Fire and Ice: Rekindled (The Fire and Ice Series Book 2)

by Delaney, Kiara

  Ok, enough of the sappy shit- I've already bawled my eyes out as I wrote my final words to the story.

  So can we all agree Kellan is the hottest, most panty-melting asshole we've ever encountered, and that Hailey is one lucky bitch?

  Sometimes the biggest assholes on the outside are the most fierce, loyal, and passionate lovers and soul mates. Why? Because they are passionate about every facet of their life. All any of us really wants is to be loved; I believe that's our sole purpose here in life- to love and be loved in return.

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  Fire and Ice: Rekindled

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  ******

  Soundtrack

  Click on the links below to watch videos

  "Easier To Run" by Linkin' Park

  "Jesus Christ" by Brand New

  "All Signs Point To Lauderdale" by A Day To Remember

  "Ex's & Oh's" by Elle King

  "Inferno" by Sir Sly

  "Crazy In Love" by Beyoncé

  Fire and Ice: Rekindled Trailer featuring "Trouble (Slipped)" by Halsey

  Other books by Kiara Delaney

  Crave

  Chase

  Chase 2

  Fire and Ice: Burned

  For information on these and upcoming books

  Visit My Amazon Author Page:

  Author Kiara Delaney

  Read On For A Sneak Peek Of My Next Book:

  In The Blink Of An Eye (Preview)

  Chapter One

  Blake

  Sitting here in Max's Crab Shack, throwing back an ice-cold Sam Adams, and feeling the cool beach air breeze in through the open entryway should have had me feeling relaxed and as tranquil as the ocean waves looked, rolling in against the beach in the moonlit night. Isn't that what I came home for? After nearly a nine-month operation, didn't I deserve a few days of respite? I sure as hell thought so when I put in the request for a few days of R and R. So why does this feel so foreign? It's not like I don't have buddies back here that I could be tearing up the town with.

  Is it official? Have I gotten 'too old for this shit'? At 29, am I teetering on the cusp of, "Fuck it...shots are on me!" or, "You guys go ahead, I've gotta get up early."

  Right now, all I can think about is my team. My brothers. I'd honestly rather be back out there with them...wherever they are right now. I realize it's only a few days, and I'll catch up with them when I get back on duty, but I seriously feel like I'm one of those pathetic losers that's on a singles cruise right now. This was a horrible idea.

  The decent sized restaurant felt like home, even after all these years. With its red booths, lining the walls, and tables covered in red and white checkered tablecloths, it looked more like a pizza joint than a seafood eatery. But Max's was infamous for the best crabs on the beach, hands down, and the locals flocked here nightly to unwind, enjoy the laid back atmosphere, and listen to the country music blaring from the speakers, as the patrons downed good old fashioned whiskey and beer chasers.

  Yeah, I remember the days of trying to sneak in with my fake ID. The bouncers would smirk and have a good laugh, knowing full well who I was. To my dismay at the time, it forced me to keep my nose clean, whether I liked it or not. It turned out for the best in the end. Let's just say a few of my classmates never even made it to prom.

  "Well, looky who come to visit. Pauline! Angie! Y'all come out here and see what the cat done drug in," I heard Max's booming voice as he spotted me sitting at the bar. I tried to hide the grin on my face, knowing I was about to be assailed by those who I may have been gone from for years, but had never forgotten. They were like a second family to me. Max still wore his signature white cook's apron, splayed with grease and ketchup, and his hair had turned a bit whiter, as well as receded quite a bit since I'd seen him last. The scruff on his face showed he probably hadn't shaved in a day or two.

  "Max, what in Lord's name are you hollerin'...," Pauline yelled, pushing through the kitchen door before stopping short at the sight of me. Unlike Max, Pauline looked like she hadn't aged a day since I'd last seen her, other than the small strip of white that graced her flame red hair. It suited her. How she still pulled off blue eye shadow and bright pink lipstick, I have no idea. She reminded me of an older version of a pin up doll. "Angie! Get out here, quick, 'for he done up an vanishes on us. Well, my my," Pauline drawled, her hand on her hip. "Ain't you just a sight for sore eyes," she said with a playful grin on her face, as she chewed on her gum with her mouth open.

  Angie rushed through the kitchen door, fumbling with her apron. She'd still not looked up to notice me. "I'm comin'. Hold your dang horses."...Until now. She stood staring at me speechless, blinking rapidly, with her mouth hanging slightly open.

  I gave her a polite smile and a curt nod, as I said, "Nice to see you, Angie."

  "Y...you, too, Blake," she stammered out after a brief pause. Angie was my ex-girlfriend from high school. Sadly, she was one of many of my ex-girlfriends. I had a bit of a reputation that preceded me, or perhaps I should say, precedes me.

  Angie's uncomfortable state went unnoticed as Max teased, "I cain't even remember the last time ole Heartbreaker here was in my Crab Shack. Can you, Pauline?" I'd earned the nickname back in highschool, and apparently, I wasn't going to live it down. Even the guys in my squad caught wind of it, and I was rarely referred to by my first name. Had I known it was going to earn me the ridiculous moniker for life, I wouldn't have been such a man-whore in my younger days.

  "Nuh uh, cain't say I do." Pauline agreed. "Shoot, it's probably goin' on somewheres 'round ten years, now, ain't it, Sugar?" she directed at me.

  I chuckled. "Close. I joined the Navy fresh out of high school." I glanced over at Angie and saw the flash disappointment pass over her features at the mention of the past. There wasn't much I could do about it now; what's done is done. I'm fairly certain even an apology at this late stage in the game would only come off sounding hollow. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

  "We heard you done killed Bin Laden. Is 'at true?" Max asked with wide-eyed curiosity.

  Pauline smacked him on the arm before whisper yelling at him, "He ain't supposed to talk about stuff like that. That's classified information, Maxy. You gonna get his ass court marshaled."

  I laughed quietly and took a swig of my beer as I listened to their playful banter. "Nah, that wasn't my team," I admitted.

  "But you did get to kill some of them...what'dya call 'em...insurgeons?"

  Pauline rolled her eyes. "Insurgents, you big dummy!"

  "Whatever," Max scoffed.

  I leaned in and ushered him to do the same, whispering to him, "I could tell ya, but then I'd have to kill ya." I sat back and grinned before taking another swig of my beer.

  He swatted his hand in the air and said, "Yeah, yeah, I heard that joke a million times," dissatisfied with my answer. "Hey!" he exclaimed, turning back around, "Can you kill someone with your thumb?"

  I shook my head back and forth, trying desperately to hide my obvious smile. "I can kill someone with a gun," I conceded.

  "Did ya ever see any of those car bombers?" he continued to grill me.

  "No, but last year, on the Fourth of July, we didn't have any fireworks, so we threw a bunch of hand grenades out into this big field at night." It was all a total lie. I had seen more shit than I wanted to remember, or think about. But that's what I signed up for, what I trained for, and what I was damn good at. And until the Navy decides to send me packing, I intend to keep doing the job I get paid to do. I'm no goddamn hero, and I've never claimed to be. I fight for my country because it's my job and I believe in what I'm doing to protect the freedom of my country, plain and simple. I'm not in it for the medals or plaques. That shit should be saved for the Vets, and rightfully so.

  I polished off my bee
r and fished out a few bills for my tab. "You're not leavin' us already, are ya, Sugar?" Pauline pouted.

  "Yeah, I'm gonna call unpack and call it a night. It was a long flight. But I'm supposed to meet up with Gregg tomorrow, so maybe we'll stop back in for lunch," I said, hoping to appease her.

  I'd known Gregg since grade school, and when we parted ways after graduation, we tried to stay in touch as much as possible. Unlike me, he was a fucking brainiac, and it earned him a spot at West Point. He put in his time, graduated at the top of his class, and eventually took a job with the FBI. It wasn't too long before his skills got him noticed in Washington, where he was recruited as one of the youngest CIA agents at the age of 27. I mean, it's not like he's the assistant to the director, but I think it's pretty damn impressive that he got recruited, even if he is just an analyst. Jesus, by the time he's 40, he'll probably be running for office or some shit, while I'll be lucky enough to be able to cut the grass after lathering myself in Bengay all day. I'm sure the signature aroma will have the entire 55 and up community of females flocking to me.

  At any rate, I had no doubt I would be mauled by just about every citizen I ran into during my stay, wanting to recant the good old days, but I was only in town for a long weekend, and I couldn't spend time with everyone. Max and Pauline waved me off and gave me their parting wishes, as I waved goodnight in return, looking back to find Angie heading into the kitchen with her head down.

  ******

  Trinity

  "Hey, Trin. How you doin' tonight, honey?" my best friend Janine trilled, as she bumped her hip against mine and shot me a devilish grin. Her cocoa colored skin, perfectly styled black hair, and a body men drooled over, made me even give her second looks at times. Tonight she was sporting short (and I mean short) shorts, which read 'Wanna Play?' on the back and had two baseball bats crossed over each other and a baseball in the middle. She had a baseball themed shirt on that came up nearly to her breasts. She would get plenty of tips tonight, that's for sure.

  I sighed and took a seat at the far end of the bar, untying my apron, and emptying my tips out onto the thickly lacquered bar top. I mentally compared myself to her. Where she had long lean legs, I stood at just barely 5'2". I didn't have nearly the curves Janine had; she could probably pose for Playboy. I couldn't complain about my hair, though. I inherited my dark hair, which I kept long, from my mother. People often used to ask us if we were sisters. I smiled nostalgically to myself at the memory. "Not bad. You?" I asked, flatly, as the memory slipped from my mind, like grains of sand through my fingers.

  "Uh, oh. What, now? Did that creepy jackass come in here and try to grab your ass again?" she asked with a raised brow.

  "Doug?" I asked, my voice laced with puzzlement. Some of our patrons could get a little...touchy-feely, and it was hard to remember who was on the 'creeper' list sometimes.

  "Is that the guy with the bad comb over?" she questioned, quirking a brow.

  "No, that's Dennis," I explained.

  "Who's Doug?" her brows furrowed in confusion.

  "Doug's my landlord. Dennis would never hurt a flea. He looks like a creep, but he's actually a really nice guy...and he tips well," I added cheerfully.

  Janine cocked her hip and waved her finger in the air, as she exclaimed with authority, "Uh, uh...no way, sister. If my landlord was tryin' to grab all up on me, I'd have my fist in his teeth. You can believe that."

  I just chuckled and shook my head. Janine cracked me up when she got animated about whatever pissed her off or got her excited about something. She could probably have her own show on TV. I know I'd watch it.

  I don't think punching my landlord would be the best idea, considering I'm living in one of the cheapest, yet ultimately well sought after condos on the beach, which I took over when my parents died. It wasn't penthouse living, but it made a great vacation home for our family. Luckily, for me, Doug had let me just transfer the lease into my name, and didn't increase the rent. My parents had been getting a great deal all those years. I don't know how my dad managed to keep Doug from upping the rent, but whatever the case, I wasn't about to screw it up for myself by assaulting him, especially when he'd never touched me. There were times his voice became an octave lower and a bit suggestive when he'd assure me he'd take of a broken pipe, or if the air conditioner went out, things of that nature, but he'd never made a blatant pass at me. I'd have to make a note to call Janine off his scent before he came in again, lest she pummel him in my defense.

  "So, what's going on, then? You look...off," she said with a questioning look on her face. I shrugged noncommittally, averting my eyes, as if I were concentrating on counting my tips. I knew she wasn't about to let me off that easy, but it was worth a try. "Trin, just spill it, already. You know I'll just badger you until you give in anyway, so you might as well save us both the time." Great, now she has ESP.

  I sighed as I realized there was no use putting up a fight, and said, "It's been almost a year. Next week is the anniversary."

  "Awe, shit, Trin. I wasn't even thinking. I'm sorry, honey. Why didn't you say something?"

  "Because of this..." I ushered my hand between us. "This is exactly why I didn't want to say anything. I don't want pity. I just want to move on. It's been a hard year, ya know? And Tommy..." my voice trailed off.

  "Say no more," Janine interrupted. "He hasn't been there for you like he should've. It's not right, Trin."

  I held up my hand to silence her oncoming rant. "We all grieve in our own way, Janine. I'm sure he's doing the best he can," I said, sticking up for my younger brother.

  "Bullshit, Trin. He's drowning his sorrows in cheap whiskey, whores, and the blackjack tables, and you know it," she admonished.

  "Look, Janine, I...I've been down this road with him before. He's technically a grown man. There's not a whole lot I can do about it," I said, my voice laced with regret for not trying hard enough to pull him out of the hole he'd dug for himself the last few years, beginning in his late teens. By the ripe old age of 19 he was drinking to excess nearly every day, and God knows what else; he didn't have a job, but he sure as hell had money to spend- and spend it he did. I felt partially to blame- I thought covering for his dumb ass would somehow protect my parents from having to witness their son become a vagrant. To my knowledge, they were oblivious.

  I'm only a couple of years older than him, but I should have known better. And when I'd gotten married on a whim at 23, I soon became absorbed in my whirlwind relationship that quickly spiraled within a year. Though I'm just barely 25, I've had to endure a failed marriage, the suffering of my parent's death, and witnessing my own brother walk a thin line that more often than not leads to jail, or worse.

  As soon as Tommy turned 21, he may as well have taken up permanent residency in Atlantic City. He played the part of a high roller with ease, I'll give him that, but I was smart enough to know the shiners and split lips he'd end up with every couple of months said otherwise. Tears began to prick the backs of my eyes at the thought of the road he was going down. Hell, maybe he'd already met his fate, for all I knew.

  Janine gave me a solemn look before asking in a soft tone, "Is he coming in?"

  I shook my head back and forth in resignation. "I have no idea. I haven't heard from him in months. I doubt it." Then again, with Tommy, I never knew. He was like a stray cat. He'd disappear without so much as a 'goodbye', and show up on my doorstep, randomly, at one in the morning, months later. I would honestly be shocked if he showed up for the anniversary of Mom and Dad's death.

  Chapter Two

  Trinity

  It was generous of Max and Pauline to let me park my old, run down, Ford Taurus in their parking lot across the street from The Ale and Pail, especially since we were technically competition. But Janine put in a good word for me with Max and Pauline, since we had hit it off as friends on day one when I started working at the bar. It's a small, tight-knit community here, and everyone knows everyone, so if someone vouches for you, it's pretty much a done de
al. At any rate, I was grateful, as it was a real bitch finding parking on the street, and our bar didn't have off street parking. There was a parking lot behind us, but the city had bought it from the previous owner (no doubt for a pretty penny) to use as public parking for beach goers. Luckily, the lack of parking didn't deter customers from coming into the bar.

  Most of our customers were looking for refuge from the scorching rays during the day, and humid sticky air at night; not to mention our famous lineup of imported beers and pails of crab. Upon entering the bar, they'd be met with a fresh air-conditioned blast, immediately relieving them from the heat. The vibe of the bar was a mixture of dim, sultry lighting, the look of an upscale sports bar, infused with beach memorabilia adorning the walls, and an eclectic mix of bass thumping music, ranging from hip hop, to country, and any genre between the '70's and today; all set to trance background mash-up style. It was quite the departure from the norm, and our customers seemed to eat it up.