Forged by Fire: A Small Town Second Chance Romance

by Cleveland, Eddie

“Do you remember Shannon Hainsley?” My chin quivers. Her smug, stupid voice still echoes in my ears.

  "Shannon? Uh, yeah, what about her?" Luke looks like he thinks I'm having a nervous breakdown.

  I might be.

  “When I was nine, I went to a sleepover at her house. It was her birthday and all the girls were talking about princesses and stuff." I look down at the dirt road.

  "Okay, so what does that have to do with—"

  "So, Shannon decided that since it was her birthday she got to choose what princess we were.”

  “Sounds like her.” Luke rolls his eyes.

  “Yeah. Anyway, she decided she was Ariel because she can sing really well. And your cousin Hannah, she got to be Belle since she loves to read. And when it was my turn she laughed and got that mean look on her face. You know the one I mean?"

  "Yeah, I know." Luke sounds tired, but he keeps watching me, trying to understand.

  “And she said, 'I know what you can be. A junkyard Rapunzel. Isn't that perfect? Since you have the long blond hair and the only way you're going to get out of that trash heap is if some prince saves you.’” I imitate her snotty, high-pitched voice.

  My face twists up like I ate a lemon, into the same knotted look she still wears when she’s looking down her nose at someone. “She said it in front of everyone. Luke, I wanted to disappear. I was praying for her to move onto something else. But she kept on and on about it. ‘I mean how do you guys even play in that yard? Do you even have toys, or do you just play with trash?'" Tears I can't hold back anymore pour down my face.

  Luke sighs and pulls me into him. “Shannon Hainsley was a bitch. No, she is a bitch. And she’ll die a bitch. Everyone knows that. She’s been jealous of you forever. Besides, you guys were just kids. What does that have to do with right now?”

  I want to melt into his arms. I want a simple hug to be enough to make this hurt go away. But it doesn’t. Instead, that awful frost spreads further. I break away from Luke’s arms and stare into his eyes. "Because she was right! I did grow up in a disgusting trash heap. Hell, she was even right about us playing with the junk. Do you know how many forts we made out of that scrap? How many junked out cars we used to pretend to drive in?”

  Heat splashes over me like a tidal wave at the embarrassing memories. “That sleepover was the first time I realized how people in this town really see me. How everyone sees my family. And I knew from then on I couldn't stay here. I needed more for myself. That’s why I worked my ass off to do better. And that's why”—I pull a jagged breath into my lungs and lower my voice—“if you've changed your mind, I can't stay here with you. I can't spend another year as a junkyard Rapunzel." I sob into my hands.

  Luke grabs my arms and tugs me back against him. His lips press into my forehead and calm finally washes over my frazzled nerves.

  "I haven't changed my mind, babe. We’re still going. I promise.”

  "Really?" I look up at him. His jaw grows tense, his teeth on edge, and he gives a stiff nod.

  "Yes. You deserve to start over and I'm not gonna hold you back. Dad and I will work it out. He might not be happy with me, but that's between him and me."

  Luke drops his arms from my sides and grabs my hand, leading me up my driveway until we both come to a standstill under the eaves of my place. Back to the scrapyard that's defined my entire life. "Listen to me. I'm dropping you off at this house, but this is not your home. You're not a damned 'junkyard Rapunzel,’ you're the love of my fucking life and your home is with me. We'll make it together in New York. I swear." He holds my chin between his thumb and finger and gives me a sweet, slow kiss. “You have my word.” His blue eyes twinkle under the moonlight.

  “I love you,” I whisper and our foreheads meet. It’s such a small thing that makes me feel so much better.

  “I’ll stop by later if I can,” he murmurs.

  “Okay.”

  Another quick kiss and Luke is heading off into the night. My heart is fluttering and my palms are all sweaty. Just like when we were kids. But now I know the reason why. I love that boy with every beat left in my heart. And if he swears we’ll make a home together, then I’ve got nothing to worry about.

  5

  Luke

  The walk back to the fire station feels miles longer than it is. Funny how that works. Sometimes the longest walks are only a few steps. Like the distance from my classroom to the principal's office when I tackled Michael King backward in his chair and jumped him, punching his lying face. It didn’t matter that I got a bad reputation with the teachers, or that I was suspended for three days. All that mattered was that piece of shit cried like he made my cousin Hannah cry when he decided to smear her reputation all over the bathroom stall walls.

  Of course, the walk to face my angry mother that day was a long one too. Still, facing Mom’s anger then wasn’t nearly as difficult as facing my father’s disappointment will be. That’s what makes this the longest walk of my life. I mean, I’m sure people have faced worse. That walk from your cell to the electric chair must feel eighteen miles long. Each step, a chance to regret. Every breath, a silent plea with God.

  Cutting across the last dimly lit street, I cross the parking lot at the fire department. The cars are all but gone. It’s only my parents’ sedan and the beastly truck that totes my uncle around waiting to be driven home.

  The bay doors are closed. Whatever emergency ripped them away from the spaghetti social this month has apparently been solved. The door announces my arrival with a long creak, like the ones I pictured Dracula’s coffin lid making when I was a kid. My parents and Hannah’s dad stop and stare. Gee, I wonder what they were talking about.

  I think I hear my name, crackling like an electric current, in the air.

  “Luke.” Mom moves toward me, but Byron lays his giant hand on her shoulder and she stops short. How is it possible that he’s younger than my dad? Looking at them beside each other is like before and after pictures of a guy on the first day he went to the gym and after a year of pumping iron ... while taking steroids.

  “Marie, how ’bout I drive you home?” His voice booms even though he’s trying to speak softly. Even his vocal chords are the juiced up version of my father’s.

  Mom nods. I pretend to study them, not willing, or ready, to face my father yet. I can’t look into his red-rimmed eyes. Knowing I hurt him, well, that’s worse than a jolt from an electric chair.

  Why didn’t I spill it before now? Why have I been sneaking around, packing stuff and making escape plans with Karen like some kind of fugitive? My father has done nothing but support me my entire life. And I repay him by lying to him?

  I’m a shitty son.

  Shame tugs my head down and regret squeezes my eyes shut. I open them just in time to catch my parents finishing up their goodbye kiss. I swear, every time they leave each other’s side they act like one of them is going off to storm the beaches of Normandy. Heat crawls up my neck and my entire body cringes. It’s so embarrassing.

  Will Karen and I kiss like that in thirty years? The idea softens the sting of seeing my parents suck face. I guess it’s kind of sweet that they still love each other that much. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud.

  “I’ll see you both back home.” Mom meets my eyes solemnly. She turns her attention back to Dad. “Don’t forget what we talked about.” She grazes the side of his cheek.

  “I know.” He squeezes her hand and she nods. They’ve always had a secret language, the two of them. Sentences shared in gazes and entire conversations spoken in grazes.

  Her eyes flicker back to mine once more, but I don’t have the same gift of understanding. Is she upset with me? Worried? Just worn out from working a full nursing shift at the medical center and then heading out with the department tonight? Her look could mean nothing, but I’m sure that’s not the case. Byron leads Mom out. The door clicks behind them and Dad clears his throat. Here we go. Here comes the “I’m not angry, I’m disappointed” speech that parents love to rip
your heart out with.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Come help me look over the equipment on this truck.”

  “Sure, what was the call tonight?” I practically leap at the opportunity to help. Anything to avoid this awkward tension filling the space.

  “Beatrice Moore was up to her old tricks.” Dad shakes his head with resignation. “I swear she’s worse than a kid. She’s just bored and cooped up in that senior home, so what does she do?”

  “Pulled the alarm again?”

  “You got it.” Dad frowns. “If I had it my way, we’d charge that home a fine every time she did it. I bet the staff would do a better job of keeping her away if we did.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Anyway, we didn’t actually off-load any gear. Just did the mandatory sweep and gave an all-clear. I just want you to help me make sure we have everything for the next call.”

  That’s so typical of my father. He knows full well that the truck is stocked and ready to go. He personally checks them every time they leave the station. And even though they didn’t remove anything on this last false alarm, he’ll still pore over every little detail, making sure that nothing was missed.

  “No problem.” I scuff my feet against the cement floor and make my way around the truck.

  Being in here, seeing the trucks and the neatly lined up jackets and boots against the wall, I’m surrounded by symbols of Dad’s heroism. He’s dedicated his life to this department. To the safety of this town. He’s worked his way up from a part-time volunteer to one of the only paid positions, not to mention the top spot, as chief. A pang of guilt gnaws at my gut, twisting my insides as I realize how many dreams I must be crushing for him by moving away.

  It’s no secret that he’s always hoped I’d follow in his footsteps. I’m pretty sure that in his mind, someday I’d even become the chief, just like him. It turns out that even though my feet have grown two sizes too large for his boots, his shoes are still infinitely too big for me. I could never be half the firefighter my father is. Let alone half the man.

  “How ’bout you check the first aid kits and the pressure on the oxygen?”

  “You got it.” I start rifling through the gear. I could find this stuff with a blindfold on. That’s the thing with growing up in the department. It all becomes second nature, checking the equipment, cleaning the trucks, running the generators. Unfortunately, it takes more than muscle memory to be a firefighter. It takes something that Karen’s already stolen all of: heart.

  Dad busies himself by pulling a nozzle free from the truck. He unscrews the head, carefully checking inside for anything that could clog it up. I want to say something to him. I want to apologize or confess or maybe even scream at the top of my lungs, just so this silence won’t hang like a heavy cloud over our heads. Instead, I pretend that checking for items I already know are in the first aid kit is the most absorbing, awe-striking job in the world.

  He clears his throat and I snap my head up at attention, ready to end this painful void. But he doesn’t say anything. We both just keep working. Plugging away. Lost in thoughts. His probably of my past and mine of the future that still lies ahead.

  “So, uh, New York, huh?” He finally speaks, his voice strained.

  “Yeah.” A bullet of regret ricochets inside my gut, tearing up my insides. This was supposed to be happy. A milestone in my life. A feather in my fucking cap. And now it’s empty. It’s worse than empty, it’s painful. All because I was too much of a coward to let my old man know the truth.

  Can’t face the man. Can’t face his legend. I used to think I could never step out of his shadow, but now I realize, I am his shadow. Stuck beneath his toes, I’m the faceless, useless silhouette people only see because of how bright the spotlight shines on him.

  “Why so far?”

  “Karen got into NYU, a really good program actually. She worked her ass off to get in and never thought in a million years that they’d accept her. But they did. So, she’s going for interior design and I’m going to work. I still need to figure out if I want to do college or whatever.” I realize how aimless I sound as soon as I say the words.

  “Luke…”

  Here it comes. The disappointment. The look. The speech.

  I brace myself. “Yeah?”

  “I mean, New York, it’s far. It’s really far.” His hands stop moving and he stares off at the wall. Dad swallows hard and I know it’s to try to keep a lump from forming in his throat.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Dad … I know I should’ve said something before …”

  He holds up his hand and my tongue stops working. My mouth clamps shut. “No, you’re right to go. I’m proud of you.” He finally meets my eyes and I can see he’s not just saying it. He’s beaming.

  “Huh?”

  “Would I have liked to know before tonight? Of course. It would’ve been nice to have a heads-up that this was our last summer together”—his lips press together flat—“but I never would have stood in your way. I think if that girl’s got you hopping around on the roof here”—he points to the ceiling—“naked, you must love her. Don’t ya?”

  “I really do, Dad.” I blurt it out like a secret I’ve been dying to confess. “With all my heart.”

  He nods, screws the nozzle back together, and places it on the truck. “Then you have no choice. You need to go. The heart always knows what’s right.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure it does. If I hadn’t listened to my heart, I’d probably be some kind of hotshot lawyer. Who knows, I might have even made partner by now.” He chuckles.

  I laugh along, not quite understanding the joke.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  “No, I’m serious.”

  “Wait, what?” I check, but there’s no trace on his face that he’s messing with me.

  “Yup. I never told you this, but I met your mom when I was in law school. I was on track for a bigtime career. Had all my ducks in a row, just like your grandfather wanted me to.”

  “A lawyer? Here? In Pine Grove?” Try as I might, I can’t picture my father stuffed behind some desk being little more than a notary public. Imagining him stamping passport documents and wedding papers is like picturing him dressed in orange and locked in a cell.

  “No, not here. In California. I met your mom when I went to the Rose Bowl. I was on break, she was out that way for a visit and, well, the rest is history.”

  I stare at my father like he just announced he walked on the moon. How did he have this whole other life I’ve never heard of? College in California? Law school? I rub my eyes, but it’s not some kind of weird dream. Still, it doesn’t sound real.

  “Did you get your degree?”

  “Nope. I dropped out in my last year. I shoved all my worldly possessions in a duffel bag and hopped on a Greyhound the first chance I got. The thing was, my heart wasn’t into being a lawyer. That was your Pop-pop’s dream for me. And trying to live up to a father’s dreams will only take you so far. He was pretty pissed about it and held a steady grudge against your mom for a long time, but he eventually understood.”

  I stop pretending I can even focus on the first aid kit anymore. I drop the inventory sheet down, completely engrossed in this piece of my family history I’ve never heard before. Dad keeps nonchalantly checking nozzles, like he isn’t telling me something that changed the entire course of his life.

  “That’s why I’m happy for you, son. It’s no person’s right on this earth to stand in the way of anyone’s dreams. My father had no right to stand in the way of mine and I’ve got no right to stand in the way of yours. If going to New York with Karen is your dream, then I support it. Because I support you. No matter what.”

  “Thank you.” My voice is tight in my throat as I try not to get all soft. Still, I know if I try to look straight at him right now, I’ll cry like a big baby.

  “No, thank you. It’s been a privilege to watch you grow up. To be your dad. And I know you going to the big city isn’t going to change an
y of that, but it’s going to change nonetheless. You’re growing into a man, Luke. A damned fine one at that. You’ve made your mother and me very proud.”

  Damn it! The tears I didn’t want him to see spill down. Hot streaks stain my cheeks and I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand. Turning from my father, I act like something behind me immediately needs my attention. If he notices, he doesn’t let on, giving me the space to get myself under control. When I feel like I can trust my voice again, I turn back. “So, how long was Pop-pop mad at you and Mom for?” I try to change the subject to something that won’t turn me into a sobbing mess.

  “Oh, he took years to get over that. But he came around eventually.” Dad smiles and looks up at me.

  “Why?”

  “Well, because of you. And Hannah, too, I suppose. There was no way he was going to let his pride keep him from meeting his grandkids.” He grins. “Byron moved out here a couple years before you came along, and Hannah was on the way the same time your mom was pregnant with you. That was enough for my parents to move out this way and for the past to all be water under the bridge.”

  “I had no idea.” I shake my head, slowly digesting the truth about how my family came to be a part of this small community.

  “No, that’s because I didn’t want to be a bad influence on you. Telling you before now might have been a disaster. The last thing I wanted was you to be using that story against me when you decided to try to drop out of high school to become a video game star or something ridiculous.” Dad gives a dry laugh.

  “I can see that.” I laugh with him.

  “Anyway, I think we’re done here. How about we grab our stuff and head home, huh?”

  I follow him wordlessly to the break room, still soaking in his words. Dad grabs his jacket and flicks off the lights in the kitchen just as I spot the leftover donuts and muffins on the counter.

  “Hey, wait. Do you mind if I take this?” I slice through the darkness and pick up an orange cranberry muffin.

  “No, of course not. It was a day-old when I bought it this morning. Are you really that hungry?”