Forgiven: The Nash Brothers, Book Two

by Aarons, Carrie

  He’d become someone who, frankly, I was beginning to hate.

  I take my napkin off of my lap, dabbing my lips and then setting it on my plate, which is only a third eaten.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to call it a night.”

  My mother startles beside me. “What?”

  Her voice is a whisper-hiss because she doesn’t want to draw more attention to this argument.

  “Sit back down.” My father’s voice, however, is laced with irate authority.

  Scooting my chair back, I smooth my dress before standing. “I hope you two enjoy the rest of the night. I’ll be taking a car back to Fawn Hill, tonight.”

  It might be juvenile, and I may look like a spoiled brat, but the defiance fills my chest with confidence. I’ve very rarely said no to my parents, but I’m beginning to reach the end of my patience. They still treat me like a five-year-old, and this is my life I get to live. I want to tell them that I will no longer be attending events, speeches, or rallies, but we both know that isn’t true. Plus, having that temper tantrum here in public would be even more embarrassing than leaving in the middle of dinner already is.

  Not that I care what the people sitting around us think.

  “You’re making a big mistake, Lily.” My father’s eyes are flinty as he glares at me.

  But as I walk out of the ballroom, I feel like I’ve just made the first decision concerning my happiness in a very long time.

  16

  Bowen

  I keep thinking about those first moments with Lily.

  Ever since her father came into my shop and basically threatened to ruin my life if I didn’t stay away from her, I couldn’t stop thinking about those early days. It was like his visit had brought on memories of how much he’d disliked me even from the start, and those could only be accompanied by how brand-new our relationship had been.

  Back in those days, we had been shiny. Untarnished. I remember the first time we hung out outside of school. Like the typical cocky, sophomore jock that I was, I’d sauntered up to her at the end of ninth period in the cafeteria and invited her to an upper-class party that one of the seniors was throwing that Friday. When she’d showed up with her friends, innocent little freshman, I’d stolen her away with two red cups of beer and a devilish smile.

  We’d spent the whole night on the back porch, flirting. Well, more like me trying to get to know her, and Lily answering shyly as she gulped down her beer for confidence and stared at her feet.

  Halfway through the conversation, I’d interrupted in the middle of her telling me which book she was reading and kissed her. Planted one right on her. When I pulled back, my lips and fingers and spine tingling with some indescribable gut feeling, Lily was stunned …

  “Why did you do that?” she’d asked.

  “Because you’re nervous. And I’m nervous. And I wanted to get that out of the way because I plan on doing it a lot more. But first I want to know everything about you,” I’d said.

  “That was my first kiss.” She’d blinked.

  “Good,” I’d said. “I want to be your only.”

  Jesus Christ, I’d been a cocky little shit. But I hadn’t been lying. Lily and I, we were love at first sight. Once we’d locked eyes, there was no way to stop it from happening.

  “Four-alarm …”

  HISS, crackle, a beat of silence.

  “Explosion, all units respond …”

  Radio static, crackle … hiss …

  Toothpaste coats the bowl of my sink from where I just spit, and I turn the faucet on to wash it away and rinse my brush. I got lost in my thoughts of Lily in between my bedtime routine and missed something on the police scanner I keep by my bed. But it keeps cutting in and out, and something sounds fishy.

  Did I hear the word explosion?

  Walking through the hall of my second floor, I turn into my bedroom, where the police radio sits on the corner of my desk. The piece of furniture is against the wall across from my bed, a king-sized monster which was the only splurge purchase I made when I bought my house.

  Two years ago, I’d finally saved enough money and could afford a mortgage without defaulting on my business. The barbershop was making good money, and I’d decided to invest in Fawn Hill. Not that the small Pennsylvania town had a booming real estate market with out-of-towners vying for a plot of land, but this was my home and I knew I would stay here forever, so I might as well live in a place where I didn’t have to share a wall with loud neighbors, or worse, my brothers.

  Just as I’m about to turn the radio up to listen closely, my phone rings on the nightstand beside my bed.

  Quickly, I move for it, grabbing it as I see Keith’s, the town fire chief, name flash across the screen.

  “Keith, what’s going on?” I’m already up, pulling a pair of basketball shorts on over my boxers.

  “Bowen, sorry to call you in like this, but I need you here now. You know that suspected meth house out past the county line?”

  Did I know it? Without a doubt, I did. I’d dragged my brother out of that place half-alive not less than a year ago.

  But I don’t say as much. “Yeah, I know the place.”

  On the other end of the phone, it sounds like the sky is falling down. “Damn fools went and got themselves blown up. The fire is bad, at least a four-alarm, and it’s spreading to the trees. We need to contain it before it gets to the surrounding farms. We need all the hands we can get.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty.” I’m nodding, knowing the drive takes thirty-five.

  The phone goes dead before I can end the call abruptly. I run to my closet, shuck off the basketball shorts and dig in the back to find the spare set of fire pants I keep here. I grab for my boots, pull my protective socks on and then shove my feet into the bulky pair of shoes. I’ll find a jacket and the rest of my gear when I get there.

  I just need to get there.

  As promised, I’m at the scene of the fire in twenty minutes flat. I did almost eighty all the way here, and if I hadn’t slammed the detachable siren to the top of my truck, I would have been pulled over for sure. Not that every cop in a fifty-mile radius wasn’t on site at this blaze.

  “Keith!” I run up, waving frantically to the chief.

  “Bowen, thank God you’re here. The rest of the guys need some relief, plus we think there are still two vics trapped inside.”

  I could argue that these guys really weren’t victims, but I didn’t know the semantics of who was in that house, and there wasn’t time for hostility.

  “Grab your gear and grab a hose.” He pats me hard on the back and I’m off.

  Into the truck, grab my jacket, helmet, gloves … race back out, check the lines on the truck, see who needs the most help.

  My eyes assess every inch of the situation, from the way the flames lick up from the foundation of the house to the roof and fly up toward the canopy of trees above. The smell of acrid flesh and soot hangs in the air, and it’s either horrible that I’m used to it or a relief to know that I’m no longer affected by the scent of burning skin. All around me, organized chaos ensues, and I pinpoint where I’m needed most.

  I know Keith told me to help man the tree line, to keep the fire from spreading past the forest and to the land beyond … but that’s never been my strong suit. Part of why I’m an asset on our all-volunteer team is because I’m quick. Maybe not quick enough to run the bases professionally, but I’m fast, especially for my brawny size.

  I need to go into that house.

  My boots clomp toward the porch, the wood there all but crumbling as men try to douse the flames long enough to bolt through the front door.

  Being a firefighter, or any emergency responder means fighting every single instinct to run that invades your brain. While others are running away from danger, you’re running toward it. While buildings are falling, you’re marching into them to help save anyone you can grab. It’s against all logic to do this, yet in some twisted corner of my brain, there is a th
rill extracted from it. Maybe I’m tempting fate, taunting death … but besides wanting to save lives and help people, I do this because I’m ill in some sort of way.

  “Keith, give me the okay to go in.” I stare him down.

  He assesses me, looks at the house, and then back to my helmeted face again. Keith always has a level head, even under the most stressful situations. Measuring what takes priority is why he has the job that he does, and that also comes with picking the right person, with the right skill set, for the job.

  Me? I am fast, and I can carry fifty pounds more than a lot of these guys. I can jump higher, and for some reason, the smoke has never affected me as much. I don’t have a wife or children … essentially, if I’m lost in a fire, no one will miss me. These are things a good chief or captain will weigh out.

  And clearly, Keith does. “Go! Go! But if you feel that floor going out, or that building start to come down, get the hell out. You don’t need to be the ultimate hero, not at this scene.”

  What he’s saying is, these guys got themselves into this mess, and he doesn’t want me killing myself over them.

  In an instant, I’m running into the building, ash and fire raining down on me. The front door is a ring of flames and I push past it, the heat trapping itself inside my suit. I can feel the sweat slicking every part of my body and feel the way my lungs begin to seize. This is the thick of it … this is what I dread but also what I crave.

  There is coughing coming from the next room, and I’m surprised anyone is still conscious at this point. With smoke this thick, I won’t even really be able to see anyone, I just have to go on instinct.

  As I walk, the floorboards under my boots are literally melting. I feel the give of them with my weight. It’s the human equivalent of walking on eggshells. In front of me, I feel something move, and I bend, reaching out with my gloves. A hand fumbles for me, and I can’t even see a face, but I immediately crouch, trying to scoop whoever this is up.

  And then the world commences to crumble around me, flames swallowing my body whole.

  The last thing I see is a vision of Lily, her arms extended toward me, mouthing the words I love you.

  17

  Lily

  From somewhere within the darkness of my bedroom, something buzzes.

  I flip over, burying my head beneath the covers and throwing my leg over the enormous body pillow I sleep with. It’s probably a text from a friend out at the Goat right now, having a drink. Or maybe it’s an update from Facebook or one of my news apps. Either way, I’d made a plan to come to bed early tonight, and I was wiped.

  In about three minutes, I’d be snoring into my white ruffled sheets.

  The phone vibrates again, and I sigh. I’m on the verge of that dreamy peacefulness, that point where you’re right on the edge of sleep and nothing has ever felt so relaxing. But my cell has knocked me out of that alternate state of reality, and now I’m staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, debating whether I should pick the darn thing up.

  I know if I do, the light will pierce my eyes, and I’ll have to shield them. I’ll end up bopping all over social media, and in another hour, I’ll glance at the clock and chastise myself for even giving in to the addictive piece of technology in the first place.

  Weak, that’s what I am. Because I scoot over in bed, reaching for my nightstand, and turn my phone over. When I do, I squint at the screen.

  Three text messages from Presley. Hmm, that’s odd.

  Not because we don’t text all the time, but we don’t ever really talk at night. She usually reserves that time for Keaton and has never been much of a technology girl since I’ve met her. Her nose isn’t permanently pressed to the screen like the rest of us.

  Punching in my password, I flick my thumb over the messages app and open them up to read.

  Presley: Hey, do you hear those sirens?

  Presley: Oh, never mind, Keaton just got a call from Bowen. There has been a fire on the outskirts of town. They think it might be the meth house.

  Her texts are about ten minutes apart, and now that I really strain my ears, I can hear the sirens blaring somewhere in the distance. A fire … at the meth house. The one they saved Fletcher from almost a year ago, I remember the story. The local police had been trying to nab those guys for months, and now it looked like they’d gone and done their job for them.

  I shouldn’t think like that, but those men were evil. I’d heard about what they’d said to Presley, what they’d done to Fletcher. Who knows how many more poor souls they’d enticed and trapped with their drugs? It was a morally corrupt business they were into, and any karma that came their way was deserved.

  Even so, I sent a quick prayer up for everyone at the scene, for them to be safe from the fire.

  Lily: Have you heard anything else? How bad is it? Is anyone hurt?

  Sitting up, my foot begins to jiggle. The nervous energy travels all the way up my body, and into my hands, which shake slightly where I hold the phone. I click out of the message and scroll through some social media feeds, just biding time and trying not to worry. Presley isn’t answering, and I’m not sure why, but some sixth sense tells me something is wrong.

  It takes Presley another forty minutes to answer me, and by that point, all the lights in my bedroom are on and I’m pacing.

  Presley: There was an explosion, Bowen got called in to help. The house collapsed, not sure who was inside. That’s everything I know. Try to update you as my news comes in.

  Dread swamps me, sending a cold sweat slicking down my back. I wasn’t with Bowen when he trained to be a firefighter, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t know he was doing it. While I find it admirable, and honestly, ridiculously hot … I also hate it. Fawn Hill and its surrounding towns don’t have much of a crime or fire rate, but it doesn’t mean that both jobs still aren’t dangerous. The description of the career is literally putting your life on the line anytime they need it, and right now, he was running into a burning building. The thought of losing him, the man I’d loved my entire adult life, even more than I already had …

  Fear is a virus spreading through my limbs as I pull on clothes, ready for what, I’m not sure. Do I assume at this moment that I’ll go drive out to the fire, try to get to him? I’m not thinking rationally, that much is clear. But I can’t help it. Even if he doesn’t want me, even after the hurtful things he said that night at the bar, even if the two of us mean nothing to each other … I can’t bear not to be there if he’s hurt.

  My phone dings again, and I dive for it.

  Presley: Keaton is trying to find out as much as he can. Word is, the fire has spread to the surrounding forest. They’re trying their best to put it out.

  I can’t sit here, alone, while Bowen might be dying on the outskirts of town. That is what my brain in haywire chaos tells me, and before I know what I’m doing, my keys are in my hand and I’m walking out the front door. It’s only nine o’clock, but it feels like the darkness is closing in on me as I walk cautiously through my neighborhood. In reality, most of the people here are probably still awake, and I’m just letting the ghosts in my head spook me more than I should.

  The distance between my townhouse and Bowen’s craftsman is nothing … and it doesn’t escape me on my nightly drive home from the library that we’re basically neighbors even though he hadn’t known that until recently. For over a year, we’ve lived down the street, in the same town, and couldn’t bring ourselves to speak about the past.

  Now here I was, standing on his front porch, ringing the bell. What a stupid thing to do … clearly, he wasn’t home. Presley had told me as much, and the house was dark with his truck missing out of the driveway. But it’s instinct, and I’m surprisingly disappointed when I’m not greeted by that annoyed, gorgeous face opening the door.

  I stand there, indecisive, sure that I should walk home but my feet won’t move.

  I’ll just … sit here until I see his truck turn down the street and then I can go. I just need the reassurance
he’s okay, and he won’t know I was ever here.

  So I sit down on the top porch step and lean my head against the white wood railing. I don’t even realize when I drift off, the summer night wind breezing through my hair.

  “Lily?” A gruff, surprised tone invades my ear, and I blink my eyes open.

  My vision is hazy and at first, I think I’m in a dream … until the smell of the man standing in front of me hits my nose.

  I blink again, straightening up where I sit on his front porch and look around me.

  “I … I must have fallen asleep.” The fog of my unexpected nap still shrouds me. “You’re okay.”

  He nods, tilting his head in confusion at my being here. “Did you … how are you …”

  Bowen trails off, not really knowing what question to ask, and I take a moment to study him. His hair is wild, brushed this way and that … but still sexy in its chaos. His face is streaked with soot and dirt and sweat … and is that blood? His uniform pants are almost black, the greenish-yellow of them completely covered. The blue of his eyes is dulled, and he looks exhausted. The way his bones sag shows just how much he’s been through tonight.

  I look up into his face, not moving from where I sit on the steps. “Presley texted me … about the fire. Said you were in the house. I …”

  Swallow the emotion, Lily. I gulp, telling myself that I cannot cry in front of him. It would be foolish and misplaced, and he doesn’t care for me. Not the way I care for him.

  “You were worried about me?” More questions.

  “Of course, I was.” My voice cracks.