Wildfire

by Allison Martin

  I want to say something, but I have no idea what. I have no clue how to put all the tangled thoughts to words, never mind speak them aloud. I lay the flower down by the temporary marker. There are already flowers there, wilting in the early summer heat.

  My hands end up in my pockets and I rock back on my heels. Gus himself would give me shit for being awkward and weird. You’re so dang serious, kid, I hear the slight twang in his voice that you get from small town living and country music. He’d clap me on the shoulder and shove me into the break room on base. Gus was the glue of our crew. The guy who kept us all together, who stepped between arguments and extinguished tension with that god-awful laugh of his. Loud and screeching as he gulped in air. You couldn’t help but laugh with him.

  The memories swirl through me, setting me off balance and I have to close my eyes and do what I do best—set it all aside. Fold up my emotions in perfect squares and tuck them in a drawer. Because if I let myself feel this, if I let this fire burn, it will destroy me.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I scoop it out to read Tabby’s text.

  Pris took the car, can you take dinner to Zeke?

  I’m happy for a distraction. Happy to have a reason to leave this place.

  This day was a mess, from meeting with Shunta this morning, to kissing Briggs, to I don’t know what possessed me to show up here.

  I shift myself back into my comfort zone, taking care of my family.

  #

  The shop is right on the edge of town in small industrial area of town. A rundown old warehouse with dirty glass and cracked up parking lot. The plywood sign is weathered and peeling but I remember painting that thing.

  We bought the shop, Jet and I, with thoughts of turning it into a hardware or lumber store but it ended up used as a yard for his lumber and equipment. The guy who sold it to us was a mechanic and all his shit came with the warehouse. We let him lease the space to tinker around on vehicles and fix Jet’s equipment when it wasn’t running right. Zeke used to tag along when he was fifteen and help out Gordo. Zeke didn’t show much promise for anything but if you put an engine in front of him, he knows.

  By the time Zeke was sixteen he dropped out of school and was working full time with Gordo. Jet and I tried to get him to go back to school but we both knew. A guy like Zeke is better in a place like this. Me and Pris are the only Rykers to graduate. Jet almost made it until his temper got him expelled in his senior year, not too long after Brigs disappeared to Vancouver. Del failed two core classes in Grade 12 and was supposed to go to summer school, which never happened.

  Tabby is the smartest of us all, she’s set to graduate with honors and is on a fast track to Waterloo, the fanciest university in Canada.

  I sit outside the shop thinking about my family until the sun begins to turn the air stuffy and hot. My reflective side is in overdrive today and I blame that therapist and her magical stare that seemed to crack my resolve. Briggs didn’t help, straddling my lap and kissing me like that. Her heat was the flood gate release, her drunk honesty and big brown eyes.

  “Dammit,” I hit the steering wheel and snap myself out of it. “Let her go.”

  I wrench open the truck door and slam it with frustration driving all my limbs. Around the other side I reach through the window and grab Zeke’s dinner.

  The parking lot is empty except a small camper van with a shiny BMW logo on it. Must be someone travelling through, no one in Raston drives a rig like that.

  When I push through the door it makes a loud buzz to let Zeke know someone’s here. The place is empty but there’s a weird energy. Suddenly the office door opens, and a beautiful young woman steps out, her head is angled down, her round cheeks flushed and hair messy. She adjusts the skirt on her curvy hips and glances up at me as we pass. She bites a smile, her bottom lip between her teeth and I can’t help but watch her.

  Looking back to the office, Zeke is standing in the doorway his coveralls zipped down his chest. Sweat clings to his forehead and his shoulders move like he’s still catching his breath.

  “Who was that?” I ask, setting his dinner on the counter. A shit eating grin swallows my brother’s whole face and he shrugs.

  “No clue.” He leans over the paperwork on the desk. “Nova. Nova Forrester.”

  I have no interest in knowing why he’s having sex with his customers, but as the owner of this building I can’t keep my mouth shut.

  “This is a business Zeke. Keep it in your pants.”

  Zeke laughs and digs into his dinner. “She wouldn’t take no for answer, Bro. Who am I to deny a lady what she wants?”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. “You’re an idiot.”

  “It’s kind of exhilarating getting used. I’ve never been someone’s dirty little secret before. That girl had demons.”

  “Yeah, always fun to play VD roulette.” I say and then my eyebrows lower. “Please tell me you were safe.”

  “Of course, I bagged it. I’m not stupid.”

  “You are an asshole though.” Bagged it? Where does he even get this shit from?

  “I learn from the best,” he shoots back, and my jaw tightens. Zeke’s always been this way. Cocky, passive aggressive, and overcompensating hard for whatever it is that goes on inside his head.

  Being in this place reminds me that I need to come in and check his books at some point.

  “She said she’ll meet me at the bar later,” Zeke continues with a mouth full of pasta my sister cooked for him. “Maybe she’ll want a round two.”

  Zeke wiggles his eyebrows and I sneer. “I have no interest in talking about any of this with you. I gotta go.” Thoughts of my little brother and his conquests don’t sit well in my mind. I’m almost a full ten years older than him. I changed his diapers. Gave him baths. Taught him how to walk and bike.

  I stop by the door and turn to him taking a big breath. “If a girl like that shows up in a town like this and hooks up with a guy like you you know what my first question would be?”

  Zeke groans like he always does when I lecture him. “What, Xan? What would your question be?”

  “What is she running from?”

  His face twists up in thought for a moment like I said something truly profound and then he shakes his head. “Yeah, but that’s because you’re always trying to fix people. If some sad little rich girl wants blow through town and blow me in the process, I’m not going to think much beyond that.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if you think much at all,” I mutter, and his features settle into a scowl. He grabs his dinner and stalks to the office. It was a total dick thing to say, but my nerves are heightened right now.

  I’m not always trying to fix people.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Del.

  Del: I need you. Meet me at the bar.

  My heart rate spikes and feet pick up the pace to my truck. When I’m seated and the engine has roared to life a small laugh escapes.

  Okay, maybe Zeke’s right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  BRIGGS

  I’m not sure what’s worse, the hangover, or the humiliation. Either way I scold myself for losing control like that. Millie is sitting on the edge of my bed, worry etched in her features. She should not look like that, not at her age.

  “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a tummy thing,” I say patting her hand. “Now tell me all about your game?”

  I need to distract myself from Xan and pouring myself into my daughter is the best way I know how. Her face suddenly shifts, and she bounces on the edge of the bed. I bite my lip to keep the nausea at bay.

  “We won. It was amazing. Sarah got a home run. The field in Morleau is amazing. We went for pizza after. It was,” she waves her hand through the air.

  “Amazing?” I tease her.

  “Mom,” she rolls her eyes.

  “I’m glad you had fun.”

  “I told Sarah she could come over sometime. To practice. She’s the pitcher.”

  “Of course.”

 
; “And can the team come to my birthday party? I kinda told them all about it?” She’s pacing in front of the bed her face scrunched up into an adorable expression. We had talked about it being a small party for family. The kids on her team had been welcoming and didn’t seem to care that their coach suddenly had a niece. The adults haven’t been as kind.

  “I don’t know, Sweetie. I’ll talk to Xan about it. We decided small was better.”

  I’m used to it, having lived here before. The small town rumor mill is predictable. The women tittered about my arrival with Millie, especially the ones who knew us when we were teenagers. Xan and I had been kicked out of the diner before for gross displays of public affection. Our teachers and church knew exactly what we were up to. Most of them let us be or chalked it up to teenage hormones until I got pregnant. No matter how hard I tried to keep it a secret, that’s when my life with Xan became newsworthy.

  Xan is still convinced that it was one of the parents who wrote lying bitch on my dad’s truck and he didn’t think inviting the team was a good idea. If a parent refuses to let their kid come to a Ryker party, it would crush Millie. I don’t want her to see how complicated this really was. I didn’t want her to know where she comes from. The shit Xan and his family have gotten in this town simply because of his parents.

  The realization hits me harder than the hangover.

  Am I ashamed that Millie is a Ryker?

  “Yes,” I say, and it startles Millie into a confused stance.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, you can invite your team to your birthday. Of course, you can.”

  I whip out of bed despite my wobbling stomach and crush my daughter against my chest. I kiss her hair and squeeze her tight.

  I’m not ashamed of her. I’m not ashamed of who she is. I’m not ashamed that Xan is her father. I loved him. Ten years ago, I would have defended him to anyone. I would have fought for him. I wouldn’t have given a single shit what people thought of me or him.

  But now all of a sudden, I care about my reputation in this town that rejected me so wholly over someone I loved.

  I am not my mother.

  I will not lose my ability to stand up for myself.

  #

  The days become easier and I feel more at rest here, helping Millie with school, watching Jet and Xan slowly tear apart and repair my parent’s house, and nagging my father to take better care of himself. Today is quiet. It’s me and dad on the porch drinking coffee while Millie practices in the yard.

  Jet is coaching today, and Xan is supposed to be here in a few minutes to take Millie to practice.

  I glance over at Dad and he frowns over his coffee. “What?” He asks and I purse my lips like I have every time I’ve looked at him today.

  “If you really want to get back to work, you’ll stop trying to be a hero,” I mutter, taking a sip of burning bitter coffee.

  “Brigitte, I walked down the stairs, that is hardly heroics.”

  “You fell down said stairs. Maybe I’ll rephrase and say stop being such a man.”

  “I want to sleep in my own bed, dammit.”

  “Well you can’t, until that boot is off your leg.”

  We engage in a stubborn stare down, reminiscent of so many we had in my teen years.

  “I feel like a caged dog. I miss my bed. I miss my uniform. I miss my freedom.”

  I laugh and glance at my phone quickly. Xan should be here by now.

  “When did you become so melodramatic? Someone ran you over, Dad. You need to heal.”

  “I need to find and arrest that sonofabitch is what I need to do.”

  I pat his knee and stand, holding my new phone to Dad to indicate I need to call Xan. I still haven’t transferred in all my contacts, or downloaded Instagram and I have to be honest, not being a servant of my followers has been a big part of this sense of calm that’s began to take hold. I’m sure they’re furious. I’m sure I’m singlehandedly taking down my own business but right now all I care about is why Xan is standing up his daughter.

  The phone rings endlessly until his answering machine picks up.

  Where the hell is he?

  My gut sinks and in a flash I’m cold and shivering by the creek waiting for the man that never shows up. I blink back the fear.

  He’s just late.

  He wouldn’t do that to Millie.

  I call Millie to get her stuff ready and walk with her to the front of the house.

  Five minutes

  Fifteen.

  Thirty minutes pass and Millie is slumped on the front step and I’m pacing the drive.

  “Mom, practice is starting.”

  In three strides I’m up the porch steps and reach in through the front door.

  “Dad,” I call. “I’m taking Millie to town. I’m taking your truck.”

  My footsteps hammer the stairs and my anger at Xan fuels me. Millie follows me, her glove hanging limply from her hand and her chin tucked to her chest.

  “Sweetie look at me,” I say turning the engine over. Millie obeys and I’d burn down the world to wipe the defeat from her features. “He will have a good reason, okay? This has nothing to do with you.”

  Tears spring up behind her eyes and she blinks to force them back in. I hate that she won’t talk about her feelings with me. I hate that she holds it all in.

  Like her mother.

  The tires spin as I hammer the gas too hard.

  “Do you think something bad happened to him?” She asks as we turn onto the highway.

  “No, he’s probably late. It happens sometimes. Maybe he lost track of time? Or he got an important call? Maybe he’s arguing with the baker to be sure there is not one speck of pink frosting on your birthday cake.” I relax slightly when she giggles.

  I reach over and take her hand in mine.

  “No matter what happened with Xan, I need you know that you’re not the reason. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she says the grin stuck to her face now. Out of the corner of my eye I see a car quickly approaching in the rear-view mirror. The black sedan comes up almost right into the back end of my truck.

  “What the hell, asshole,” I say gripping the wheel as tight as I can. Millie frowns and follows my gaze. I tap my breaks lightly hoping the car will back off but instead they swerve into the other lane and speed past me. They angle sharply back onto the right side of the road but with zero clearance.

  The reckless driver cuts me off and then slams on their breaks. I press my foot to the floor and Millie launches forward into her seatbelt and screams. The only place to go is in the ditch or hit the car in front of me so I choose the ditch. The truck bounces wildly as it comes to a stop in the grass. The black car hits the gas so hard it leaves black marks on the pavement as they race away. With a cop for a father, I have enough sense to look at the license. I only have time to commit the first two letters to memory. EL.

  Adrenaline roars through my body and I shove the door open, screaming into the valley at the black car. Obscenities that no mother should say in front of her child pour from my mouth as I toss a rock toward the car, knowing I’ll never hit it. Suddenly Millie is all I can think about and I sprint to the passenger side, yanking the door with a metal groan that echoes off the mountains.

  “Emilia are you okay?” I shout at her, startling her. Her blank stare remains, and blood ran down her forehead from a small cut on her hairline. I reach into the truck and begin touching her face, shoulders arms, knees, anything to be sure her body is all there. That her bones are still together, still holding her.

  “I’m okay,” she says stunned. “I’m okay mom.”

  My whole body shakes at the sound of her voice and I wrap her in a tight hug, crushing her to me like I could absorb her. That asshole could have killed us. Reckless and careless driving.

  But was it?

  I’ve been passed by some pretty terrible drivers on my decade long road trip. The motorhome was slower than a small car. I know impatient drivers when they think my rig is h
olding up traffic. The way they glare at me as they pass like I shouldn’t be driving.

  Fucking women drivers, I can hear their rage, see their lips categorizing me into an absurd stereotype.

  This car was none of those things. They came up on me with the intention of scaring me. They forced me into the ditch.

  Sirens blare in the distance, one short whirl of noise and red and blue flashers forced me to let go Millie. The cop parks on the edge of the road and jumps out of his vehicle.

  “Are you okay, Miss?” He calls stepping into the ditch. When he gets closer his face wrinkles. “Brigitte?”

  It’s a Raston cop, so he works with my dad. Shit.

  “Hey, I’m okay. Some idiot ran me off the road. Drunk or something I bet.” I lie. The driver was very much in control of their vehicle.

  “My daughter hit her head. She’s bleeding a little.”

  The cop follows me to Millie who was holding a small gauze strip to her forehead. She is still dazed but coherent. He inspects her and asked her a couple questions that she answered fine. I stand behind pacing, each step sinking me further into this hopeless feeling. Control slips from my grip and the realization that this situation might be further out my abilities than I thought.

  I thought this would blow over. I thought if I disappeared for a while whoever was tormenting me would give up. That this guy would move on. It doesn’t make sense anymore, there’s no way one and a half dates with a guy on the other end of the continent would cause all this. Maybe Vince was just the easiest answer. Maybe the right answer is much more complicated that a bruised ego.

  As the police officer helps my daughter I’m overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. I can’t protect her from something I don’t understand.

  I need help.

  Chapter Nineteen

  XAN

  Lord help me, I think as I throw my vehicle into park outside the bar. And by Lord, I mean, whiskey. I jump out of my truck careful not to hit the black sedan parked beside me with the door and take a deep breath. Five minutes.

  I promised him five minutes of my time, so he can ask me for money or whatever the fuck he’s going to do before he disappears again.