by Fiona Keane
Noah
More Than Friends
Book Two
By Fiona Keane
Noah
Copyright © 2019 by Fiona Keane.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: March 2019
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-561-4
ISBN-10: 1-64034-561-2
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For my sister and my best friends.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Chapter One
SPRING
I slammed a twenty on the bar before taking one last chug of the IPA holding me together. Ben slapped my shoulder as he returned to my side, his hair still a mess and shirt torn across the front.
“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” I taunted, shaking my head. I was adjusting my coat over my shoulders when he finally replied, his hands scouring his scalp.
“I’ve never come so close to death on the job.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Do you want to share a cab?” Ben asked, acknowledging my plan to leave.
I checked the clock on my phone, surprised the only missed call was from my mom and nothing from Callie. “Thanks, but I need to stop at the pharmacy. Callie’s getting in late tonight, and I need to get some flowers.”
“Such a romantic.” Ben knocked my shoulder while laughing. “Pardon me while I puke.”
“I try,” I snickered, placing my empty bottle on the counter. “Got any plans for later?”
Ben motioned for the bartender before answering, a deserved drunken grin plastering his face. “I’m just going to let Nadia keep serving me.” I followed his eyes to Nadia, too familiar with drowning our sorrows after a rough shift. Nadia’s thick black hair was a safety hazard dangling all over the place, as much as her man-eating soul was. I liked her. It was the fools forking over their paycheck that she’d devour, laughing all the way to the bank.
“Do you think she’ll ever look your way, Ben?” I teased.
“Another?” Nadia’s voice rang through her sigh, a tone that pitied my partner. Ben gaped slightly as he nodded without a sound. Eaten. Nadia was cool, but she was trouble to a single man, though, profiting from the broken souls of her fan club.
“I’ll see you in a few days, Ben. Night, Nadia.”
I walked through the piles of drunkards huddled in the doorway, lingering on the sidewalk, and escaped downtown. There was a small pharmacy on State Street that was open late, with an inventory ranging from bedazzled screwdrivers to organic goat milk. I knew they’d be open, they’d have roses, and I could get home to wait for my girlfriend’s flight to arrive.
We talked about me picking her up at the airport, but I was switched to be on-call, which threw a knot in our plans. I would’ve much preferred to still be waiting for a call instead of coming off that shift. Ben and I saw a lot together, but him almost dying while breaking apart a drunken brawl that sent three kids to the hospital was exhausting. When the chief sent us off early after I’d sutured Ben, I was eager as ever to get home.
My home was sandwiched between a row of Victorian houses turned into apartments along Lake Mendota, some rented to working professionals like me and others housing rowdy students with a license to party and puke…everywhere…outside. The sidewalks were empty as I approached my dimly lit block of Gilman. The cream-colored stones looked sad and dingy beneath the yellow street light near my corner. I couldn’t see much on my way up the sidewalk to the carport, but I memorized the path after leaving and coming home at all hours with my job. It never bothered me that the carport was dark and full of rubbish that blocked my steps, because I didn’t have time to care.
Bouquet in hand, the cellophane crinkling, I turned my key and entered through the kitchen door. I placed Callie’s flowers on the counter before taking off my soiled boots and jacket. I could have left it all at the fire station, but I wanted to get home and not think once more of work after drinks with Ben. I had two days off, and they couldn’t have come at a better time. My shift was exhausting—no matter how much or the type of experience, it never got easier.
Muffin jumped on a chair that stuck out from the kitchen table, his tiny legs battling for survival as the act of leaping so high almost broke a hip. I scratched behind his ears and scooped him into my arms, about to push in the chair when I noticed the reason it stuck out in the first place. My jacket was in a heap on the counter, by my girlfriend’s flowers. Muffin huffed as his smooshed face nuzzled into my chest. He never was a fan of visitors.
“Muff,” I whispered to the old man in my arms, “you didn’t tell me we had company.”
I glanced around in the dark, blinking my tired eyes to focus as I stepped over Callie’s scattered shoes on my way to the stairs. My geriatric dog grunted a snore as he relaxed in my hold, but it wasn’t Muffin’s sounds that consumed the space.
The wooden floor creaked beneath my feet, complementing the soft moans coming from upstairs. The glow of my bedroom television guided our path once Muffin and I reached the landing, slowly walking toward my bedroom. I stood in the doorway, not even angry. I think I was just horrified, shocked, that I couldn’t even panic. After all, Callie traveled a lot for work, and I was a first responder, so our schedules didn’t always match. That didn’t mean cheating was okay, though, so perhaps I was just imagining things. Muffin growled, his squished face offering more of a muffled humph than anything else. With my dog’s irritated reply validating the movie being filmed in my bedroom, I leaned against the doorframe and waited for them to finish. It was the least I could do.
Callie’s friend dismounted the bed, leaving Muffin and me to see a little more than we expected as he stood proudly on the floor.
“Nice performance,” I praised the pair. Callie screamed, pulling the sheets over her body as though neither of us, or my dog, had seen her naked before. That was her act of self-respect, covering herself, not actually respecting herself or our relationship, or me, enough to not cheat in our bed.
“Callie?” Her partner panicked, quick to stuff himself back into his skinny jeans and flannel shirt. I hadn’t seen fingers move so quick off the job. That dude was eager to leave, and I didn’t blame him. I had muscles, tattoos and, if I weren’t holding a senior Boston terrier, I assume I looked pretty tough.
“Noah,” she began, “we need to talk.”
“Your coat’s downstairs, dude.” I nodded to the man whose head jerked around in search of something. “You can take the bouquet that’s down the
re too. Those were for my girlfriend, but I seem to have wasted my money.”
“Noah, stop.”
“I’m not doing anything, Callie. Muffin and I are just watching the show. Didn’t know it’d be so graphic, though. Poor old man.” I cocked my head to look at Muffin, his droopy brown eyes gazing up at me. “You okay, Muff? Kind of raunchy, huh? Didn’t know your mom did shit like that, did you?”
“Dammit, Noah,” Callie screeched. She slipped from the bed, wrapped in the sheet as she tried to hide what both that dude and I had seen several times. I lost respect for her in that moment, so I wasn’t sure what she was trying to hide.
“Hey, man,” I grabbed the guy’s shoulder as he tried to squeeze past Muffin and me, “take her somewhere else. She’s not sleeping here again.” Muffin growled, this time flashing his small teeth at Callie’s hipster man meat. The dude looked at Callie and then me, eyes wide above his red and black flannel. He reached for the recording cell phone on my dresser and stuffed it into the pocket of his small pants.
“Noah, you’re being ridiculous. We can talk about this.”
“Um…” I bit my lip, trying to keep the profanities from pouring out. “Nothing really to say here, babe. I came home early, and apparently so did you. The difference is I brought you flowers and am holding my dog, while you were—”
“Fine!” Callie shouted at me, arms flailing as she tried to get into her clothes. I didn’t hear the profanities she hollered through sobbing tears as she and the dude left Muffin and me to clean up their mess. When I could hear them on the sidewalk, I walked downstairs to the living room. I let Muffin out once more, and we slept on the couch, my plan for the morning set on finding a new bed and stocking my liquor cabinet.
I woke before the sun the next morning, my neck stiff from using the armrest as my pillow. I was pissed. Not at the couch, not at the pile of crap Muffin left for me on the rug, but at Callie and the pretentious idea of love. It was bullshit. Seriously.
Muffin bellowed at the front door and, because I loved my dog, I opened the door and let him run around in the front yard. I loved my dog, not my ex-girlfriend. I thought I loved Callie, but that was thrown to shit the second I saw Dude’s coat in my kitchen. Who does that? Who actually cheats? Again, bullshit.
I stood on the front porch, hands on my hips, mindlessly watching the sidewalk and street while Muffin limped around the yard in search of the best place to crap…because my living room wasn’t enough. A few university students strolled along the sidewalk, receiving a small grunt from Muffin, who was too busy to chase them. I pulled one of his waste bags from beneath the porch swing and went to squat above his mess. I was even angrier than before. Who were those two people, arm in arm, affectionate, and miserable? Why did they deserve to be all in love while I knelt over dogshit the morning after I came home to find my girlfriend screwing some dude in my bed?
I called for Muffin and tossed his crap into the waste bin I shared with the two other units in my building. This was my first day off work in two weeks and, after last night, I wanted a day off from my apartment.
I waited in the snow as Muffin scampered inside, cursing the early spring snowfall. I didn’t want to be back in there until Dude’s cologne dissipated. I should’ve known when I walked in last night just by that horrendous odor. Not only did my girlfriend cheat on me, she cheated in my bed with a dude who smelled like one of those old perfume ads in magazines from two decades ago. I didn’t know whether to feel insulted or humiliated, but I needed to get that crap out of my apartment.
Muffin followed me everywhere as I searched for trash bags and collected everything of Callie’s. I was sentimental, but it wasn’t like she died or left me for a once-in-a-lifetime doctoral program. She lied about her trip and slept with that dude, so the least I could do to cope and repay her thoughtlessness would be to collect almost everything she touched or left behind, and then burn it. I thought aloud, tossing out ideas to my geriatric dog who barely raised one crooked eye at me while snoring from the couch.
I started in the kitchen, throwing away all her food. I’d keep her alcohol, of course, because fire and alcohol don’t mix, and it’s the least she could do for me. Her blue coffee mug with yellow polka dots? Garbage. I didn’t even cringe when I heard it shatter inside the bag. Next, the woven blanket made from wool too big that I felt like I was stuck in an enormous spider web whenever she made me use it. She had some makeup and her toothbrush in the bathroom upstairs, and I wondered if I should have dusted or cleaned the toilet with those and given them back. Dude. Chill. Everything went in the bag: makeup, slippers, clothes, framed photographs. Everything, except for the gift certificate to Silas’s parlor.
I picked up the folded cardstock from the top of my dresser, considering it had been too long since Silas inked the watercolor mermaid on my forearm. Maybe another tattoo would help me grieve. I collected the rest of Callie’s crap, knotted the two stuffed bags, and dumped them on the curb before letting Muffin out once more and crossing town to see Silas.
It was cold outside, but the ancient radiators of the parlor were on full blast. I shook off the fallen snow and instinctively peeled off my coat and sweatshirt. His place was just like Nadia’s or the fire station: home.
“Noah!” I recognized Silas’s husky call and looked around to find him nodding to me over a woman’s bare shoulder.
“Fixing the mess of a scratcher,” Silas stated, eyes focused on his precision against the woman’s skin. “Come on back.”
I dropped my things by the register and walked to Silas and his customer. She was young and, I assumed, by analysis of the blowout tattooed badger on her skin, it was originally commissioned as a drunken mistake after a night at the university bars.
“You go to school here?” I inquired, catching her eyes while I sat behind Silas. She nodded, biting her lips to muffle the pain of Silas’s rotary. I smiled at her and leaned back into the chair, arms crossed. I waited for Silas to finish before saying anything more to distract them. When he set down the rotary, he stood from his patron and approached me.
“I saw Ben this morning at the Coffee Trader,” Silas grunted, eyes narrowed. “He looked like shit, and so do you. What happened last night?”
I peered behind him to see the girl distracted with her cell phone before I replied. “Nasty frat party. They had two squads, one engine, and somehow it took all of us to calm them down, and it still resulted in three kids going to the hospital.”
“That’s nothing new to you guys.” He chuckled. “Every Thursday through Tuesday is spent picking up the drunks. Isn’t it?”
“No,” I argued. “You know we do a hell of a lot more than that, Silas. Just last weekend I helped a woman deliver her baby, and the week before that I was keeping some toddlers calm in the hospital after their car accident.”
Silas smiled at me, a cheeky grin I wanted to slap off his face. “Heartthrob and savior. So what brings you around today?” He walked to the girl and gave her a pamphlet on skincare, speaking to her about the next steps for her fixed ink. With her skin covered, the girl handed a stack of cash to Silas and left us alone.
I leaned against a dresser, arms crossed while I prepared my tactful answer for Silas. He was cleaning his supplies, replacing his rotary, before sitting on the bench and looking at me expectantly.
“Spit it out. I could have a walk-in any minute.”
“I caught Callie in my bed with another guy,” I groaned. “And that’s the last time I use her name.”
“Nah,” Silas chuckled. “You’re better than that. Don’t give her that power over you. What if the next girl you fall in love with is named Callie? Or her name even sounds like that?”
“I’m swearing off love.”
Silas lifted an eyebrow. “Okay…what if the next girl you’re with is named Callie?”
“I’m swearing off girls altogether, Silas. I’m just going to focus on work from now on.” I glanced at my feet, stomping my toes a little to scrape off salt from
the sidewalk. I heard Silas’s low chuckle as he turned to continue cleaning, mocking me while doing so.
“Noah,” Silas groaned. “We’ve known each other too long for you to think I’d fall for that line of crap. You need a fix, huh?”
I reached for the gift certificate in my pocket and took out the crumpled piece of paper. He knew me too well. I plopped onto the bench and took off my shirt, baring it all for my friend and his rotary. Silas took my forearms, twisting to revel at his creations.
“She’s a looker, isn’t she?” He pointed his gloved index finger to the mermaid tattoo. “What should we do today?”
I looked in the mirror, studying my physique and the empty patches of muscle Silas hadn’t decorated. “Let’s start my black roses.”
Silas slapped my left pec and reached behind me for more supplies. While he worked, I watched the mermaid twist along my turning forearm. She was the only girl for me. How pathetic.
Chapter Two
SUMMER
Four weeks passed since Muffin and I held a bonfire in our backyard. We’d invited our neighbors, of course, but they didn’t know the source of heat baking their marshmallows was the set of sheets from my ex-girlfriend’s affair. I’d figured not telling them would make it less creepy for my old dog and me to be burning junk in our yard, in the middle of spring. In any case, it had been an excuse to socialize and drink in excess, both things I found myself desperate to do as my heart came to the harsh reality of coming home that night.
I thought I was over it, but when I woke to a punch against my freshly inked stomach, coming to on one of the fire station cots, I realized spending more nights at work than at home might have had more to do with denial than desire to work. Okay, that’s only partially true. I lived for the job. Saving people, helping others, that was why I did what I did. Hell, I spent most of my life at the station even when Callie and I were together. Muffin spent his time in the chief’s office whenever I’d be there. Spoiled old men, those two.
