“You didn’t have to do that…” I said slowly. “Split the inheritance, I mean.”
“It was the right thing to do,” Brady countered. “And now…you can use that money to give this baby a real home.”
“Brady, I don’t know what to say…” I stammered, still in shock.
“You don’t need to say anything,” Brady shrugged. “You’re my little brother…I just wanted to look out for you.”
“I know,” I nodded. “I’m sorry I ever doubted that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | VANESSA
Thirty-Four Weeks
“I thought you said this place was in the Upper East Side?” I croaked as I glanced up at the grim storefront.
From my vantage point on the sidewalk, it was hard to take everything in at once. The storefront was covered with a tattered vinyl awning, marked with faint letters reading ‘BEAUTY SALON’ that had been all but bleached away by the sun. There were two large windows on either side of the front door, but the glass had been shattered and boarded up with moldy plywood that was now streaked with graffiti and ‘missing person’ posters. The front door itself was still intact, behind a shield of dense iron bars.
I glanced to the left and right, to see if the neighboring storefronts were any less grim. To the left, I could see three giant red neon dollar signs glaring from the front window of a payday advance loan shop. And to the right, there was a dim sum restaurant whose front window was occupied with a mildewed fish tank full of grey fish treading through murky green water. A few had already perished and floated to the top...
“Ok,” Brie sighed heavily. “Technically this is East Harlem…not the Upper East Side. But I think this place has a lot of potential! It’s exactly what you’re looking for, and it’s in your budget!”
I echoed her sigh, glancing back up at the storefront.
Brie Wallace was the closest thing to a real estate superhero that Hartford had. Her face was on buses and billboards, underneath the slogan: “I don’t just sell houses…I work miracles!”
That’s why I had scribbled down her number and given her a call: I needed a miracle.
Being under strict doctor’s orders to slow down had forced me to reevaluate my long-term plan for Fairy Godmother Beauty. I knew that things would only get harder once the baby was born, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to jump from job to job anymore.
I had a baby to think about. That meant it was time to settle down and establish my roots. And what better place to do that, then in Manhattan?
New York City had always been the end goal…and now, it’d be a reality. Summer and I had decided to give Fairy Godmother Beauty a permanent home by opening a salon in the big city. We’d still work the occasional gig, but the majority of our work would be done in our new salon.
As soon as we came up with the plan, I began envisioning the perfect studio space: a modern, white salon drenched in natural light and chic furnishings, and a back room where my baby could nap through my shifts.
It seemed perfect. But now, blinking up at the vacant unit that Brie had eagerly told me about, I realized that I might have let my imagination wander a little too far…
“At least take a look inside before you make any decisions?” Brie asked.
“Ok,” I agreed reluctantly.
Brie unlocked the metal security gate and the front door, then she pushed it open and stepped inside. She immediately started coughing.
“Try not to breathe,” she said over her shoulder, holding the door open for me.
The smell hit me immediately as I stepped through the door: a mixture of mold and musty old cigarette smoke. I stifled a cough, then I thought about the baby. I tugged up the neck of my t-shirt and covered my nose.
“As you can see,” Brie explained, waving an arm around, “This used to be a salon. That means you might be able to save some money on remodeling expenses!”
I glanced around, taking in the interior. There was a row of shampoo stations, but they were in bad shape. The leather seats had been cut open with a knife, and the foam cushioning had been savagely ripped apart. The sinks themselves might have been fine…but there had obviously been a leak in the pipes, which had resulted in the floor bending and warping from water damage.
Those repairs alone would easily cost more than the price of installing and plumbing brand new shampoo stations…
“What do you think?” Brie asked optimistically, turning to face me.
My eyes were still moving around the salon, taking in the graffiti decorating the walls and the shattered glass mirrors. It was hard to find one thing to feel optimistic about in the entire space.
“I’ll be honest, Brie…” I said slowly, “I think this would be biting off a little bit more than I can chew…”
“I know it’s daunting,” Brie cut me off. “But with your budget, you might have to be a little more willing to put in some elbow grease. Especially if you want to be in Manhattan.”
I sighed and glanced around the salon again. It’s going to take a lot more than just elbow grease to turn this place into a functional salon…
I knew she was right, though. Summer and I had planned on saving up for a few more years before we went shopping for New York City real estate. The baby had rushed those plans forward…and as a result, we didn’t have as much money to put down as we would have liked.
“Let me talk about it with Summer,” I said finally. “We’ll have to price things out, and figure out a budget for remodeling this place…”
“Of course!” Brie grinned. “But try not to wait too long. Property moves fast in this city. Even in East Harlem…”
Glancing around the salon, I found it hard to believe that anyone would be in a rush to buy this place.
“I understand,” I said, but my voice was drowned out by a siren screeching from the street outside.
Is this what my New York City dream looks like? Because this feels like more of a nightmare...
***
I couldn’t wait to get home to Hartford. I paid for a taxi to Penn Station, where I’d be boarding the next Amtrak train back to Connecticut. I had made the trip so many times that I almost slipped into autopilot as I entered the station and glanced up at the giant lit-up departure board to see which platform my train would be leaving from.
I had gotten about halfway through the underground concourse when I smelled the sweet, doughy aroma of baking bread. My stomach grumbled, and I immediately remembered what Doctor White had warned me about ignoring hunger pains.
I turned on my heel and headed for Pret a Manger. I ordered myself a sandwich and a small coffee and was waiting for my food at the pick-up counter, when something caught my eye.
Several feet away, in the center of the lobby, there was a newsstand set up. A length of wire was strung over the booth, but instead of magazines or newspapers being clipped to the line, there was images of firemen.
I squinted my eyes to get a closer look, and that’s when I realized that they were actually calendars.
My heart immediately started racing as I remembered the Firehouse 56 calendar. Josh had told me about the calendar photoshoot at the station. He had bragged about it, actually. But when I had pressed him for more details, he had told me that I’d just have to wait to see it for myself.
What are the odds that the calendar would be for sale here, in New York City?! I thought to myself. There’s no way…
“Miss?” a voice bellowed at me. I whirled around and saw a Pret a Manger employee holding out a paper bag and paper cup of coffee towards me impatiently.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, taking them both. Then I shuffled towards the newsstand.
As I got closer, my eyes scanned over the assortment of calendars that had been released by different fire departments across the tri-state area: ‘Sexy Firemen of FDNY,’ ‘Jersey City Fired Up,’ ‘Poughkeepsie Boys in Black’...
Then my eyes landed on it, smackdab in the middle of the line-up: ‘Hartford Fire
Department’s Firehouse 56’.
“You like a man in uniform, miss?” the greasy clerk behind the newsstand asked in a thick New York accent. He threaded his thumbs through the straps of his wife-beater tank top and grinned down at me.
“Can I buy the Hartford calendar, please?” I said bluntly, ignoring the creepy leer he was giving me.
“Sure thing, gorgeous,” he said. He licked his thumb and used it to open a plastic shopping bag, but I stopped him:
“No bag,” I said. I dug out my wallet and found a twenty dollar bill, then I passed it over the counter. “Keep the change.”
I grabbed the calendar, sealed in smooth cellophane, and I shoved it under my arm as I turned and walked briskly through the concourse. I didn’t slow my pace until I had reached the train platform and slid into my seat.
I wanted to tear the calendar open and find Josh’s picture right away, but I forced myself to finish my sandwich first. By the time I had chewed the last bite, the train was already dragging me back towards Hartford.
I squirted hand sanitizer on my hands and rubbed them together until my fingers were dry and smelled like grapes. Then I took the calendar in my hands and slowly unwrapped the cellophane.
The calendar felt warm in my hands…as if it had just rolled off of the printing press. I knew it was probably just warm from being pinched under my arm, but there was still something…momentous about flipping open the cover and running my fingertips over the glossy pages.
January was first; Brady Hudson. I flicked the page without giving him a second glance. Then my eyes locked onto February, and my entire body froze.
There he was. And just in case I didn’t trust my eyes, the name printed on the bottom of the photograph confirmed it: Joshua Hudson.
He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black turnout pants that rested low, hugging his hips and revealing the bulging v-lines that framed his pelvis. His abs were defined by soft shadows that filled the contours of his chest, and my eyes drowned in the photograph, I remembered how those muscles had felt underneath my hands…
Then I caught his eyes, staring straight back me through the photograph: grey, fierce, unrelenting.
He was standing on the back of a fire engine, his boots on the chrome bumper. One arm was stretched up, gripping onto a horizontal pole that ran the width of the truck. His other hand was wrapped underneath the suspenders that held up his pants. His thumb was stretching the suspender away, revealing his dark nipple and perfect pec…and his arm was bent, causing the muscle of his bicep to bulge out.
Fuck…I grunted to myself. Why does he have to look like that?!
My brain wanted to hate him…but my pussy had a mind of its own. I felt my panties grow hot and wet as I thought about all of the primal, dirty, unashamed things that we had done together. This was the man who had put a baby inside me…
And that’s why you hate him, I reminded myself, forcing a heavy swallow.
My eyes landed on the page again. Underneath the photograph, there was a box that read ‘Q&A with Josh!’
I scanned the text slowly, digesting the series of questions and answers. When I got to the last question, my heart stopped. In bold print, the question asked:
‘What are you most excited about for the new year?’
And underneath it, in tiny letters, Josh had answered:
‘That’s easy. Becoming a father.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE | JOSH
I raised my fist and knocked, for the third time, on the heavy wooden door. My heart was racing, and my head was already filling with reasons why the door hadn’t opened yet.
What if something happened? What if there were complications? What if there was another collapse--
Then I heard the sharp clicking sound of a lock being turned, and the door flung open.
“Colonel!” I gasped, jerking my shoulders back. My grandfather expected perfect posture.
“I heard you knock the first time,” he grumbled.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure--”
“What’s that?” he nodded to the paper bag that I was holding in one arm.
“I brought you lunch,” I explained. “I figured that now that you’re back home, you’d want some real food. You know, after all that crap they had you eating at the hospital…”
My grandfather eyed me skeptically, then he stepped aside and motioned for me to step into the house.
Besides speaking with a slight slur and requiring a cane to help him walk, my grandfather had made an otherwise miraculous recovery. He had spent a few days at the hospital recovering from surgery, then the doctors had agreed to send him home…on the condition that I arrange for a home-care nurse to check up on him daily.
The poor home-care nurse hadn’t even lasted a week. I still wasn’t sure what exactly went down: either my grandfather got fed up and fired her, or he made her job so miserable that she just up and quit. Either way, one thing was clear: the Colonel didn’t like being looked after. He was the kind of man who dealt with orders and commands…not sympathy and small-talk.
So instead of hiring another home-care nurse, I had taken the job on myself.
“Have you taken your medication yet?” I asked as I made my way towards the kitchen with the bag of hot food.
“You don’t need to yell,” my grandfather said as he followed behind me, moving slowly with his cane. “I had a stroke, I didn’t go deaf!”
“Sorry, Sir,” I said. “I didn’t mean to yell.”
“Here,” my grandfather grunted stubbornly, pointing to a plastic pill organizer that had a separate section for each day of the week. Today’s compartment was empty.
“That’s good,” I said. “Doctor Jurgen will be proud.”
The Colonel grumbled something under his breath about how Doctor Jurgen was a child who didn’t understand the meaning of pride, and I stifled a laugh.
I couldn’t say that the stroke had softened the old man…but it had seemed to have given him a better sense of humor.
“Why don’t you sit down while I get your lunch on a plate?”
“I can do it myself,” the Colonel insisted. He nudged me out of the way as he reached for a cabinet of dinner plates, then he suddenly winced in pain and recoiled.
“Sit down,” I said, sternly this time. He muttered something else under his breath, then he hobbled towards the kitchen table.
I grabbed a set of plates out of the cabinet, then I ripped open the paper bag and began spilling the contents of styrofoam take-out containers onto the plates.
“You keep coming alone,” my grandfather snapped. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him staring back at me from the kitchen table.
“I don’t understand what you mean by that, Sir,” I said slowly. I knew better than to say “huh?” or “what do you mean?” to my grandfather.
“Everyday when you come to see me, you come alone,” he said. “When am I going to meet this mystery woman, if you keep coming to see me alone?”
My body went stiff. I carefully set down the Styrofoam container that I had been scooping food out of, then I turned slowly to face my grandfather.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir,” I said slowly.
“Of course you do,” he grunted back impatiently. “Vanessa. You told me all about her. You remember: that morning in my hospital room.”
My eyebrows flung up in shock, and I felt my jaw drop.
I had told the Colonel about Vanessa that morning after his surgery. But how could he possibly know about that?! The doctor had told me that he wasn’t even awake yet…
“But…I thought you were still asleep...” I stammered.
“I was wide awake,” he said. “I was just resting my eyes.”
I felt my jaw drop again, and my mind raced as I tried to remember everything that I had said…
“Colonel, I had no idea…”
“Joshua, you’re a man. Men never apologize for saying things that
they mean.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Frankly, that was the best conversation I’ve ever had with you,” he said. Then: “Sit down.”
I abandoned the Styrofoam containers of food and dinner plates, and I crossed the kitchen to take a seat at the table across from him.
“Your father used to worry about you, Joshua,” the Colonel said. “He thought you lacked ambition, and he worried that you wouldn’t make anything of yourself.”
I know, I said silently. I swallowed heavily. Even though it had been years since I had last seen the disappointment in my father’s eyes, those words still hurt to hear.
“But I saw something your father couldn’t see,” the Colonel continued. “Your father saw your stubbornness and sensitivity as weaknesses, but I knew that they were your greatest strengths. Your stubbornness meant that you would always do what you believed was right, and your sensitivity meant that you would always have compassion and empathy for others.”
I blinked at the Colonel silently, unsure of what to say. He had never said anything like that to me before…
“During my time in the Army, I learned a lot of things about the men who served alongside me,” he continued. “I learned that the strongest men aren’t the ones who follow orders or fall into line. The strongest men are the ones just like you, Joshua: the men who are willing to dig their feet into the ground and fight for what they believe in, even if there’s no one standing behind them.”
“I told your father to kick you out of the house, Joshua,” the Colonel confessed. His cold grey eyes watched me closely, waiting for a reaction. I didn’t have one to give him.
“I told him that cutting you loose was the only way that you could learn your own strength.”
February Burning: A Firefighter Secret Baby Romance Page 16
