Up in Flames

by Nicole Williams

  “The smokejumper camp,” she said.

  I almost dropped the phone.

  “They just got back in this afternoon after being gone all week fighting that fire over in Wenatchee. I can’t imagine anyone who would appreciate a home cooked meal more than a bunch of smokejumpers who have been surviving on dehydrated meat and potatoes all week.”

  My heart trilled with excitement right before it dropped. I’d wanted to see Cole so badly these past couple weeks I was drowning in it, but knowing that I was less than a half hour from actually seeing him . . .

  Well, it scared me to death.

  I knew if I looked into his eyes and saw that he’d done what he promised me he would—let me go—I might curl up and die. I didn’t want to be let go.

  I sure as heck hadn’t let him go.

  “Mrs. Matthews?” I said, swallowing. “On second thought, I don’t think I’ll—”

  “I’ve gotta go, Elle. The president of the Fourth of July planning committee is calling. Probably to yell at me for being late.” I could hear her heels pick up speed as she clicked and clacked across the church parking lot. “Thank you again. You’re an angel.”

  Yeah, if I was an angel, then mankind was screwed.

  The phone went dead before I could protest. Before I could beg and plead with her to find someone else to run a bunch of food over to the smokejumper camp.

  Clenching my phone, I almost tossed it as far as I could. Instead, I took a deep breath to calm myself, got inside my Jeep, and tried to convince myself I would be in and out of that smokejumper building so quickly Cole would never even see me. He’d never have to know I’d been there.

  Even after I’d made my way to the church, loaded the couple of cardboard boxes brimming with pyrex and ceramic dishes full of scalloped potatoes and green bean casserole into the back of the Jeep, and turned down the main road to the camp, I’d gotten nowhere in the convincing myself department.

  It was starting to get dark by the time I turned the Jeep off. I sat there, staring at the building in front of me, and wondered if he was inside and what he was doing. The place seemed quiet, empty, but even from the parking lot, in the confines of my car, I could feel that energy sparking to life.

  So he was here.

  As if fate itself were confirming that assumption, a light flashed on in the dark building.

  I took a breath, then another, before forcing myself out of the Jeep. After balancing one of the heavy boxes in my arms, I headed for the entrance. My palms were sweating; my stomach was a sea of nerves. I was a wreck, but I was doing it. I kept going forward. For the first time this summer, I was being brave and doing what was difficult instead of easy.

  The door was unlocked, so I somehow managed to heave it open before hurrying inside. The box was getting heavy and cumbersome. Rushing into the dark kitchen, I dropped the box on the table and was considering if I should put the dishes in the refrigerator, since it appeared no one was here, when a sound caught my attention.

  I followed the sound down the hall. Someone was inhaling and exhaling sharply. Repeatedly.

  It was a sound I was familiar with, and the voice making it was just as familiar.

  Knowing nothing good could come of this, I took the last few steps towards the room the hitched breathing came from. This room was just as dark as the rest of the building, but it wasn’t as empty.

  My whole body tensed.

  Cole was lying on a bench, naked from the waist up, heaving a gleaming metal bar stacked with large weights on either end. He was alone and consumed by the battle he seemed to be waging with the heavy barbell.

  Lowering it once more, he inhaled before exerting every last ounce of power he had left. His whole body, every muscle, flexed to the surface as he struggled to lift that weight. Just when I was sure it would come crashing back down on his chest, Cole let out a low roar and his body flexed even tighter. The bar went up easily after that, like it had figured out fighting against him was a wasted effort.

  Cole racked the weight and dropped his arms.

  I watched his chest rise and fall, feeling this huge sense of relief that he was here. That I was near him again. The ache that had gone everywhere with me these past couple weeks took a momentary hiatus. All was right in the world again as I watched him.

  “I know you’re here, you know.”

  My throat went dry. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think you could see me.”

  Cole exhaled like he just had a few seconds ago, although this time he wasn’t trying to lift a three hundred pound weight. “I couldn’t.” He sat up and his eyes landed on me in the same way they had before. It took my breath away like it had before, too.

  “Hi,” I said, giving a little wave before I crossed my arms. Being around Cole was still unsettling.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, rising from the bench.

  What was I doing here? There were several answers to that and one big one. I wanted to see him. When he stayed frozen, not coming towards me with open arms, I went with one of the other answers.

  “Mrs. Matthews asked me to swing by a bunch of potluck leftovers since she heard you all had just gotten back,” I said, resisting the urge to go to him.

  It was hard. If ever there’d be a time to want to run to a man, it would be now. As he stood shirtless, coated in a light sheen of sweat, in a dark room, in an empty building.

  “Who’s Mrs. Matthews?” he asked, crossing his arms. That did wonderful things to the muscles he’d just worked. “Besides the potluck leftover fairy?” A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth.

  How could I answer that in a roundabout way?

  “She’s Logan’s mom.”

  So much for roundabout’ing.

  “Ah.” Cole rolled his neck from side to side. “How is the other man?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Let me guess . . . still in a state of ignorance is bliss. Right?”

  He waited for me to respond.

  I couldn’t.

  “You’re too predictable. You might know what you want, but you won’t do what it takes to have it.”

  I bristled. “What would be the point of that since it was made clear to me that I couldn’t have what I wanted anymore?”

  Cole’s shoulders fell. “Good point,” he said. “But you and I both know if push came to shove, I wouldn’t be what you truly wanted. What you wanted was the idea of me. The dream. An escape from the life you’re living. You wanted freedom. Not me.”

  Disillusioned was the word that came to mind when I heard his words. I didn’t want the idea of him. I wanted him.

  “I don’t care who would have pushed or shoved, I would have chosen you.”

  “Says the woman who never had to make that choice in real life,” he snapped back.

  I didn’t flinch. “I guess we’ll never know.”

  Cole took a few steps backwards until his back was against the wall. I wasn’t sure if his way of putting as much space between us as the room would allow was intentional, but it certainly felt that way. “I guess not.”

  I gave myself a few seconds to calm down before speaking again. “Where is everyone?”

  He shrugged as he leaned deeper into the wall. “Out. It’s Saturday night and we’ve been fighting a forest fire for close to a week. They’re getting drunk and getting laid tonight. They’ve earned it.”

  “And you?” Cole had never struck me as the one to hang back when everyone else was en route to a good time.

  “I already told you. I don’t drink anymore.”

  “And what about the getting laid part?”

  Why did I ask questions I didn’t want to hear the answers to? It was a riddle.

  Cole answered me with a cool look.

  “How was the fire?” I asked, taking a step inside the weight room. When Cole flinched, I stopped.

  “Hot,” he said dryly.

  He wasn’t making this easy. “Did anyone get hurt?”

  “Chase sprained his ankle and I took a lit
tle tumble.” Cole lifted up the right leg of his shorts.

  “Oh my gosh,” I said, covering my mouth. A bright purple bruise covered the entire front of Cole’s upper leg.

  “It’s no big deal,” he said, dropping the short leg back over the monster sized bruise. “I’ve sustained worse injuries this summer.”

  I doubted it was the main one he was referring to, but my gaze jumped to his nose. Nothing but a small scab remained of the damage I’d done to him that night at the bowling alley. It was nearly healed.

  “Cole . . .” I began, not sure what words would come out of my mouth next, but going with it. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for not going after you that night at the bowling alley and telling you I cho—”

  “You need to get going,” Cole interrupted, lifting his hand. “I’d walk you to the door if I was certain you wouldn’t smash it into my face again.”

  My eyes welled. He was saying goodbye. Again.

  “Cole,” I said, taking a few more steps his way. “I miss you. I don’t want to let you go.” There it was. My heart couldn’t be any more vulnerable.

  His gaze didn’t shift when he opened his mouth. “You should really let me go. It’s just getting pathetic now.” He shoved off the wall. “Besides, I let you go so long ago, I barely remember your name.”

  He was just saying those things to hurt me. That was his self-defense mechanism. When he was hurt, he lashed back. I wasn’t going to let him off so easy.

  “Cole—” I started before his eyes narrowed into slits.

  “I’m over you,” he hissed.

  “Obviously,” a new voice came from behind me. A half-naked woman sauntered into the room.

  Cole sighed.

  The redhead from the bowling alley wore nothing but an oversized white undershirt and a triumphant smile.

  The room started to spin.

  “Are you coming back to bed?” she asked, appraising Cole in a way that made me feel all kinds of territorial. The room spun a bit more when I realized I had no right to claim any kind of territory to Cole Carson.

  “No, Kayla,” he said. “I’m not.”

  He didn’t have any problem remembering her name.

  I remembered the way he’d breathed my name when I had my hand around him, and I knew then that none of what we’d shared had meant anything to him. He’d breathed my name, he’d breathed her name, he’d breathed dozens of others along the way too, I was certain.

  “And now,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek as I glared at him, “I’m over you, too.”

  I couldn’t get out of that room fast enough. As I sprinted down the hall, I heard what sounded like Kayla laughing and Cole cursing, but none of that mattered. At least I wanted to pretend like none of it mattered.

  I shoved the door open and ran for my Jeep. Only once I had it started and was peeling out of the parking lot did I let a tear drop. As soon as one was free, the rest poured out like I’d been repressing a lifetime of tears. Maybe I had, but one thing I was certain of was that, after tonight, I would never cry another tear for Cole Carson.

  I wasn’t driving anywhere in particular as I sped down the dark road. Just away. I was so sick and tired of feeling this way, all I wanted to do was wake up tomorrow and not remember anything of Cole. I wanted my mind erased of him.

  Yet no matter how fast I drove or how far out of town I got—there was no forgetting about Cole. A half-lit sign flashed ahead, giving me an idea. If I couldn’t force Cole out of my mind, maybe I could drink him out.

  Biggie’s was a backwoods bar that had always been around. No one could quite remember when it had opened since it had changed hands and names so many times, but it was the kind of place you guessed would thrive even in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. I’d never been inside; it wasn’t exactly the kind of place my kind of girl hung out. I’d been in the parking lot once to rescue Dani when her date had left with another girl, but other than that, I never thought I’d step foot inside the place. Funny how life can change in the blink of an eye.

  It was a Saturday night and the parking lot was full. So full I had to park on the side of the road. I didn’t worry that my Jeep could be easily recognized if any one of my friends or family were driving this road tonight. I didn’t worry about who was inside who could recognize me. I didn’t worry about the repercussions of my actions tomorrow. I didn’t worry about anything but the next ten minutes and my need to drown it all out with as many shots as I could get the bartender to pour me before I got cut off.

  Then I remembered I was at Biggie’s. It wasn’t known as a place that cut people off. It was known for cheap beer, cheaper whiskey, and easy women.

  I was hoping to take advantage of two of those three things tonight.

  It was also a place that didn’t check IDs, so I didn’t need to worry about that either.

  The music the live band played tonight was so loud it thumped my eardrums halfway across the parking lot. It really should have been a crime to play any song from the Rolling Stones that poorly.

  I ignored the man heaving a few feet from the entrance. I pretended the man and woman I passed as soon as I walked inside weren’t having sex, but gauging by the screwed up expressions on their faces and the easy access skirt the woman was wearing, it was quite plausible.

  The music was ten times as horrifying inside as it was in the parking lot, and the place was so busy it looked like ten people had arrived per vehicle. But it was dark, and everyone was so busy paying attention to someone else that I disappeared into the crowd. My cutoffs might have been longer, my camisole looser, and my eyes clearer than the rest of the women, but barring these minor differences, I blended in.

  As I made my way to the bar, I scanned the room to make sure I didn’t recognize anyone who would recognize me. At least easily recognize me. This was Winthrop we were talking about, and everyone knew everyone to a certain degree. Other than a few regulars I recognized from the diner, I didn’t think anyone would be able to place me. Elle Montgomery at Biggie’s wasn’t quite a connect the dots scenario.

  I had to shoulder through a couple of broad shouldered guys sporting flannel shirts with cut off sleeves and a pair of mullets that were obviously their pride and joy. They shot me irritated looks until their glossy eyes adjusted.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” the one on my right said, leering at me in a way that made my skin crawl. “I don’t recall seeing you around these parts.” He burped and the alcohol fumes that came at me could have singed my nose hair if I had any.

  I motioned at the bartender. The sooner I got my drink, the sooner I could get away from Backwoods and Trailer Park.

  “I’ve obviously been missing out,” I said, not even trying to mask my sarcasm. These two were too drunk to pick up on tone and subtle nuances anyways.

  The other one grabbed his hubcap sized belt buckle and nudged me. “You want to see just exactly what you’ve been missing out on, honey?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “From where I’m standing,” I said, doing a quick scan of flannel, mullet dude, “it doesn’t look like I’ve been missing out on much.”

  Walking into this place had bolstered my bravery. Or stupidity. Knowing I was seconds away from drowning everything gave me an edge I’d never had before.

  “I like a girl with a smart mouth,” the guy said, staring at my mouth before licking his lips. “Especially when that smart mouth is sucking on my—”

  “You two assholes aren’t giving this girl a hard time are you?” the bartender interrupted, eyeing the men on either side of me. He was about my dad’s age, but he was bigger, broader, and just had this kick-butt vibe.

  “You don’t know how hard of a time we’d love to give her, Biggie,” the mullet on the right said, wagging his eyebrows at the bartender.

  “And you are about to know how hard of a time my shotgun will give you when I shove it up both your asses if you don’t get the hell out of my bar.”

  All I’d wanted was
a drink or two and to forget myself for a few hours. That was all I wanted.

  Why did everything have to be so darn difficult lately?

  Without another word at Biggie or another look my way, the mullet twins shoved off the bar and headed for the exit. Just like that. Two guys that looked like they ate two dozen eggs a day for breakfast, who were drunk as a pair of skunks, just up and left the party with one threat from one guy.

  What kind of guy intimidated those kinds of guys? I was scared to find out.

  I met Biggie’s gaze and tried on a smile that I was sure didn’t do anything to make me look any less scared of him.

  His eyes suddenly widened. “Laurel?” he said, his face blanching a few shades.

  The name caught me off guard. I was sure my own face blanched at hearing my mother’s name in this scuzzy place.

  “No . . . I’m Elle,” I said. “Laurel was—”

  “Your mom,” Biggie said, exhaling like he could have been relieved or disappointed.

  I nodded. How did this guy know my mom?

  “God knows I love this bar, but it’s such a seedy place even Satan stays out, so why in the whole world of bars does sweet Laurel Sheehan’s daughter have to walk into mine?”

  He’d used my mom’s maiden name. No one used that. Everywhere I went, she was known as Laurel Montgomery. She might have grown up here and been a Sheehan until she was nineteen, but this whole town only knew her as a Montgomery.

  Except for Biggie.

  “How did you know my mom?”

  He paused a few moments before answering, almost like he was having an internal debate. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “I was in love with her.”

  So not what I’d expected.

  “You were in love with her?” I almost whispered, taking another look at him. He was still big, broad, and badass.

  “Crazy in love with her,” Biggie replied.

  “When?” I asked, leaning into the bar.

  “The better part of my teenage years,” he said, shaking his head. “The best years of my life.”

  “Did she know . . . you were in love with her?”

  Mom had been with Dad almost their entire high school lives. They’d gotten married a few short months after graduating high school.