Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  “She’d died a couple of years earlier from a brain tumor.” During that last year, her ability to care for herself, to move, to eat had disappeared. Much of what he knew about compassion and caring for others had come from watching his father with her. The tenderness he had shown, the love.

  An arm slipped around his waist, and Josie pressed against his side. When had she joined them?

  She hugged him. “I’m so sorry, Holt. I know it was years ago—and I know it must still hurt.”

  “What-what happened to you? With no parents?” Carson looked like he wanted to hug Holt, too. Angry with Holt or not, the kid had a big heart.

  “My aunt took me in.”

  Josie’s face turned hard. “But his aunt’s boyfriend beat him up. Made him run drugs.”

  Carson’s mouth dropped open.

  Josie growled. “You never said—is that jerk dead, or can I kill him?”

  “I’ll help,” Carson muttered.

  Their protectiveness sent warmth through Holt’s heart. Reaching out, he pulled Carson into a one-armed hug—and the boy hugged him back. Hard. “Thanks, you two. No worries, though. One of the guy’s rivals took him out.”

  “You told me your aunt’s health failed.” Josie frowned. “Were you an adult by then?”

  “Ah, no, I spent a couple of years in foster care.”

  “Crap,” Carson muttered.

  “I survived. And I like where I’m at now.” Especially with Josie against his side. He smiled at Carson who’d moved away and was trying to appear nonchalant. “Anyway, that’s how I got into firefighting.”

  “Yeah. Uh, thanks.” Carson rubbed his shoe into the grass before looking at his mom. “I’m gonna go to Brandon’s now. Have a good time with pizza an’ stuff.”

  As Carson headed for his bike, his mother gave a sigh.

  “It’ll take him a while, pet. Most kids love change…if they’re the ones making it happen. Otherwise, not so much.” Holt rubbed his cheek against her hair. “How about I bribe him with a ride on the Harley?”

  Josie stiffened. “No.”

  “Even if I leave the drugs and loose biker chicks at home?”

  Her frown remained…but he’d heard the laugh she’d tried to suppress.

  * * * * *

  Brandon’s house was huge. He even had a whole “family room” just for him and his friends. Coming back from getting Cokes from the kitchen, Carson handed one to Juan and dropped down on the floor.

  In the center of the room, Ryan and Yukio were battling it out in the new Xbox game Brandon had scored.

  On the TV screen, blood was everywhere. They’d turned the sound up, and there was yelling and screaming.

  His stomach feeling pukey, Carson took a sip of the Coke. Mom never let him play adult games. Maybe he was kinda glad.

  Seated on the couch, Brandon nudged him with his foot. “Hey, I looked up your old man, Cars.”

  “Huh? How come?”

  “Cuz it pisses me off the way the asshole dissed you. Like you’re nothing.” Brandon leaned forward. “We should do something about him…and I got a plan.”

  Ol’ Everett was a douche. He really was. But… Carson frowned. Brandon’d said the same thing about the science teacher and having a plan. Only the plan’d gone from dumping bagged shit in a classroom to starting a fire. Kinda a big difference. Carson shook his head. “I don’t know, Brandon. It’s—”

  “Next Thursday.” Brandon grinned and bounced on the couch. “I checked on Facebook. His bank’s taking their employees and their kids to Disney World.”

  Carson blinked. To Disney World?

  “Bet your daddy didn’t invite you to go, did he?” Ryan said.

  “No.” Anger smoldered. Even though the amusement park was really close, Mom’d taken Carson there only twice cuz they couldn’t afford it—or even do all the stuff there, either. Everett probably took his real kids to Disney World all the time.

  Carson gulped more Coke. “Doesn’t matter. He’s an asshole. So what?”

  “I saw his house, and I’ve seen your house. Not exactly the same, are they? He owes you.” Brandon’s face screwed into an ugly expression. “He treated you like you’re a…a stray dog, not his son.”

  The knowledge hurt. It did.

  Brandon opened his Coke, and it fizzed up. “No one’ll be home. Just that big-ass house sitting there.”

  Carson hesitated. If no one was there, no one would get hurt. A room in the fancy house would get scorched. Maybe it would make ol’ Everett feel a bit of pain. The dick deserved some pain.

  Mom wouldn’t be happy, but she’d never find out.

  Frowning, Yukio paused the game and set down the controller.

  Ryan snickered. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  “It’d be funny. Sure,” Juan said.

  “I guess we…” Carson stopped at the memory of Holt’s face as he talked about being a firefighter. Why he’d gotten into it.

  A fire meant firefighters would show up. Everett wouldn’t be home, but what if a firefighter or someone else got hurt? What if the fire spread to other houses?

  “No,” Carson said, and Brandon’s grin disappeared.

  So did Ryan’s. “Why the fuck not?”

  “It’s fire. You can’t control it. Like maybe somebody else’d get hurt. Firefighters or neighbors.” Carson had a horrible thought. “What if they have dogs or cats?”

  Juan’s mouth dropped open. “Dios, if my dog got hurt, and I found out someone had set the fire, I’d kill ’em.”

  Yukio was still frowning.

  “I think…” The ugly feeling inside Carson’s stomach settled. “No. No fire.”

  Brandon’s face darkened to the color of an afternoon thunderstorm. Dark and mean. “Jesus, I just wanted to help you out. Don’t go acting all high-horse and shit.”

  Carson tried a smile. “Yeah, I appreciate it, bro.”

  “Right. Sure you do.”

  An hour later, when Carson said he had stuff to do and should go home, Brandon shrugged and didn’t say a word.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Josie wasn’t too bad at soccer. After all, she’d played in school, been to all of Carson’s games, and practiced with him. She’d even watched YouTube videos to try to help him.

  Compared to Holt’s athletic grace, she moved like a spastic turtle. Even Carson was better.

  Reluctantly, she motioned to where Oma sat on the back patio. “Listen, guys, I’m outclassed. I’m going to sit with Oma.”

  “No, you’re not.” Holt took her hand and moved her to stand beside Carson.

  His big hand engulfed hers completely. How could just the touch of his callused hand make her want to sigh?

  “You need to practice with us, not just for Carson’s skills, but for your own.” The afternoon sunlight lightened his eyes—and showed his confident determination. “Let’s do some passing among the three of us. Remember to keep moving so you never kick to the same person or place.”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “Backyard play is more fun with more people,” he said firmly.

  “Yeah, Mom. I like when you play,” Carson piped up.

  When she was young, the guys had played yard soccer or football or baseball, and the women sat on the porch and cheered for their men. Josie’d never particularly wanted to be a cheerleader. She’d wanted to play…yet she’d been willing to go sit. Funny how childhood habits could blindside a girl.

  And, damn, but she loved this man. She hugged him hard and kissed Carson’s cheek. “Okay, then. Passing time.” She glanced at Oma, and her great-aunt smiled and winked.

  A while later, Josie slid the ball past Holt to score and got a whooping “Go, Josie!” cheers from Duke and Wedge. The two teens stood on the other side of the fence at Holt’s place.

  “Hey, Holt, you watching the game?” Duke asked. “It’s starting in half an hour.”

  “Already? You bet. I need to shower, but the door’s open.” Holt glanced at Carson. “
You up for a game, ace?”

  Carson’s face lit. “Sure. S’okay, Mom?”

  “Of course.” Josie turned to join Oma, and Holt tucked his fingers into her shorts, holding her back.

  “Come over for a while,” he said.

  “I should work…”

  He moved closer. His fingers under her chin angled her head up. Her breasts brushed his chest and sent a shiver through her.

  “Subbie, you need a break from writing.” His voice lowered. “I want you to come and watch the game for an hour.”

  The grass on which she stood sank a good three inches. “Yes, Sir.” She blinked. “I mean—”

  “Exactly that.” He kissed her lightly. “I love you, sweetheart.”

  “I…” The words were there…blocked by her fears. Her past.

  “Shhh. I’ll have the words from you soon enough.” His confidence underlaid his words and gleamed in his steady gaze. He ran his thumb over her lips, making her want more and more and more kisses.

  He smiled and looked over at the patio. “Stella, want to watch football at my house?”

  “No, thank you. But why don’t you watch the game here? Josie’s living room has more space.”

  “Woman, you know it’s all about the size of the TV screen.”

  “Oh my, how could I forget?” Laughing, Oma rose. “You children have fun. I’m going to go get ready for evening church service.”

  “I’ll walk you home.” He gave Josie’s waist a squeeze before striding onto the patio and holding the back door for Oma.

  Oma gave an exasperated huff. “My legs still work, you know. I can walk myself home.”

  “I enjoy your company, Stella.” Holt grinned, but his voice was firm. “And you don’t mind mine, so stop it.”

  As they walked out the door, Josie grinned. Her great-aunt wasn’t any more effective at dissuading the Dom than Josie was.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, Josie stood in the center of her backyard.

  Holt obviously liked Oma—really did like her. He openly enjoyed playing soccer in the backyard. His affection for Carson was clear—he wasn’t putting on a show to win over Josie.

  Whenever he saw something not working in the house, he’d fix it. The leaky faucet. A motion-detector light for the carport. Yesterday, they’d all painted the dining room with Carson on the roller, Holt handling the ladder, her doing the tricky areas around the trim. When she’d put on her chore playlist and started singing with the music, he’d joined in—and knew more of the lyrics than she did.

  Over the years, when she occasionally met men who were interesting, she’d imagine bringing them home to Oma and Carson. And that would be the end of her attraction.

  But there was no awkwardness with Holt. She grinned and shook her head. That Dom wouldn’t allow awkwardness.

  He…fit.

  Fit so well that he’d already created a place for himself—not only in her life and her bed—but in her family as well.

  “I love you, Sir,” she whispered to herself. Now all she had to do was find the right time to say the words to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Monday night, it was Holt and Shoshana’s turn to prepare supper for the firehouse crew. Neither of them being gourmet cooks, they’d fallen back on the old standby of spaghetti and meatballs. It’d turned out good, actually, and well-buttered, crusty garlic bread made everything better. Being vegetarian, Shoshana had insisted on a green salad, so they’d ended up with a balanced meal.

  After parmesaning his spaghetti, Holt dug in as Clancy teased their probationary firefighter, Arlo, about mixing up the hoses on the last fire.

  “I hear you have a pretty new girlfriend, mate.” Across the table, Oz grinned at Holt.

  “He does? Why haven’t I heard?” Tank scowled.

  “Come over sometime, and I’ll introduce you,” Holt said. “She lives next door.”

  “Georgina says Josie’s nicer than Nadia.” Clancy stroked his mustache. “She likes Josie. Wants her for you.”

  Holt grinned. “Your woman’s a good judge of character. I want Josie for me, too.”

  “Ah, c’mon,” Derek griped. “That Nadia was fucking hot.”

  “True enough.” Holt eyed the young man who’d recently turned twenty-two. “Of course, that polished hotness took hours of work—and beneath it…I didn’t find what I needed. With Josie… She doesn’t need all that shit. In fact, in the mornings, when I see her without makeup or fancy clothing, I swear my heart stops. Because who she is shines through.”

  Clancy gave him a look of perfect understanding. The man adored his Georgina.

  Derek was frowning. Not understanding.

  Holt asked him, “Do you choose your friends by their appearance? Only have well-dressed friends?”

  “Ah…no.”

  “You pick friends because of who they are. Because you like being with them. A wife—you’ll be with her a lot more than your friends. Me, I want someone I can like, not only in the evenings, but every morning at breakfast, too.”

  Derek blinked.

  “A nice rack is great”—and Holt had to admit Josie’s breasts were fantastic—“but what’s more important to me is someone who’ll listen. Who’s…kind. I should have looked closer at Nadia.”

  Tank considered. “Nadia seemed nice enough.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. How do you know your Josie is nicer?” Oz asked.

  Holt leaned back in his chair. “You met the teens on my street—the ones who called 911 when I got knifed?”

  Oz nodded.

  “They adore Josie. She listens to them, whether they’re complaining about school or wanting to share their new music discoveries. And she bakes cookies to treat them and her son’s pals. She switched her life around, moved to my neighborhood to be close enough to care for an older relative. After I lost a patient, she insisted I come over and talk about it. Hell, everyone talks to her—mailmen, old ladies, kids. Because she listens…and she cares.”

  Derek’s brows pulled together, and after a second, he nodded. Yeah, he was beginning to figure out the difference between internal and external beauty.

  Taking advantage of the kid’s distraction, Holt grabbed the last piece of garlic bread. Time to discuss something else. He and the ambulance crew hadn’t had any interesting cases, just the usual heart attacks, strokes, older people who fell. He asked the engine crew, “You guys get anything interesting on your runs?”

  “The funniest was the kitchen fire.” Tank grinned slowly. “Newlyweds. She was cooking, but he wanted nookie and dragged her into the bedroom to have his evil way with her.”

  “Let me guess,” Arlo said. “Grease fire?”

  “You win the prize, probie.” Oz laughed. “She was heating oil to fry potatoes. Neither of them turned off the stove.”

  Shoshana rolled her eyes. “As if a guy ever thinks about anything other than ‘I’m gonna get some’.”

  “That’s fucking cynical.” Clancy tossed a carrot stick at her that she caught neatly. “True, but cynical.”

  “The not-so-funny call-out was for another arson near the middle school,” Tank said. “The perp took the paper recyclables bin from the curb, dumped everything against a garage door, and poured on gasoline.”

  Holt’s gut twisted, and he pushed his plate away. Children and fire. God fucking help him. “How close to the school?” Carson’s school.

  “A block down. Only the outside of the garage door was charred.” Tank grinned. “The owner was damn relieved his vintage Mustang didn’t get scorched.”

  “But his son was pretty hacked that his basketball hoop got crisped. The kid’s on the basketball team.” Oz chuckled.

  “The Spartans?” Shoshana asked, naming the University of Tampa team.

  “Nope. The boy’s in middle school.” Tank shook his head. “Sounded like his life was ruined if he couldn’t practice.”

  “Tank, at that age, that’s what they think. And, hey, if he’s that passio
nate about the sport, he might well end up on the Spartans.” Clancy smiled. One of his daughters had just turned thirteen.

  “You figure the firebug is the same one who started the classroom and dumpster fires?” Arlo asked.

  “I’m guessing yes,” Oz said.

  Holt frowned. “The middle school fires might’ve started out as pranks, but these last two are looking more like vindictive acts.”

  “Vindictive?” Shoshana dumped the last of the salad onto her plate.

  “Yeah. I was wondering if our firebug might be a kid, so I talked to Cullen O’Keefe.” The Shadowlands Dom was an experienced arson investigator and well known in the stations. “It seems classroom fires are usually about revenge. Tank, when you talked with the teacher of that room, what’d you think?”

  “You’re following my thoughts, man,” Tank said. “The teacher’s purely an asshole. I could almost understand someone wanting to light his shit up.”

  “But burning the outside of a garage?” Derek protested.

  Holt’s gut tightened. “The arsonist’s willing to bust a window and toss in a Molotov cocktail…but he didn’t. He deliberately started a fire outside a house.”

  Clancy’s eyes widened. “If the arsonist is a kid, maybe the target was the basketball hoop. At that age, jocks can be obnoxious.”

  “At any age,” Shoshana muttered and got grins from the guys.

  Holt said, “I think our fire bug is escalating. Dumpsters to empty classroom…then a garage attached to an occupied house.”

  “I agree.” Tank scowled. “Trouble is, we might have more than one offender.”

  “Yeah?” Arlo looked up from his plate. “How’d you figure that?”

  Tank got a soda from the fridge. “When Clancy and I asked questions around the neighborhood, we talked with a guy who’d been jogging the track when the classroom was burned. He saw some boys hide their bikes in the bushes…and wondered why they didn’t use the bike racks at the school.”

  “Interesting,” Shoshana said. “Did he see them well enough to ID them?”

  “Nope. He wasn’t paying that much attention.” Clancy rubbed his chin. “The bikes were normal. The kids wore baseball caps. Most wore daypacks. A black one. A red one. One pack had shiny lettering—fancy-like—on the back. Probably reflective stuff.”