by Andre, Bella
Why would anyone blame Aiden for his best friend's death? There was no way Aiden would have let Kyle die without trying to save him. Aiden was a born protector. She'd just witnessed him in action when he'd rescued her father, a man he didn't even like. Aiden would have put his own life on the line for Kyle.
Memories of Aiden and Kyle together flashed through her mind. She could see them playing catch in the street until well after dark, hosting poker games in the room over the garage for all their high school friends, getting dressed up in suits for their senior prom. Kyle was dead? He'd always been so much fun, a joker and a prankster. Kyle and Aiden had caused a lot of trouble together, and they'd been closer than brothers. Aiden had to be reeling. No wonder there had been so much worry in Lynda's eyes when she'd mentioned Aiden.
As Aiden pulled his bags out of his truck, she was torn between wanting to ask him more questions and wanting to put some distance between them.
He was the one guy she'd never been able to forget, the one guy who still haunted her dreams. The last thing she needed to do was talk to him. She had enough problems to deal with. She turned her back on Aiden and headed across the lawn to talk to the fire inspector.
Chapter Three
Aiden was relieved to get to his truck, to get away from Sara's compelling gaze. When he'd decided to return to San Francisco, he hadn't counted on seeing her again. She was a complication he didn't need.
But damn, she was pretty. His gut tightened as he sneaked another look at her, watching her move across the lawn. She'd always been cute in a girl-next-door kind of way, but she'd grown up to be a beautiful woman. He liked the way her sun-streaked light brown hair sparked with gold, the curve of her hips in her form fitting slacks, and the soft swells of her breasts that had filled out in the decade since he'd last seen her.
She still dressed like a librarian, but he knew there was passion inside of her. He'd seen it first-hand. He just hadn't handled it very well back then. In those days, he hadn't handled a lot of things well in his life. Hell, not in these days either, he thought with a frown.
Forcing himself to look away from Sara, he headed up the driveway. He'd debated coming home for three long weeks. It could be either a great or a terrible decision. So far, it wasn't looking good.
The last thing he'd expected to run into was a fire. For a split second, he'd hesitated, the events of three weeks ago still fresh in his mind, but instinct had driven him forward. And this time no one had died.
Thinking about Kyle, he put a hand to his aching cheekbone. He should have seen that punch coming. It wasn't the first fist to the face he'd taken since Kyle had died, and he doubted it would be the last. But the physical pain he could handle. It was the one deep inside that seemed overwhelming and relentless. He'd tried to outrun it, to drown it in booze, but it was still with him, and he wondered if it would ever leave.
Opening the side door, he stepped into the house and set his bag down inside the door. He grabbed a kitchen towel, swiped some ice out of the freezer and then applied it to his face.
Lynda entered the kitchen a moment later, her brows pinching together as she took in the ice and the bruise on his face.
"I didn't realize you'd injured yourself," she said.
"It's fine," he said, not choosing to explain.
He sat down at the same large, rectangular table where he'd once done his schoolwork and let the feeling of being home run through him. The large country-style kitchen had oak cabinets and hardwood floors. His mother had had the kitchen redone when he was in high school, adding tons of cupboard space to accommodate the amount of food eight children could consume in any given day. There was also plenty of open counter space including a center island that had often served as ground central for his sisters' baking adventures. He'd usually tried to stay out of those, at least until the batter could be tasted. He smiled at the memories.
This house had always been a safe harbor, but he wasn't sure it would be now. Lynda might be cheerful and welcoming, but he suspected his father and older brother, Burke, would have a different attitude. He'd already received several phone and text messages from both of them and they'd gone from initially being worried about his health to being extremely pissed off that he wasn't trying to counter some of the negative reports that were out there.
"Are you hungry, thirsty?" Lynda asked, worry in her eyes. "What do you need?"
What did he need? He couldn't begin to tell her.
"Just sit down," he said. "I don't need anything."
"Don't you?" she challenged as she took the chair across from him. "You're hurt, Aiden, and I'm not talking about that bruise on your face, although that looks more like the handiwork of someone's fist than a fire."
Lynda had always been perceptive, sometimes more than he'd appreciated. She'd been his stepmother since he was eight years old. It had taken him a while to connect with her; he'd been really close with his biological mom. But Lynda was the one who had been there for him when he needed a mother.
"Who hit you?" she asked. "And don't waste my time denying what happened."
"Ray Hawkins."
Her lips tightened. "Kyle's friend."
"Yeah. His cousin, Dave, was on my crew when Kyle died. He hadn't been jumping with us very long. He'd just transferred from Missoula. He wasn't a big fan of mine, either."
"Can you tell me what happened to Kyle?"
Her words brought with them a flash of memory, the roaring forest fire, the whipping winds, and the fear on the faces of his fellow smoke jumpers. Fire season was supposed to be over. It was the beginning of October. They'd been packing away their gear, preparing to move on to their off-season jobs. But a hundred unexpected lightning strikes in the Shasta-Trinity forest had changed their plans.
"Aiden?" Lynda's persistent voice brought him back to the present. "What happened to Kyle?"
"He died." The words felt as unreal now as they had three weeks earlier.
"How?"
"Does it matter?" He set down the ice pack. "It was my fault."
"I don't believe that."
"Everyone else does. I'm sure Dad or Burke or someone has already told you that I'm responsible."
"I want to hear what you have to say," she said.
"And you've heard it."
She stared back at him. "I've heard nothing. You're different, Aiden. Harder, edgier, angrier—I barely recognize you."
Sometimes he barely recognized himself.
"You're going to stay for a while," she said, as if daring him to argue. "You need to be home with your family. You need to heal."
"Is there room?" he asked, not sure which of his many siblings were staying in the house these days.
"There's always room for my children," she said.
"I'm thirty-two," he reminded her.
"When I look at you I can still remember the nine-year-old who wrapped up his lizard and gave it to me as a birthday present."
"You should have been honored. It was my favorite lizard," he said, relieved with the change of subject.
"You were testing me."
"Well, you passed. You weren't at all scared. I was impressed."
"Thank goodness it wasn't a snake. You can have your old room over the garage if you want. Shayla, Colton and Emma are in the other rooms right now."
"That's fine." He'd be happier out of the main house. There would be less chaos and hopefully fewer questions if his siblings or parents had to walk down the driveway and up the stairs to talk to him.
As he rose, the side door opened, and his sister Nicole walked in with her five-year-old son, Brandon. Nicole was exactly the same age as him. It had been weird at first to have his stepsister in the same grade, but Nicole was a fun-loving, optimistic sweetheart, who always found the good in people, and he could usually count on her to see the bright side of life.
A blue-eyed blonde with a curvy build, Nicole had always been attractive, especially to his friends. He'd tried to keep them away from her and for the most part he'
d succeeded, until Nicole met Ryan. They fell in love at nineteen, moved in together at age twenty, married at twenty-one and became parents at twenty-seven. Unfortunately, their son had been diagnosed with autism two years ago at age three.
Aiden hadn't seen his nephew in almost a year, and while Brandon had grown about two inches, his eyes were no longer curious and alive but rather dull and dark, his gaze filled with shadows from the world he had retreated to. Aiden had hoped there would have been improvement by now, but it didn't appear that way.
"Aiden," Nicole said, happy surprise lighting up her eyes. "You've finally surfaced."
"Had to come up for air some time."
"I'm so glad. Brandon, do you remember your Uncle Aiden?"
Brandon didn't answer. He was tugging on her hand, trying to get away, his gaze fixed on the door leading out of the kitchen and into the dining room.
"Honey," she said again. "Look at your uncle."
Brandon pulled harder, his expression changing from dull to determined.
"It's okay," Aiden cut in. "We'll talk later."
"Good idea," she said, letting Brandon go.
"Where is he off to?" Aiden asked.
"He likes the fish in Dad's aquarium," she answered. "It's better than television to him. He loves coming over here to see the fish. And there aren't too many things that he loves."
He could see the strain in her eyes and got up to give her a hug. She was thinner than he remembered. "How are you doing with everything?"
"I'm good," she said, but the shadows under her eyes didn't support her answer.
"Really? You look tired."
"I am tired, but there's a lot to do. For the record, you don't look much better," she said as they both sat down. "Is that a black eye?"
"Long story," he said.
"They always are."
"So things with Brandon…"
"Are getting better," she said. "Not as much as we had hoped for by now, but there are small improvements in between the setbacks."
He admired her positive attitude. He couldn't imagine what she was going through. But she adored her son, and she'd fight for him to the last breath. "How's Ryan?"
Her smile faltered. "He's… I don't know how he is, to be honest. He works a lot, and he's not as optimistic as I am about Brandon's recovery, so we tend to frustrate each other. He mentioned the other day that maybe we should take a break."
"You're married. You can't take a break. I'll talk to him."
"I'm sure he'd love to see you, Aiden." Nicole turned to Lynda. "I came over to ask if you could watch Brandon tomorrow morning. I have to monitor the SAT testing. I'll be gone a little over three hours."
"Of course, honey," Lynda said. "I'd also be happy to watch Brandon so you and Ryan can get away together. Sometimes parents need to separate from their children and reconnect."
"I know you're right, but it's hard to leave Brandon overnight. He's not good when his routine changes. And I can't afford a setback. I should probably go see what he's up to."
"I'll go," Lynda said, waving her back into her seat. "You visit with Aiden."
"Okay."
"So what aren't you telling me, Nic?" Aiden asked when they were alone.
"What do you mean?"
"Your smile has a lot of cracks in it."
"It's been a rough couple of weeks, but it's going to be fine."
"How's the teaching job?"
"I'm job sharing this year, so it's just one day a week. That's pretty much all I can handle in between Brandon's school, doctor appointments and therapy sessions, but enough about me. How are you? I heard you were hurt."
Her gaze ran down his body, but she wouldn't be able to see his scars. They were on the inside.
"I tore some muscles in my leg, otherwise I'm fine."
"I doubt that. We've been worried about you, Aiden. You didn't come to Kyle's funeral. You didn't call anyone back. Mom and Dad went to the hospital in Redding to see you, and you had checked yourself out against doctor's orders."
"I had to get out of there."
"Where did you go?"
"I just drove around. I didn't come to the funeral, because Vicky asked me not to," he said, referring to Kyle's widow. "I figured the least I could do was honor her wishes."
"How could she not want you there? I don't get it. No one does. You and Kyle were best friends."
"She blames me for Kyle's death."
"But it was an accident, right?"
"That depends on who you talk to."
"You need to explain, Aiden, to tell everyone exactly what happened."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?" his sister challenged.
"It doesn't matter. Result is the same. Kyle is dead. No explanation will bring him back."
"I hate to see you taking the heat."
"I can handle the heat." Changing the subject, he added, "Right now, I'm more concerned about you and Ryan. Things are worse than you're saying, aren't they?"
"Life is just harder now," she said. "I have to focus on Brandon. He's my child, and I have to make him better. I know that Ryan wants that, too. But he can be negative, and I can't listen to his doubts, so sometimes I don't listen to him at all," she confessed.
"You're in a tough situation, no doubt, but you have to get through it together."
"I hope we will, but there's a short window of time where we can really impact Brandon's diagnosis. That time is now. I have to put my energy there. And Ryan is just going to have to wait."
He nodded, thinking he definitely needed to hear Ryan's side of the story.
"So, how did you get the black eye?" Nicole asked. "That looks recent."
"It happened about thirty minutes ago. There was a fire next door at Sara's house."
"I know. I saw the fire engine on my way in. At first I thought it was just Dad or Burke stopping by our house to get something. Do you know what happened?"
"It started in the kitchen. I had just parked my car out front when I saw the flames. There was no one else around, so I broke down the door and I had to rescue Sara's father. He tripped down the stairs and broke his leg."
"Seriously? Did he hit you while you were rescuing him?" she asked with a knowing gleam in her eye. "You were not one of his favorite people, especially after your paint ball team sprayed the side of his house with purple paint."
He smiled. "I forgot about that."
"Well, I haven't forgotten. I helped you clean it up."
"You were a good sister that day. Mr. Davidson didn't punch me. It was someone else."
"Who?"
He shrugged off her question. "It doesn't matter."
She shook her head in wonder. "It's amazing how often trouble finds you. Is Mr. Davidson all right?"
"He should be fine in time."
"It's good you arrived home when you did. Who knows how long it would have been before someone found him?"
"Not that long. Sara was with him."
"Sara is back?" she asked in surprise. "I haven't seen her in years. She and Em were so close, I almost felt like I had another little sister. How is she?"
"Don't really know. She was worried about her father and upset about the fire." As he finished speaking, his mom and Brandon returned to the kitchen. Brandon ran immediately to Nicole's side, keeping his gaze on the floor, as if the last thing he wanted to do was make eye contact with Aiden.
"I have to go," Nicole said. "Can you say goodbye Brandon?"
The little boy didn't say a word, but he did give a negative shake of his head.
"At least I know he hears me," Nicole said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mom. Aiden, don't be a stranger."
"I'll come by this weekend," he said.
After Nicole and Brandon left, Aiden looked over at Lynda. "How does she do it?"
Lynda shook her head, her eyes a little sad. "I have no idea. She has this deep well of strength and determination, but I worry about what happens if she doesn't get the results she wants so desperately. That little
boy is everything to her, but I don't know if even her amazing will can bring him back."
"I wish I could help."
"Well, you're in town for a while anyway. Maybe you can spend some time with them."
"I will," he promised. He got to his feet, biting back a revealing groan, but his mother's sharp eyes didn't miss a thing.
"You're in pain," Lynda said.
"It's not that bad." His leg had been getting better, but his muscles were cramping from the weight he'd had to put on his leg while carrying Sara's father up the stairs. "I will take a rest though."
"I'll call you when dinner is ready."
"Thanks, Lynda."
She smiled. "I'm glad you're home, Aiden."
He smiled back, but he had a feeling his father might not feel the same way.
Chapter Four
Her family home was a mess. Three hours after the fire, Sara surveyed the damage in her father's kitchen. The room was completely destroyed by fire, smoke and water, and the adjacent rooms had also suffered. The entire downstairs would need work, new carpets, new paint, new flooring. The enormity of the devastation blew her away. She'd never imagined an unattended pot could ignite such a big fire. Her father was going to have a heart attack when he came home. His neat and tidy house was in complete disarray – much like the state of her life.
She'd had such high hopes for the weekend, imagining them finally reconnecting and breaking down the walls between them. But when he'd come out of surgery, he'd barely acknowledged her presence. He was in a lot of pain and groggy from the drugs, but really his behavior was no different than it had been before the fire.
Maybe she should just accept the fact that they were never going to be more than strangers to each other. In fact, maybe she should start the acceptance process now. She could go back to New York, to her apartment, to her job. But she'd never been a quitter, and while she'd taken a long break from her father, she was here now, and she wanted to make some kind of change.
Her father would be in the hospital for several days. Then he would be off his feet for weeks after that. He would need help getting this house back together. Maybe she could get the process started.
