by Chrys Fey
“Thanks for carrying the burden,” he teased.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She kissed him goodbye. “I’ll see you later.”
Her drive from city to city was smokier than it had been the day before. While on the highway, she saw three plumes of smoke on the right and two on the left. Five fires burning within miles of each other. More fires were active in other cities farther way. In Palm Bay, there were ten fires burning alone. That was about an hour drive where she lived now. You couldn’t drive anywhere without seeing the sign of a fire. You couldn’t even turn. She wondered if someone was taking a joy ride through Central Florida, tossing lit matches from their car window every ten miles or so. Did they pull over to watch each match ignite? Did they relish the sight of the fire growing from a single flame to a brush fire? Or did they just toss and drive with the goal of setting as many fires in the shortest timespan?
There was no way all those fires were caused by the hot sun and the dry ground. But what did someone have to gain from starting the fires? What was the purpose?
She got out of her car outside The Fighting Chance. While standing on the asphalt, she rotated to look at the sky around her. The towers of smoke were closer than yesterday. The wind had also carried the smell of the distance fires to the city, telling her there was no escaping it.
She went into the studio to prep for the day. Most of her classes would be unfazed by the absence of Dave, but the advanced class would be affected. After she had the equipment out, the fridge restocked, and the room sprayed with fragrance, she picked up the phone to call her emergency stand-by instructors. She had used them when she was recuperating from the tsunami and during those times when she had come down with the flu. The first two on the list couldn’t make it. The third, her old instructor’s assistant, Michelle, was free to jump in.
“Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“No problem. Can I ask why you had to fire your assistant?”
Beth pinched the rim of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “I’d rather not say.”
“I understand. I’ll be there twenty minutes before to hear your lesson plan.”
“Great. I’ll see you then. Thanks again. Bye.” She hung up as Corissa entered.
“Hey, Beth.”
“Hey, Cor. Michelle will be coming in to help with the last class. Can you call Maria for me to check in on her and see if she’s coming in today?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
The first student for the morning beginner’s class arrived as Corissa dialed the phone.
Hours later, while Corissa went out for her hour-long lunch break, Beth occupied the front desk. She had heated up a healthy ravioli in the microwave and took a tossed salad from the fridge. At the front desk, she sat down with her food and a bottle of mineral water. During class, she usually had music playing in the background to help her students get excited and ready to move. Now she turned up that music. Her feet tapped the floor, and her head bobbed to the beat as she ate. Lunch was always a time for Beth to catch her breath, relax, and replenish her energy. She took this hour seriously every day and didn’t waste it. Usually, after she finished eating, she’d use the foot massager in her office to sooth her feet and would even stretch out on the couch to rest her body for twenty minutes. Wanting to do her ritual relaxation before lunch was over, she got up to go to her office.
A knock drew her around when she was halfway across the studio. She was prepared to tell whoever it was that she was closed for another forty minutes, but the young woman staring in at her looked familiar. She headed for the door. The closer she got, she recognized the face she had seen only once before. Brown hair was pulled into a bun, and brown eyes were lined with layers of eyeliner. A pink crescent-shaped scar shone on her cheek. It was April, the hooker attacked by a man named Ramirez, a man Beth helped to catch by going undercover.
She unlocked the door. “Hey, April. How are you?” She gave the woman a small hug.
“I’m good. Better. I was, uh, hoping to take a class or two if your offer still stands for free classes?”
“Of course, my offer stands. Come on in.” She waved her hand, allowing April entrance.
“It’s a bit early yet, but that could give us time to talk.” She relocked the door. “You can have a seat if you want. I’m on my lunch break, but I’m done eating now. I suppose I can get out the equipment for the next class.” She always swapped out the used gear for clean ones, which Corissa helped her sanitize between sets.
“I can help,” April said.
“Okay. Come on.” In the storage closet, she pointed to a bag of helmets. “Grab this and follow me.” She hefted a bag of gloves and carried it to the mat. “Everywhere I set a pair of gloves, put a helmet with them.” They laid out the equipment for the second beginners class; neither of them saying anything until April broke the silence.
“I, uh, came here a month after I was released from the hospital. Your assistant said you were on your honeymoon…in Hawaii. Were you there…when the tsunami hit?”
Beth froze with her arm outstretched. She didn’t talk about what happened to her own friends; they just knew she survived. She straightened her back to look into April’s penetrating eyes. “We were there.” She paused. “We were right there.”
April swallowed. “Oh.” She shook her head. “It’s okay. I won’t ask about it.” With a pink fingernail, she tapped her scarred cheek. “I hate having to explain when people see this.”
Beth looked at her mutilated cheek. April was so beautiful, but everyone who encountered her probably only saw that scar.
“I came again,” April said, drawing her attention. “But you were out.”
Beth nodded. “Physical therapy.” And because April showed her scar, Beth pointed at the round scar on her shoulder. “I was shot in Hawaii. When I came back, I was recuperating.” She set down another pair of gloves and helmet. “You still could’ve taken the class even though I wasn’t here. My assistant would’ve just confirmed with me that your classes are free.”
April shrugged. “I didn’t want to be here without you.”
A twinge in Beth’s heart had her reaching out to touch April’s arm. She could sympathize with April’s feeling. When she first went to therapy, physical and mental, she wanted Donovan there at her side for support. Beth was April’s support.
At the start of the class, Beth introduced April. She had started the custom of announcing new students when she first created The Fighting Chance because she wanted her students to feel a comradery to each other. She wanted them to support one another. But April wasn’t expecting it and turned several shades of pink in embarrassment.
“Listen up, everyone. We have a new student today. Her name is April. I met her over a year ago, and she has finally decided to join our family. Let’s show her what it means to be a member of The Fighting Chance.”
Everyone burst into an applause. Shouts of encouragement lifted.
“Welcome!”
“You go, girl!”
During the lesson, Beth stood at April’s side to show her how to get into a ready stance and coached her through blocking and throwing a proper punch.
“Untuck your thumb.” Taking April’s hand, she pried open her fingers to release her thumb from the hold she had on it. Then she curled April’s fingers back into her palm and placed her thumb on the outside. “You don’t want your thumb inside your palm, because if you strike something, you’ll put pressure here and break your thumb.” She mimicked what April had done and pointed at the thumb’s joint sticking out of her fist.
“Next, which hand is your dominate hand? Are you a righty or a lefty?”
“Righty.”
“Okay. The correct place to put your left fist is near your chin with your right fist farther away. That way you’re protecting your face.”
She tapped April’s sneakers with her feet. “Spread your feet so they’re about a shoulder’s width apart and lower your body.”
“There you go. Now you’re ready to kick some ass.” Beth grinned.
Grasping a block of foam, she prompted April to punch to get the hang of the form. After several minutes, she changed tactic and taught April how to block punches. She was about to throw a punch for April to deflect when Corissa hurried onto the mat. “Lori, your husband is on the phone. It’s an emergency.”
Beth lowered her gloved hands as Lori, a middle-aged woman who had been coming to Beth’s class for two years, hurried to the phone on the counter. She wore yellow yoga pants and an over-sized T-shirt. Her dark hair, cut in a pixie style, was flattened to her head with sweat.
As Lori talk to her husband, alarm gave way to sheer terror. “Oh God, oh no.”
Lori’s voice shook. “I’m coming.” The phone clattered onto the counter. Lori threw open the door to one of the cubbies and snatched out her purse. “I have to go.” Tears zipped down her cheeks. “There’s a fire next to my house.”
Those words had Beth’s heart dropping to her gallbladder. “We’ll pray,” she said.
A sob broke from Lori, and then she spun around and rushed out the door.
Beth stared after her and watched the door slowly swing shut. The bells clattered, tugging her from her trance; she realized her students were all staring at her. She lifted her hands again. “Back to the lesson.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll check in on Lori later for news. For now, let’s dedicate the rest of the lesson to Lori. Okay?”
Her students agreed and pushed themselves to do better than Beth had ever seen them do. She was proud of them, proud her students had built such a strong bond that they were like family and worried about each other when they were going through tough times.
At the end of their lesson, Beth spoke to Michelle who arrived moments before. She explained the situation and asked if Michelle would be okay leading the class that would start in thirty minutes with one of her students to assist her. Michelle agreed. Beth called Amanda to tell her what was going on and to ask if she’d be up for assisting another instructor for today. Amanda also agreed.
In the back of Beth’s mind, she recalled how she had wanted to speak to Amanda today about becoming her permanent assistant, but now was not the time. She hurried out the door as soon as she got confirmation from both women. She didn’t even bother to wipe the sweat off her skin with a towel. She hopped into her car, cranked the air conditioning, and sped out of the parking lot toward an expanding plume of smoke in the distance. Worried thoughts circulated in her head. Lori had two children. Were they there, watching the fire creep closer to their home? Was the house still standing? Did the fire department make it in time? Did Lori?
Living in Florida, evacuating your house due to a fire was as frightening as escaping the path of a hurricane. She remembered running to the end of the road when she a little girl in her pajamas. Her mom ran next to her in her nightgown. They were home alone; her dad was working late as a truck driver at the time, and the lights of an approaching fire brightened the pitch-black sky, scoring the night with yellow and orange flares. Her heart had raced ahead of her. The sound of her slippers scratching against the asphalt was loud in her ears.
They made it to the end of the road and looked toward the dancing lights. The fire was a few blocks away. Tears had popped into Beth’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. While they numbly stared at the fire in the distance, a police car stopped in front of them. The officer told them to pack their cars and leave their house.
Beth had scurried back home, tripping on her slippers. She stuffed clothes and her favorite Barbies into her backpack. She snatched up her blankie, pressed it to her chest, and met her mom in the hall as she took pictures off the walls. They crammed their possessions into the car and drove to a hotel. Beth’s dad later joined them. She stayed up late watching the news, hypnotized by the blinking red dots on the map that indicating four fires. One of those fires had been close to her home. Luckily, it was put out two blocks from where she lived, but the fear she had that night had stayed with her.
The closer Beth got to Lori’s house, the larger the smoke cloud grew, which meant the fire was large, spreading far and wide. The smoke was black, and the sky was tinged brown. Around the corner from Lori’s house the air was so thick with smoke it was hard to see. She pulled over onto the grass with a few other cars—onlookers. Sliding out of her car, smoke encircled her, stinging her eyes and suffocating her. Not bothering to lock the doors, she jogged toward Clinton Street.
Flames licked the sky. Embers floated several feet in the air above the peaks of burning trees. Ashes shattered against her skin and settled in her hair. She rounded the corner, and her feet skid to a stop. Her mouth dropped open. Her hand cupped her chest. Lori’s house was engulfed in flames.
Two firetrucks were parked in the road in front of the house. Thick streams of water shot forth from the trucks toward the inferno. Flames had reached the road and were on either side of the driveway. The entire lot was up in flames, including the oak tree in the front yard that used to have a tire swing hanging from a sturdy branch.
Through the haze, Beth saw Lori’s yellow yoga pants. She ran down the road, slipping past firefighters, to her friend. Tears were in her eyes when she stopped next to Lori. Holding back a coughing fit, she touched Lori’s arm.
Lori turned. Her eyes were bloodshot from tears and smoke. Her cheeks were wet and streaked with black. “B-Beth.”
Beth silently pulled Lori into a hug and stared at the burning structure. Beneath the many layers of orange flames, the lines of the house were barely visible. Heat slammed into the side of her face. It was so intense she thought the waves of heat blasting her could sear her skin. She tugged Lori to the other side of the street, away from the flames, and turned her around so the house was behind her. She rubbed Lori’s back as Lori clutched her and sobbed.
Over Lori’s shoulder, she saw the house collapse into a burning heap.
****
Beth dragged herself into her house. With Donovan’s competition starting at six o’clock, she had been prepared to leave work early, but she hadn’t even returned to work after going to Lori’s house. She stayed until the firefighters forced them to leave. Then she walked back to her car, her lungs bursting, and drove home. She went straight to the kitchen where she filled a glass of water and chugged it at the sink.
“Rough day?”
She glanced at Donovan as he walked to her. “You can say that.”
He kissed her temple. “You smell like smoke.”
“Lori’s husband called during class.” She met his gaze and said two words, “A fire.”
Donovan sucked in a breath.
“Her house is gone.” Her chest tightened. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyelids. “I saw it fall to the ground.” She shook her head. “They have nothing left.”
Donovan wrapped his arms around her. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent. “You don’t have to come to my competition tonight,” he whispered in her ear. “You can stay home, relax.”
“No.” She inched back. “I want to see you compete. I’ll take a shower and wash my hair. Could you make me a sandwich?”
“Sure. What kind?”
“Peanut butter and jelly.”
She lathered her hair and let the rancid bubbles wash down the drain. Smelling better, she dressed in jeans and a neon green T-Shirt with the logo from Donovan’s monster truck on the front—a black cobra posing to strike. On the back was the name of his truck—Venom.
Donovan grinned when he saw her T-shirt. “Looks good on you.”
She tugged the hem and winked. “Thanks.”
He stepped up to her, dipped his head, and kissed her below her ear. “Mm. You smell nice.” He kissed his way down her neck. The way he savored her clean skin made her moan.
She slung her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his, needing to feel his heat that could burn her on the inside but
not the outside, not like the fire that consumed Lori’s house. The kiss deepened, scorching her. He lifted her onto the counter. His hands sought the heat beneath her shirt. They fondled her flesh and warmth. Her legs locked around him, and her ankles crossed. She felt like a torch ignited with passion. When Donovan’s fingers fiddled with the button of her jeans, she put her hand on his chest and pushed him back. She was panting, and her body was humming. She would’ve loved to take Donovan into her and forget all about the peanut butter and jelly sandwich sitting a foot away on the counter, but Donovan needed to keep his strength for his competition.
“No,” she said. “Use what you’re feeling tonight. It’ll be good fuel.” She pushed him back and hopped off the counter. Donovan groaned as she picked up the plate and took a big bite out of the sandwich. Mouth full, she sauntered out of the kitchen with her button still undone.
Chapter Six
Donovan stood next to Venom. He wore a black fire suit with neon green lines and a cobra on his back to match the one on his truck. The front was partially unzipped, revealing the white T-shirt he wore underneath. He inspected each tire thoroughly, making sure there were no cracks or leaks. Inside the cab, he checked the gauges and tugged on the harness to make sure it was secure. He did this before every competition, like a ritual. In his head, he worked down a mental checklist. He made sure the tank was full and the tire pressure was right. Without doing a full internal scan of the engine and every part, he felt the truck was good to go. He jumped out and strode to where Beth squatted next to a tire with a rag in hand as she rubbed the silver clean.
He took the rag from her and tossed it at Mitch. “You’re not a grease monkey, Beth.”
“Hey, I can get greasy,” she protested.
“Mm.” He dipped his head and claimed her mouth. “I know,” he said against her lips.
She laughed.
“Save that lust for later,” Mitch shouted. “Better yet, use it in the competition. You’re here to make me money, kid.”
Donovan raised a brow at Mitch. “Make you money? You’re a funny man.”
