A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  That wasn’t to say I stopped worrying, though. I always would. I just kept reminding myself she’d be fine. This was part of being a teenager. I’d sworn never to be the father who invited the prospective boyfriend in for a discussion of his intentions, all the while cleaning my guns and mentioning shovels. She was growing up, and no matter how stressful it was for me, I wasn’t about to stop her. We’d had the talk. She had a good head on her shoulders. I’d made absolutely sure she had contact with adults she could go to if she didn’t feel comfortable coming to me, whether to get her hands on contraception or to tell them if something was wrong. She’d be fine.

  Me, on the other hand . . .

  I exhaled.

  God help me when that child starts driving.

  Not that she was in a huge hurry. The last couple of years, she’d been much more interested in learning how cars worked and understanding how to repair them than actually learning to drive them. Leo had been joking for a while that we had a future mechanic on our hands.

  And I know somebody who could probably teach her, too.

  Now wasn’t that an odd thought—introducing Aaron to one of my kids because they had a shared interest. Usually it was a matter of gently introducing them to a potential stepparent and hoping for the best. But that wasn’t what Aaron and I were about. I would technically be lying by omission if I introduced him as “a friend,” but that seemed like one of those little white lies that was for everyone’s benefit.

  So, why not? And, besides, if she really did want to learn that skill, and if he could teach her, there was no point in not introducing them.

  It was a crazy thought. Not just introducing Desiree to Aaron, but her embarking on a vocational path that could turn into . . . gulp . . . a career. A real adult career.

  Shit. She is growing up.

  Somehow, at some point, Desiree—and to a lesser degree the boys, now that I thought about it—had ceased to be “just kids” and were starting to drop hints about becoming adults. The infant days and the toddler years were long behind us. The twins were fiercely independent and had been since forever. Desiree had been slow to push for independence, but now that she had a taste for it, she’d been trying for more.

  Sitting back and watching my kids now, it was kind of surreal. If I hadn’t been sitting here at the park, Michael and Des would still be going through their lessons exactly the same way. She’d still be flirting with the boy, and Michael would still be charging around on his skateboard like he’d never had a broken arm. Christian would still be reading, in between watching for a cat or a dog or the odd squirrel to visit with.

  The boys had developed their own very distinct personalities, and they were starting to find interests that might become more than phases. Christian was a bookworm who adored animals and wanted to play basketball. Michael was obsessed with skateboarding and science. Desiree wasn’t much of an academic—she got good grades, but she didn’t enjoy it—and was much more interested in skateboarding, cars, and music. They weren’t little kids figuring out how to put one foot in front of the other and needing me there at every turn for skinned knees and sandwiches with crusts cut off.

  In a few years, Desiree would be a full-fledged adult, probably out on her own and pursuing a career. Relatively speaking, it wouldn’t be much longer before Michael and Christian would too. I was ten years away from an empty house. It seemed like a long time, but I could’ve sworn it had only been five minutes since someone handed me my helpless newborn daughter and said, “Good luck.” The next decade would probably fly by too.

  Realizing that was scary and overwhelming, but it calmed something in me too. Maybe I wasn’t being selfish and irresponsible by going out and having some time for myself. The kids didn’t need me there 24/7 anymore. This wasn’t like when they were little or in the aftermath of one of my horrible breakups when all three had been scared I was going to leave too. They’d adapted to my divorce from Leo. They were well-adjusted and doing fine without me hovering over them.

  And . . . even though I was a father, this was my life too. Was it really so wrong for me to spend some time pursuing something that was missing? Was it against the rules or some Dad Code to spend that time with Aaron?

  That wasn’t to say I needed to spend every night with Aaron, but now that I thought about it, I didn’t feel quite so guilty about spending the evenings I did with him. Maybe we’d even chance an overnight stay. Or a long weekend together.

  I chewed my thumbnail. In the past, when I’d dated as a single parent, I’d felt guilty as hell, but maybe I didn’t need to feel that way anymore.

  Michael’s lesson wrapped up. He sat on a bench next to Tariq and some friends to take off his gear, and his sister stepped away from the boy she’d been flirting with to get ready for her lesson.

  While they took off or put on safety gear, their instructor came over to where I was sitting. Gesturing over his shoulder, Brennan said, “Hey, these two are making some serious progress. I wanted to talk to you about some competitions.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He took a folded brochure out of his back pocket. “They’ve got some great youth divisions, and it’s a fairly low-key competition. Not a ton of pressure. If they want to cut their teeth”—he gestured with the brochure—“this is the place.”

  I took the brochure but eyed him. “You don’t think Michael’s a little young?”

  “Nah. He’s not much younger than my stepson, and he started competing this year.” He grimaced. “Not that my husband was thrilled about that.”

  I laughed. “I can relate, I think. But, um, I’ll talk to them about it.” I glanced at the brochure in my hand. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  After he’d gone back to continue his lesson, I skimmed over the brochure. The photos alone were enough to spike my blood pressure. The half-pipes in the pictures dwarfed the ones here in the park. Skaters were frozen in midair, sailing way too high off the ground. My first instinct was to see those as broken bones waiting to happen, but . . . no, if a sport were that dangerous, the competitions would be shut down in a heartbeat. None of the companies with their logos plastered all over the place would want to be associated with it. I was just an overprotective dad who still irrationally believed my kids were as fragile as they’d been the days I’d brought them home.

  I glanced at Desiree. Then at Michael. Then back at the brochure.

  Okay, so letting them skate was terrifying. Letting them compete meant faster, higher, and more dangerous.

  I took a deep breath as I pocketed the brochure. If it was what they wanted, then I wasn’t going to stop them. They were going to branch out and do things that terrified me, which was a good thing. It was exactly what they were supposed to do. They didn’t need me protecting them at every turn.

  My mind wandered back to Aaron and how I’d guiltily rationed what little time I spent with him. There was no reason to do that now, was there?

  My kids were spreading their wings.

  Maybe now it was my turn.

  * * *

  On our next evening off, while Desiree watched the boys, I went to meet Aaron for drinks. His day had run late, and so had mine, so we were keeping it simple tonight. I suspected there’d be a blowjob in a car before the night was over, though. Not that I was hoping or anything.

  When I got to his garage, I went right to his office, but he wasn’t there, so I went out into the main part of the garage.

  Reese—he’d introduced me the second or third time I’d come by—looked out from under the hood of an old Corolla and smiled at me. “Hey, Shane.”

  “Hey. Is Aaron around?”

  She turned around and called into the next bay, “Hey, Tucker! You’ve got a visitor.” She winked at me, and my cheeks were suddenly on fire. She probably knew. They seemed friendly with each other, and if Aaron hadn’t told her about me, she’d probably put two and two together.

  A second later, Aaron stepped out from behind a ca
r in his usual pair of weathered blue coveralls, wiping his greasy hands on a shop towel, and his eyes lit up. “Hey. You’re early.”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “Didn’t want to be late.”

  “Early is perfect. Gives us more time.” He came closer, and I realized then that he was limping a little. In fact, he had a hinged knee brace going from mid-thigh to mid-shin.

  “Whoa,” I said. “You okay?”

  “What, that?” He gestured at it with the shop towel. “Just aggravated it a bit during a call the other night. Little time in the brace, little ice tonight, and it’ll be fine.”

  “That the knee you hurt when you jumped out of the plane?”

  Aaron grimaced. “Yep. And it’s never gonna let me live it down either.” He motioned over his shoulder. “Anyway. Let me change into something more presentable, and we can go find some food.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We exchanged smiles, and he disappeared into his office. A few minutes later, he came back out. He’d stripped off the coveralls and had on jeans and a T-shirt with the knee brace in his hand. While I drove, he put the knee brace back on over his jeans.

  “There we go. Damn thing.” He smoothed a Velcro strap into place, then sat back, stretching his leg out gingerly. “You know, most people retire from their jobs with a gold watch. All I got was this contraption and a few pins as souvenirs.”

  “Ouch. How long do you think you’d have kept doing it if you hadn’t messed up your knee?”

  Aaron shrugged. “Anyone’s guess. If I hadn’t jacked up my knee on that jump, it could’ve been my back on the next one. Or worse—that gig’s got a high mortality rate, and believe me, that’s something you remember every time you jump.”

  I shuddered. “Didn’t stop you from jumping, though.”

  “Somebody had to do it.” He paused, and a grin slowly grew. “And, hey, you don’t get an adrenaline rush if you don’t take some risks now and then.”

  “The rush doesn’t wear off after a few jumps?”

  “Not when you’re dropping into a wildfire, no.”

  I paused. “Okay, stupid question—you’re not literally jumping into the fire, right?”

  He chuckled. “No. That would be suicide.”

  “That’s what I thought. But, I mean, the way you worded it, and being you . . .”

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He elbowed me playfully. “I’m not that crazy.”

  “Fair enough.” I paused. “Can I ask you something that’s also kind of stupid?”

  “Shoot.”

  “I’m guessing everyone’s scared out of their minds the first time they go into a fire.” I glanced at him. “Does that ever go away?”

  He sobered. For a long, long time, he was quiet, and I debated pulling the question back, right up until he finally spoke again. “I’ve been running into fires since I was twenty-two. Sometimes jumping in from a plane. Sometimes going in through the door I just kicked in. I’ve run into a fire with a buddy and carried him back out just in time to watch him die on the pavement.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed.

  “Yeah. It’s a brutal job.” When I glanced at him, his eyes had taken on a distant expression. As I focused on the road again, I could only imagine the scenes flashing through his mind. After a moment, he shook himself and shifted his gaze toward me. “So yeah, you better believe that every fucking time, I’m scared shitless.”

  I gulped. “Whoa.”

  He was quiet for a few long seconds. “It’s the reality of the job. I mean, even doing this volunteer gig a few times a month is taxing on the body and the brain.”

  “I didn’t think there was that much going on in Bluewater Bay. Seems like any time there’s a tiny fire, it makes the front page.”

  “Nah, it’s pretty quiet out here, knock on wood. Here, it’s mostly car wrecks and overdoses.”

  I glanced at him, eyebrows up. “Overdoses? In this town?”

  “Oh yeah. Small-town epidemic, my friend.” He laughed dryly. “Lot of people think it was the film crews who brought it here, but the only thing they changed was the chemicals.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We had a crack problem. Then meth. Once Hollywood showed up, it turned into heroin and painkillers.”

  “Figures,” I muttered. “You ever tried any of that shit?”

  “The hard stuff? Oh God no.” He shuddered. “I mean, I’ve had my fair share of liquor, and I smoked weed as a teenager. Probably could’ve gotten hooked on the painkillers when I jacked up my knee, but then I’d never be able to go back to work. No way in hell I’d touch any of the other stuff. Not after I’ve seen what it does to people.”

  My skin crawled. I was afraid to ask. Part of me wanted to burn rubber home, pack up my kids, and get the fuck out of this town, but I knew Aaron was right—this shit was everywhere. So I just made a mental note to have another oh my God, Dad, we know talk with them.

  “Anyway.” Aaron fussed with a strap on his knee brace. “I was a wild child and I’m a wild adult, but I definitely stay away from that shit.”

  “Good idea. I kind of envy you being a wild adult, though.” I laughed self-consciously. “I get to live vicariously through you, I guess.”

  “You ever heard the saying that living vicariously isn’t living?”

  My humor faded, and I sighed. “Yeah, well. I can be a little wilder these days, but some things still have to wait until my kids are out of the house.”

  “Not as much as you think.” He shrugged when I glanced at him. “Maybe you’re not going to go on a weeklong bender or go to Burning Man or something, but there’s plenty you can still do.”

  I shot him another look. “Besides sneaking blowjobs on the way to work?”

  He studied me for a moment. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

  “I think I’m off around seven.”

  “Can you get away for an hour or two after that?”

  “Sure.” I shrugged. “Desiree can watch the boys.” Again, Shane? You sure? For fuck’s sake, they’ll be fine. “Yeah, I can do that. Why?”

  Aaron grinned. “Good. Come up to the firehouse when you’re free. There’s something I want to show you.”

  * * *

  The Bluewater Bay Fire Department was an odd mix of tiny and huge. Being a small town, they didn’t need an entire fleet of ladder trucks, so the three-story firehouse’s garage only had three bays. One of the trucks looked like it was nearing the end of its usefulness, though the other two were shiny and modern.

  In the side lot, there were a couple of cranes and some equipment I’d have expected in a logging camp. No wonder the department had been so involved with clearing everything after the storm. They were sure equipped for it.

  I wasn’t sure which way to go in. One of the garage bays was open, and there were multiple entrances. Uh. Shit. Where do—

  Right then, Aaron stepped out of the garage bay. “Hey, Shane! Over here.”

  “Hey!” I started toward him, and . . . Dear God. He didn’t have on his full gear like he had the day I’d met him. Instead, it was a pressed blue uniform with a Maltese cross above one breast pocket and TUCKER embroidered above the other. The man looked amazing in anything—or nothing—but damn if this uniform didn’t hit all the right notes.

  “Welcome to my other house,” he said with a grin.

  “Thanks. And, uh . . .” I gave him a down-up look. “If you ever want to wear that at home . . .”

  He laughed. “That can probably be arranged.” He nodded toward the house. “Come on inside.” I followed him in, and he introduced me to his crew. I actually recognized two of them—Carrie was a gaffer I worked with sometimes, and Ron worked in the same office as the attorney who’d handled my divorce. The rest were vaguely familiar, which wasn’t surprising in a town this small.

  After the introductions, we left his crew to the movie they’d been watching, and Aaron took me up to the roof, which was completely vacant. There was a ba
rbecue up against a ventilation unit and, beside that, some folding chairs peeking out from beneath a mossy tarp.

  He pointed to a couple of lounge chairs set up a few feet away. “Have a seat.”

  I did, and a second later, he switched off the lights, and the roof went dark.

  As he took the seat next to mine, he said, “Look up.”

  My eyes were still adapting to the darkness, but as they did . . . wow. This time of night, Bluewater Bay had mostly rolled up its sidewalks and shut off the lights. Even with the streetlights in the parking lot below us, the world was super dark.

  And the sky? Gorgeous. The usual big stars—the ones that were visible even with a lot of light pollution—stood out. Between them, hundreds if not thousands more were sprayed across an ink-black background.

  I whistled. “I didn’t realize you could see the sky like this in town.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Guess I never took the time to look.”

  “You should see it up on Hurricane Ridge. It’s like this times a thousand.”

  “Wow.” I paused. “You know, I’ve never been up there.”

  “Oh, you need to.” He turned to me for a second. “It’s a windy-ass drive, but it’s unreal.”

  I glanced at him. “You know all the good views, huh?”

  “What can I say?” He chuckled. “I go looking for them. When I lived in Eastern Washington, there were places with almost no light pollution at all. It was amazing.”

  “It looks amazing like this.”

  “Yeah, but imagine if it was completely dark.”

  I whistled. “Wow. Man, you never see skies like this in LA.”

  “Exactly why I could never live there.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, well. In my line of work, you’ve got pretty good odds of winding up in LA or New York. Vancouver if you’re lucky, but those are the two biggest options.”

  We were quiet for a moment, drinking in the night sky.

  “You ever miss living in California?” he asked.

  “Not really. I mean, I wasn’t thrilled to leave, but now that I’m here, I’m not in a big hurry to go back. Don’t care if I ever go back, to be honest.”