Do you often take the edge off?

  Are you trying to fuck this up?

  Dude, are you drunk?

  “Why is everyone so fucking concerned with alcohol? I’m not an alcoholic. I’m not him.” I sit straight up.

  “Who’s him, Xan?”

  “My father,” I say throwing my arms out like a child. “My useless drunk father who forced me to be like this. He forced me to be this guy. I’m not him.”

  “Of course, you’re not.”

  Silence falls across us like thick smoke, choking me. I need to clear it.

  “There, are you happy? I told you what you want to hear.” My head is pounding and sweat beads on my forehead.

  “Why would your struggle make me happy?” She hasn’t moved a single bit since she sat down and I’m squirming around like my chair is made of needles.

  “Can we be done now?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I slump forward and hold my head.

  “I’m going to be honest with you Mr. Ryker. I believe you lack healthy coping skills for the depth and intensity of your situation. To send you back in would be irresponsible of me given the news of your daughter. You may not want to deal with this, but my job isn’t only to help you. My job is to make sure that you don’t become a liability to your crew. It’s not just your life here.”

  Her words crush all the air from my lungs and again I feel so small under her gaze. I hadn’t ever thought of that before. That they’re not assessing my mental health for my benefit, but to be sure I don’t get anyone else killed if they let me back on the crew. My lungs rattle out a shaky breath and Shunta places a hand on my shoulder.

  “I want you to go away this week and think about what is really important to you, Xan. To you. Next week same time, we’ll discuss what you come up with.”

  She stands and opens the door. I’m unable to speak so I obey her gestures and leave. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come so I frown and push out into the hot spring sun.

  The disorienting feeling Miss Bakhsi gives me is too much to process. I tuck my hands in my pockets and begin the walk home with thoughts of Millie tumbling around in my mind.

  I already know what’s important to me. Keeping my family safe and together. Protecting them. Protecting this town with my work.

  What the fuck else is there?

  Chapter Sixteen

  BRIGGS

  I pace the length of the kitchen for the five thousandth time. The silence is thick, and I hate the unease that settles over me.

  Being alone was never something I was great at. With my daughter at a baseball game out of town and my father off to a specialist in Kelowna I haven’t been able to settle at all.

  Cold coffee sits on the table, jewelry supplies strewn from one end of the kitchen to the other. I really do need a studio, or something. The wind chimes tinkle happily on the porch and I watch the trees sway on the edge of the property. I check my phone six times to see if Jet had any updates on Millie but still nothing. Just a steady stream of notifications from Instagram where my customer base was getting increasingly impatient.

  There’s no chance I’m going to be able to focus on the handful of pieces I designed and I’m back to scrolling social media, feeling resentful and tethered to this stupid device and the approval of strangers. I slam it down on the counter.

  Tiredness creeps into my limbs and fog settles over my mind. With a deep sigh I head upstairs and flop into bed, a sunbeam from the open blinds lays across me like a blanket. I stare at the colorful wallpaper until everything blurs and dims and wraps me up in dreamless sleep.

  #

  A bang startled me from sleep, my first instinct to reach for Millie, but she isn’t there. I’m not in the motorhome. Millie isn’t home.

  Groggy fear hits me as soon as I jump up and immediately, I’m dizzy and disoriented.

  Bang.

  I fight the nauseous feeling that stirs in my belly and try to lasso my thoughts. Thoughts of him. Of if he found me.

  Bang. Bang.

  I press my back to the wall and try to peek out the window. Memories flood me of a similar experience when the window to my motorhome was smashed in late one night. A rock painted with a skull thrown clean through. My back to the wall clutching the axe I used to chop kindling for fires. Banging on the metal walls. Millie finally stirring and me putting my finger to my lips. Her wide eyes trusting me to protect her. To keep her safe.

  Part of me is glad she wasn’t here today.

  How did he find me? How does he keep finding me?

  I reach
for my phone but it’s downstairs.

  Bang Bang Bang.

  Someone’s trying to get in.

  I slink downstairs, staying close to the wall, grabbing Dad’s walking cane as I moved through the living room to the kitchen where my phone was still lying on the counter.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  I jump, swiping my phone to unlock it when a figure appears in the doorway.

  Before I can stop myself, I scream.

  “Briggs?” Xan’s voice cuts through my panic and I drop my phone, shattering the glass to bits. He’s through the door and has me tight to his chest before the cane hits the ground and I heave deep breaths trying to steady my shaking body.

  “It’s just me. It’s just me.” He hugs me tight and I let my arms go around his waist, pressing my cheek to his chest until my breath reaches sync with his.

  “Jesus Christ, Briggs. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says holding me back at arm’s length. “I knocked, no one answered. I figured I’d get some work done.”

  I notice him fully now. Sweat touching his brow and soaking the collar of his shirt. A belt strapped to his waist with a hammer and pocket full of nails.

  Embarrassment washes through me in an instant and I turn away, busying myself picking up the pieces of my phone.

  “I was sleeping. I heard banging. It startled me, that’s all.”

  He doesn’t speak, but stands there watching me with those eyes, the ones that see right through me. The ones that are shadowed under his low distrusting brows.

  “I know something is going on,” he says finally helping me clean the floor. “You don’t have to tell me. But I do need to know if you’re safe, Briggs? If Millie is safe?”

  He reaches for my hand and I pull away knowing if he touches me, I’m done for. I’ll spill all my secrets like melting ice cream on hot pavement. I don’t need Alexander Ryker to save me anymore.

  “A couple years ago,” I launch into my lie knowing he won’t buy it but I’m committed to not letting him into my heart again. “We were in Colorado and some drunk kids thought it would be funny to go around smashing RV windows. It really freaked me out. The banging brought back the memories. That’s all. I was groggy from my nap.”

  I make a show of scrubbing my face and hope I’m convincing. He doesn’t believe me. I can tell clear as the sky outside. But he doesn’t push it either.

  To keep my shaking hands moving I open the fridge and grabbed two beer, offering one to Xan. He takes it and follows me out to the porch. I pick the sunniest spot to sit and drink. Big gulps of fizzy beer burn my throat and I blink back the prickly tears that come along.

  “I can’t believe Millie didn’t want us at her game,” Xan comments, staring at the mountain range, sipping slowly from his drink. I’m immediately distracted by his body, curious to see the changes up close. “I wonder how they’re doing?”

  Xan checks his phone then tosses it next to him on the lounger. I don’t know what else to do so I finish my beer and grab another.

  Xan watches me carefully, a scrutiny that makes me uncomfortable, so I keep drinking.

  He eventually goes back to fixing the house and I watch him. The buzz of alcohol rips through my body and tension and fear melt away. He’s sexier than I ever remember him and in my altered state, my mind has revolted and sided with my body. All of me wants him. None of me can have him.

  “It’s not fair,” I say as he holds up an eavestrough, his shirt lifting slightly and his arms straining with effort.

  “What’s not fair?” He asks muffled with a screw pinched in his lips.

  My cheeks heat with booze and embarrassment. I did not mean to say that out loud.

  After I don’t respond he finally pays attention to me. “What’s not fair, Briggs?”

  “You. And me. All this this.” I gesture openly but know I’m not making any sense.

  He furrows his brow and the sound of the drill drowns out my thoughts.

  When he’s back on the porch he uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face and I ogle him openly.

  “You need to stop doing that,” I mumble, and he tilts his head in further confusion.

  “Stop doing what?”

  “That,” I say pointing to his abs and making a circle with my finger to gesture to his whole body.

  “Are you drunk?” He laughs.

  “No.” I get to my feet and the earth tilts sharply to the left taking me right back down with a thud. “Maybe.”

  His full laugh echoes and he reaches out to take my hand, helping me up. He slips an arm around my waist and guides me around the patio furniture.

  “Have you eaten anything today?” He asks and I shake my head. “Well drinking four beer in 30 minutes in the sun on an empty stomach is maybe not a great idea, Briggs. Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “I’m fine,” I say sharply as we enter the cool house. Xan plops me down at the table and moves around my parents’ house as if he lives there. Nothing has changed in the last ten years and he doesn’t miss a beat making me a turkey sandwich, like he used to when we were teenagers and would party out by the gravel pits. I would drink too much and he would bring me home, feed me, give me a quick kiss and disappear into the dark before my mother would wake up and come downstairs. Usually to lecture me about how Xan was terrible for me. No matter what I said about being the one who got drunk, the one with no control, the one who doesn’t deserve a boyfriend that dedicated to my happiness, my mother was convinced he was the bad influence.

  Her notes come crashing into consciousness and sadness fills every pore. The love and passion she had. When did she lose it? How did it fade away?

  Tears sting but I tighten my lip and suck in a powerful breath before my next thought crumbled me.

  When did I lose the passion I used to have? When did my capacity to love fade away?

  “Hey,” Xan’s voice is soft, nudging me back into my mind, into my body.

  “We were so in love,” I whisper but he startles as if I shouted at him.

  “We were,” he hesitates on the word were.

  “It was so fucking painful to love you.” It hurts as much to say it. “It was more painful to leave you. God, I was so dedicated to you.”

  He’s silent, patient. Something he’s always been with me—waiting for me to wise up to my own body, to my own emotions. The haze of alcohol and blur of lights mix with the increase in my heart rate. I shouldn’t be saying any of this. Then I think of my mother. Distant. Protected. Guarded.

  In her image I see myself.

  “Brigitte,” Xan say pleading, but I’m not sure if it’s to stop or keep going. I’m lost in his gaze and I surrender to the gravity. I stop fighting it.

  My lips find his like a magnet, slow and steady and then snap sharply into place. He matches my force, cupping my cheeks in his hands and opening to me. A fever for him turns me delirious and desperate. I scramble across the bench straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around him. His fingers slip under my shirt, digging into the flesh of my hips, but he doesn’t pull me closer. He separates us with one sharp movement. Lifting me off him and setting my feet to the ground.

  “Goddammit, Briggs.” His voice is angry and my heart sinks to my toes. As soon as he looks at me his entire body shifts and softens, he reaches for me, but I flinch away. Even through the thick fog of drunk, I know what I did is stupid. Reckless.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say my stomach lurching as I back into the counter.

  “You’re drunk. I can’t. Not like this,” he says as a violent pain in my stomach gave me a warning.

  I spin fast and vomit into the sink.

  Chapter Seventeen

  XAN

  An arm around her waist and a plate in hand, I do something I haven’t done in a very long time. I take the woman I love to bed. Tuck her in. Push hair from her face and wait until she falls asleep–my hand gripped in hers.

  Her armor fades away as she drifts off, but the buzzing energy of h
er kiss lingers on my lips. There’s no denying I still love her. There’s no arguing with my body over how desperately I want to return her passion and meet her touch for touch.

  I sink into the despair of knowing after all this time that she is still my home. The only place I belong. That void inside me is shaped like her. But it’s too complicated to be here. It’s too hard to feel all the things that threaten to burst from my chest.

  Slowly, I tug my fingers from hers, resist the urge to kiss her again and in a haze, I make it to my truck. I can’t turn the key, just stare without focus–my fingers clutching the steering wheel. My forehead tips forward with a thud.

  All of my confusion and pain swirl together. Shunta’s words rattle through me what is truly important to you?

  Control slips from my grip faster with each second and it all boils over into anger. Through gritted teeth I growl, tensing every muscle in my body until I vibrate with pent up energy. The only way to tame it was loosening my jaw to let it all out in one long furious noise. The steering wheel rattles as my grip shakes. When the feeling passes, calm washes over me, the demons set free. They’ll be back.

  They always came back.

  I get an urge deep in my gut to pick up my phone and call Nicole. I haven’t spoken to her since the funeral, no one really has.

  Gravel spits up around my tires as I whip around and head back, but I don’t turn into town to see Nicole. I head to the small Raston cemetery and stand in the gate, staring at the rows of headstones, generations of Rastonites. Lives that were long and hard, others too short.

  Gus is one of the latter. I didn’t know him well, but he was on my crew. A brother.

  I take a deep breath and then realize I have nothing to offer so I lean over and pluck a flower from the manicured beds at the gate.

  The moment I do I glance up, a habit from my youth, and hear my mother say God saw that.

  I’m sure at this point God, if there really is a God, had seen me do much much worse.

  Gus doesn’t have a gravestone yet. His family is waiting until the memorial to have it unveiled, but I remember the day they put him in here. I’ll never forget where to find him. I weave through the rows to the far corner and crouch down.